"I Want to Be"

I want to succeed.

I want to cry—not from sorrow, but from the joy

of dreams fulfilled after storms weathered,

after sweat has dried on my brow,

after the mountain’s peak kisses my feet.

I want to feel God smile upon me,

not just in silence, but in signs and wonders—

in peace that surpasses all understanding,

in light that pierces the darkness of doubt,

in love that wraps around me like the dawn.

I want to feel that love—not just from Heaven above

but from the hearts of those around me now

and those yet to walk into my life,

from voices I’ve not yet heard,

but whose souls will one day recognize mine.

I want to be happy in my own skin,

to smile—not for show, not for likes—

but because I did it.

Because I fought, because I fell and rose,

because I did not give up on me.

I want my name to echo,

not for fame’s fickle flame,

but because I stood for something,

because I lifted my family’s name

and turned it into a legacy.

I want the name I bear—Igbo blood, Nigerian pride—

to live long after I’ve gone.

I want to be free.

I want to stop—

stop watching porn, stop giving myself to fleeting things,

stop being owned by urges that steal my peace.

I want to cry in a space that’s mine,

a sacred corner where my heart is held

by the only One who truly sees me.

I live in a land of first-world chances.

So why not me?

Why not now?

I am Nigerian. I am Igbo.

Royalty runs through me.

Greatness is my birthright.

I want to be liked—not just for my charm or style—

but for the purity in my heart,

the depth in my dreams,

the humility in my luxury.

Yes, I want the old money feel—

leather-bound books, classical tones,

wines aged like wisdom,

a silence that speaks of peace.

I want to be rich, but richer in soul.

I want to flex with humility,

with grace that says, “God did this.”

I want palaces that whisper prayer,

gardens that echo laughter,

walls that tell the story of legacy.

I want God.

More than gold,

more than goals—

I want God.

To walk with Him.

To know that He knows my name.

To hear Him call me “son”

and feel that He is proud.

I want to be free from shame,

from the cycle that keeps me locked away

from the man I’m meant to be.

I want sex, not lust.

Love, not loneliness.

I want marriage—a covenant.

It’s one woman not ten,

I want soul ties, not soul wounds.

I want kids—

children who laugh freely,

who know who they are,

who grow under the banner of tradition,

honor, respect, and purpose.

I want to raise kings and queens

who carry my morals for a thousand generations.

I want to build.

An estate, yes.

A life, yes.

But more than that—a spirit.

A culture. A legacy.

I want to sip aged wine

while classical music drifts through the halls

of a home built on God, love, and strength.

I want galas.

Not for vanity,

but because I belong in rooms

where vision is spoken fluently.

I want to travel to wonders God made

and say, “Look, my Father made this.”

I want to be the absolute best version of me.

I want to cry—again and again—

not out of pain, but gratitude.

Tears that say: I did it.

Tears that say: I made it.

I want to be happy.

I want to be whole.

I want to be wealthy.

I want to be healthy.

And I want God to be my number one,

my beginning, my end,

my everything.

I want to be.