My problem with the diaspora

And so it turns out
That you are better than us
With your wallets stuffed full with credit cards
And your bank accounts strangled by unpaid student loans

You are better
Far better than us

But your poems still have the stench of home in them
And whenever I read your work
I swear I can smell your nostalgia
Lingering
Between the pages of poems written past midnight when your world is fast asleep
Indian Almond trees
Molue
Rainy Septembers
Lagos Christmases

Interesting that depression is no respector of people
Or race
Or country code
And sickness
Hunger
Hurt
They know no bounds

But, no, you are far better than us
With your inclusive "We" of a people who still struggle to see you as human
And your "Us" of a nation that questions your identity

But, no
Please
You are better
Far better than us