6/10/2018 0 Comments prayTalks I believe in whatever magic,
Changes all skin tones to one shade of gold. Ends all mental standards of beauty sold. Let boys be boys unashamedly love, Who he loves and let that be part of his goals. I’ll be in whatever magic Sends a church that doesn’t always focus on wealth. A church that shows care of its flock’s mental wealth, Mental health. A magic where church doesn’t make me hate me. Instead teaches me kindly, Of a love so pure and timely. Stroke my conscience to think more wisely, To choose decisively And have it guide me. Feel its hug when I fuck up. Not made an example to be preyed upon, Instead a sinner welcomed in prayer to carry on. I do believe in life’s drizzles of magic. The silence before a new born first cry. A stranger’s smile catching mine. A woman’s tenderness ending all wars. The good in you, Like the good in me, A reflection of God’s love, Where we are all one shade of gold.
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4/10/2018 0 Comments condomize(100 word story) "Condom? They make me itchy", he said. "Why? Don't you love me?" Squinting back at me, he made me question my request. Am I being impractical? We aren’t married. Should risk it? Give me a better reason than a guilt trip. My thoughts weighing the options and consequences. How easily my old self would have excused and compromised my decision to please a man. Promising nothing more than a one night stand, booty call, a friend with benefits on his terms. Guaranteeing being his queen only for tonight. "But dick makes me itchy." I replied. "What? Don't you love me?" 20/9/2018 0 Comments cage it.(Poem) Just before my heart sleeps, I’ll remember of how it used to drop. A splatter so messy, It’d make slipping off its tray. Pearly walls ran with my blood. Clumsy I was when I walked. Tripping over everything and everyone. Silky and slimy, It fumbled from my grip. Gluing between my fingers. Palpating rhymes of, You are such a fool to love again, And How could you have let someone new drop in? Strong but stubborn, This heart of mine, Still pumped love. Icky and squishy it was, When lifting it up. I’d have to peel off necklaces of lint. Whoosh… whoosh… I’d blow the dirt it befriend. So many people we tripped over, My heart and I. So many lessons we’ve learnt. Finally, carrying her in a padded cage. Key shredded so finely, past sand. Safe she is now. Hanging from my head. 13/9/2018 0 Comments tomato(story) Round and ripe, her baby could not sit without rolling over. What a fat baby, she thought. Squinting through the steaming pot over an open fire. A round ball in peach knit bootees and overalls that kept catching the thatched mat. She rolled on her belly like fallen fruit. Her fingers so stubby she would latch on to them, rapidly grasping to unexpectedly pull away. Chocolate skin stretched so tight like rubber, a needle away from pop.
They can’t say I don’t feed you or that I don’t care. Motherly thoughts ran to as far as the next concern. Worry of what the next mother might think; what her in-laws might say; she is too big; she is too clean; she shouldn’t suck her fingers. Anxiety mounted just because of this round baby, nearly ready to explode. Carefree, the baby rocked back and forth across from her emotionally constipated mother. Unknown to her how much she was neglected. Unaware of the cruel things her bearer replayed in her mind. Of how she could ‘accidentally’ tip the pot over and perhaps it be ‘too late’ to stop the runny lava, to ‘accidentally’ scorch her skin. Dazed in her daydream void of screams for help, she wondered if her layer would peal like a tomato. Grabbing a handful of flour the woman dusted it over the pot. The wooden spoon knocked gently against the steel sides. Feeding her made up for these thoughts. The aroma dancing towards the mat, seized her rock in delight. Swift these moments were, when her innocence melted her mother’s cold despair. How happy she was recognizing that it would be time to eat soon. How loving she was looking to the only person who cared enough to see her fed. 7/9/2018 0 Comments full moon(Poem/ Folk Song) Look to the moon, She said, Look to the moon. And I’ll, Look to it too. Promises come true. Always on full moon, Up there I’ll find you. Hold on to your pillow, She said, Hold on tight. I’ll be by your side. I’ll kiss the air goodnight. It’s not pretend, I’m by your side. We… Will meet when the days align. So dream… We are just distanced through time. We will be lovers again. We are, Best of friends. This ain’t the end. I promise, Let’s build a fence. It’ll, Guard us in. So we, Built up a lovers wall, We did. We built it high, Safely tucking in, Proudly gasping, Would look at that. Securely dreaming, Of growing a team one day. “What if” Fantasies are fun to play. I prayed it’d last a longer than a play. But the walls began to crack away. Watched it crumbling, I’d say, Would you look at that? I thought we’d be happy here, I begged, please stay, my dear. We can figure it out. But your steps, Already out. I guess it was all pretend. With these pieces, I’ll lock myself in. Singing, Look to the moon, She said, Look to the moon. I’ll look to it too. I’ll look to it too. I’ll miss you. Promises don’t come true. Now it’s just you. It’s always been you. Take care of you. 30/8/2018 0 Comments Arrested romance(Story) She catches his breath carried in the wind from the 6 meter distance between them. His torn jeans make way to his scraped knees hanging off the ledge. Dirty hands hardened from garden work, the tan reminds her of midnight. Staring at these hands she grows to trust him. They are stronger than the man she is united too, wants them more than the reach of her child’s.
If only I can hold them, she thinks. Her top sits loose showing off her shoulders, baring enough to vividly imagine her sagging mounds full and lush. Short gazes stolen from across the way she notes each one. Tightly wound her head wrap is perched modestly, pronouncing cheek bones reminiscent of a gazelle. Silky, her skin is dusted with cinnamon he grows to love her shades. Purer than the woman he is promised too, yearns them more than water. If only I could graze them, he thinks. A romance arrested in glances. 23/8/2018 0 Comments market place(story) “My grandmother made it” that’s what Alice would say to fetch a higher price.
They like such stories ‘It’s made from ostrich egg’ or ‘we make the string from special reeds’. An old rusted brooch she found one fortunate afternoon held together by woven leather pieces became priceless after a well thought out background story. Her grandmother had died several years before she was born and it did not seem too bad of a lie because she would have probably told her to tell the story in the first place. They were a family of street vendors, similar to European gypsies but without the elaborate customs. What they found, was mended and resold at a profit. By assessing a tourist’s backpack and accent, Alice managed to fix a price that sounded reasonable to the guests but locals would spot fake, like rotten fish disguised in a stack. Locals were not so easy to woo. “She is very talented.” “Yes. She was.” Her eyes lay low taking glimpses to see if they took the bait. “Ooh shame…how much did you say it was again dear?” the zipper of a jean fanny pack zinged open to uncover a wallet. The pet name confirmed it and this was her favorite part. A gamble of the trade. Too high and the wallet would apologetically sink back in to its fortress and she could not afford a loss today. Too low and she would agonize over how much more she could have made all week. A Kangol backpack set and thick European tones, the last move was essential. Clasping onto the neck straps, to play into distress, she let out a mild sigh of sentiment, “18 dollars only” it was risky. Not a common price by vendor standards. But her trinkets had a unique quality against the others in the market. They were handcrafted with special detailing, appearing skillfully made amongst the rest. As anticipated, the customer hesitated. Taking a step back, they stood up straight grabbing their waist. Side to side they stared at other stalls. Calculating the number of ornaments and trinkets that could be bought from elsewhere for the cost of just this one. “But for you, I will sell for 15.” Conveniently blurting out a lower price before they gravitated elsewhere. “Okay…” shuffling their pocketbook they regrettably handed over a 20 dollar note, foreseeing the chances of her not having change. “Oh, that’s a big note.” Tagging on a knot at the corner of her wrap. It held a blue plastic bag containing a roll of money in a various currencies. Her customer’s underestimation of her wealth showed in their gob smacked expression. Astonished at how wealthy a little African vendor lady is from selling only trinkets. “Here you go.” Chuffed with herself. She handed over change in Euros at the prescribed exchange rate. “Enjoy your stay.” 17/8/2018 0 Comments black toe nail(Monologue) Black toe nail has me feeling ugly today but I guess that's how God wanted it. I guess I didn't take care of it well enough. Hard hands have me feeling less woman tonight. I guess I use them too much. I guess that's why I am alone most nights and that's alright. Until I notice the lines on my forehead dent deeper, they are longer now. Until I catch my nipples point to the floor, they simply lost their tease. Silence tremors vacant corridors. Deserted corridors. Empty. Scratching on a netted web, reprimanding her because she is to blame. She wants to live a perfect lady life. Find true love and to become a wife. A lifestyle now joked on. A satire poked on. My lips flake off while I laugh along because it has been so long. It has been THAT long since I had anyone near me. Curl between biceps, holding tenderly on triceps and have my black toe nail and I claw into milky sheets. Have the bed shake so hard like an exorcism at its peak. I’ll watch the seasons pass for my patient seek. True love. New love. Till then black and I will learn to speak kindly to each other, just in time before we meet. 9/8/2018 0 Comments pillz(Story) Rattling the pill bottle she listened in thought. Contemplating whether to take as prescribed or indulge on a few more. No longer in hospital, the swelling on her knee subsided and bearable to walk on. The pallets eased her fears, nurturing an ailment far off from its prescribed note. Ordinary days finally seemed ordinary. Cleaning the house flowed leisurely. Pots sizzled in music, Tupperware stuffed, sealed and neatly tucked in the freezer. The chores kept her company blissfully right before gloom cast in. Her spine coiled at the creak of the knob every day, at half past six. Devastation caved her chest upon his return. “Hello honey” staggering through high spirits. “Mmm…” uninterested of her vigor. “I made oxtail for supper. Banana loaf and custard for dessert” desperate for his approval. The heavy briefcase smashed the table like a play set before he seated, watering off her grin to a corner. Cautious of his mood she glided to the seat next to his and slid the heavy box aside. Observing his loud breaths behind each bite, she fantasized him choking on his fork. “Go wait for me in the bedroom.” words spat out. Relieved of one expectation, it was time to prepare for the next. Gripping the seat stiffly her fingers tore through the plastic cushion cover for the sake of quietly mouse away. But before then, a little moment to herself was desperately sought. At last with her favored friends, she tossed her head back and met an agreeable reflection. A few more can't hurt. A handful of water splashed a needed chill to her cheeks. She watched her pupils drown her iris black. We’re ready. Her feet softly patted to hell. Numb for the rest of the night. 3/8/2018 0 Comments P!nky swear(Story) Once... Once upon a time there were two hands. Instantly soul mates they helped one and then the other, chop themselves off from the rest of their bodies. Running away together pinkies interlocked tight, their anatomy yelled, “You won’t survive.” Forest dark and dreary, pointing finger and middle pattered in. A courage most commendable, spirited from within. They took turns leading the way. Jeweled poisonous vipers bit one down. The other lifted its half with gusto to then run. Squeezing out the venom clean once clear from the shiny serpent’s sights. They resting from the attack they had left behind. Settling to the darkness, creepers silently coiled around the runner, who bruised and bled from the thorny killers. Luckily, its bonded partner grew nails sharp as a sword. Swinging back and forth it clipped and cut the tight vines right off. They spun and swung eventually falling into a horrendously violent river. Waves thick as mud caved to swallow them whole. Beginning to doubt, they sank wondering if it is worth it all. But pinkies never letting go, their strong thumbs anchored them through. Hooking into the sand they clawed until eventually reaching the dry shore. Tired and tested, a final challenge stood at both tips. A forked road to a promised paradise. One long and guaranteed; the other short and satisfying. Was this a trick within a riddle? Was this a test of their truths? Divided by choice, they tied a string to each pinky. Trying to outwit the moon. “Make sure to tug to let me know that you are ok.” they signed. Far and yet close, still together in each step. One went on and the other went another. A tug on the first night. Two on the second. By the third the string was caught in a pull. It remained strained. So much so it hurt to take another pace, both feared it may break. Steps further were impossible to make. So one tied it to a tree, fell to its knees for forgiveness before moving on. The other waited in sickness, suffocating on the grip of a string now held by a bark. Neither of them sorry for the stories they had made. Each one glad with the memories of a soul mate they once met. “Happily ever after is the journey you take.” Said the moon. “Happily ever after is in the decisions you make.” 27/7/2018 0 Comments mocking swallow(Poem) Swallow's float around him. They know he is impaired. Their songs sound like laughter, Confusing his self-chatter. ‘Leave me alone’, he swears, ‘Before you defecate in my cup, Before I sling you down from above, Before you see how mad I can become.’ Swallows swim lower Singing louder Teasing his screams and threats. POP! One drowns to the bottom. Finally, The sun respectfully cleared. Perched back on stepped rock, He sips on red mug smug, ‘I warned them to not play here.’ 21/7/2018 0 Comments buzzcut kingStory'em His eyes. Such beautiful eyes. Streaks of purple, grey and green. A buzz cut king. An unequivocal beauty. Bold in gestures but a feathered grip shared secrets of his true textures. Loving, kind and loyal.
He’d say, “Oh. Why you look lovely today” surprised I made efforts in seek of his praise. Took me out on divinely splendid unexpected afternoon dates. Out of my cubicle. Out of my walls. Knew I didn’t have a dime but dragged me along even when I clawed. I loved him quietly. Silently. Suspecting I did a good job. But who could hide from his rude glare. Bolting me in place, demanding obedience incomparable. Unexpected flatter when added to his Gram. Grin stupid like a blushed waving smiley, finally making it to his Whatsapp status. Peek an hour later and all traces of me gone, must have been a mirage. Run through it one more time to find twitter feeds, memes and quotes? Damn, I really am not on. Smiling mildly thinking, must’ve took it down for a clean slate. Chin up Ma. Wrong time up. Wrong line up. One day I’ll make the 24 hour markup… just you wait. Inbox me troubled, made it priority to come through. All I could offer was the truth. Wiping fears, “They don’t define you.” remind him, “Mistakes are lessons in participation. You are a King. Never question your place. I got you.” Be there for the next time and the next time and the next. On my turn, I reached out hesitant faith remnant. Open haven arms reached out to huddle me. Cuddled in mantra “Everything is going to be okay.” I tucked in. Feeling him close. Let him close. Spooning my back. It warmed me. Layers of cold dispelled from me. Believing the power of friendship in ‘we’. But a time came. An unexpected ending of a fairy tale strained, when these hands became too familiar for him to feel safe. Offered to carry his bags to share the task, “Nah. It’s cool, I can pull my own weight.” Stepping’s loaded to show how much I care, encountered impact, inaudible slaps shaking the very core of my weight. But always holding on to that promised faith. Until finally I heard the last of his courtesy “You ACT like you know everything. But you don’t know everything”. Heart in my lungs. Once welcomed, now a poison. Useful only when it suited him, only when it soothed him. It rings louder of how he used them. Noticing the cracks too late our shells had fallen, weathered and dusted. Pieces lost in the wind. Our ship was faulted. Not wanting have to stay. No more strength to sink in pain. How small I must have looked through his eyes. His beautiful eyes. Purple, grey and green. Buzz cut king, I wish I knew how to be better for him. 13/7/2018 0 Comments runStory Whispering to her friend, thinking I don’t understand, my pulse begins to run a triathlon. The minibus conductor forces us to sit shoulder to shoulder, “Eish… the way she smells” scrunching her noise in exaggeration, “like onions and garlic but they still manage to take our jobs.” Now I have to maintain my solitude and hold my breath. If I am still, paralyzed in an upright position, she will stop. If I say something, my accent is a dead giveaway and make things worse. So shhh.
“First they clean our toilets, slash our grass. Then, give them a few more years…” speech heavy with loathing the corners of her mouth foam while her friend titters. Smiting my back with daggers I can feel them carve into me, digging into my pride, “They sleep their way to the top.” Her decibels increasing, passengers in front of us turn to glance at the venom and our eyes lock. Welcoming them, I pass a timid smile. Generously dishing out respect, overcompensating to buy at least one them for support. They reject it. Wrinkling their noses, gracefully turn away squeamish. My heart sinks further, gathering I have no allies. “If they are so brilliant, why aren’t they in their own country? Why do it here, and steal our men? Mmm…they are disease you know?” agitating a response. An icy breeze cuts through the metal carton, a hissing window scratches against the sandy brim. Despite the sour winter the conductor pushes it open. Perhaps to calm the steaming witch and ogre? Or to dry my malodorous nerves? We jar against each other and the silence speaks volumes. A bitter raging red quiets around me bonding them. Fuming repulse. Very patriotic. A fox amongst wolves, I am unwanted in this pack. “She must go back. They must ALL go.” Halting at a bus shelter, engine still humming and the door yawns abruptly. A full minute passing with no one boarding or offloading. The camp has spoken, unanimously, I am voted out. I grab onto the cushioned rest to crouch out in forfeit. A smooth bang followed by a screeching glass slid shut, they rattle off. Finally taking in a deep breath, thick fog escapes. Pheeew… Tugging down my sleeves, I shield my chest folding my arms. Today they tolerated me a little longer. I can walk from here. Better on the ground, where I have an option to walk a little faster or run. 7/7/2018 0 Comments Cave witchA Story There was once a horrible woman. She did horrible things. Luring children with strange gifts squishy, cuddly and some with wings. Living in a cave lit with fire flies and quartz, silver walls shimmered against streams. Stalactites in milky bronze, sparkling needles on her ceiling. Roots slithered into her steps, climbing up when she walked. Injecting through her skin wet yellow veins dancing up. Gruesomely escaping from her warty chin with a pop. Snapping her paws the entrance disappeared shut. Camouflaged thicket of reeds clouded them lost. Bodies huddled into a corner they noticed she had no eyes.
“Are you a witch mother?” last words before their doom. “Many names upon me children. One too many a moon.” Tossing seed, soil and herbs to her mortar, fist morphed to marble pestle. She grinded a mixture which she then chewed, “Goddess, Mother, Monster, Demon to Queen.” The words echoing with a slue. Convulsing, gagging and spazzing she spat out luminous pink goo. Sprouting Poppy’s, Arum lily’s and Pansy’s irresistibly scented, radiating the room. Tempting out her guests from the corner, oculists wide with pupils swelled. On their fours they chugged and chuffed, lining up to follow next. Under her spell they went, dropping on to their chest. Arms matting to sides, wiggle and wobble they meshed. Bodies tubular they combined, making a segmented worming cylinder, to her impress. Puce toned, it gobbled up the plants, squirming to where she went. “My beauty, my pretty, from children I’ve wove. Rest with me, cuddle to me, accompany my goals. You may swim. You may eat. Play inside, when it is too cold. But if you dare leave me, they will kill thee and lonely again I will woe. To collect a new set, churn potions pure? Tasks so dreary many years to form. So stay always here. Be close my little dear, for one day I will need you to fly.” 28/6/2018 0 Comments yesI’m a hopeless romantic He got on one knee. She knew what it meant. The most handsome of handsome in the country tripped into love for an unlikely ladybug. Shapeless waist, lumpy thighs and layered chinned; shadowed her smarts and charm.
He got on one knee to say, "I love you.” Climbing his fingers up her thighs, “I wish to mount your hills every morning.” Gliding on to her waist his hands cupped her pudgy tum, “plant our seeds together and help them grow.” His arms stretched to trace hers, pulling them from behind her. Shrinking to cope the gawks and envy, he pulled her closer to feel safe. Warmth cloaked her carrot fingers, “give me the gift of having you. Give me the gift and say, YES.” Tears glassed her iris, pronouncing the brown. Work colleagues and clients at an annual Christmas gala, disapprovingly froze at their boss stoop to trenches. Mummer’s exploded in clusters, encouraging the streams to tumble down her cheeks. Embarrassed. Ashamed. Frightened. She grabbed all the whispers that shadowed her life, which caught up to her engagement too. His voice, the first to shine the darkness away, "Shhhhh...You are the beauty. I am your beast." Phrasing her favorite fairytale. Hopeful. Secure. Certain. She bowed in and placed a kiss. 22/6/2018 3 Comments Hide and seekStory/Poem AKA Story'em She had fallen from grace too many times, to the point she learnt to land on her feet gracefully. Notorious for her antics and retreat. Her faith was smeared, tainted and condemned. Her mother’s repeated efforts seemed to flow through her like water.
A wave of change, an epiphany, surged through her like a light to paraffin and die each time she felt God was finally in her favor. Forgetting how rock bottom felt like when barely off the ground. Righteous and entitled, power blinds her conscious. A journey they watch through and talk through, behind their curtains. Making her the example to their children so that they never get infected. Children who played hide and seek without her. Those girls and boys; now men and women; her friends turned demons; show pony of reasons; bet on how she will die. 15/6/2018 0 Comments Shepherd CleanPoem Shepherds don't rake their grass,
They let their sheep graze. To let the wool grow and prance Wash them free of flaw and harass. Eventually naked they shave. Clothing you and I In stance. Proud of the sheep skin we made. 1/6/2018 0 Comments Summer school friendsShort Story We met in summer school. My parents noticed I didn’t learn how to read as quickly. I still relaxed my hair then and he locked his. Shorter than me, his interesting exterior didn’t shy him from them crowd. Hardware to straighten his over bite, glasses to correct his vision and summer school classes to correct his speech.
“Wwwwon’t you sing to me?” he’d ask every girl he came across, “Wwwwon’t you sing me my name?” Over hearing his mother explain to teacher of how he heard someone like him in a movie, and he took to those words like spare change. He wasn’t stupid, slow or dumb. He wasn’t oblivious to the meaning of his question. That was all part of his charm. “How about you give me a melody?” I found courage to ask, “ and we make music after class.” 18/5/2018 0 Comments Love in eyesConversation (Thoughts I had on a coffee queue one day. he caught my eye and I ran with it)
Her: You got those lazy eyes. Those dreamy eyes. Got me thinking it would be nice, to fall in love again. Him: You got those big brown eyes. Those dreamy eyes. Make me dive inside and catch up to your heart pumps to flow through your veins despair. Her: Your stare makes me smile, makes me pound, makes me sound out long sighs, mmmmms and ahhhhhhs, trying to catch a breath. Him: I trap your glimpse and savour the shivers down my spine. You should be mine. I'll make no promises but I'll always try; keep your eyes dry; in January's to December's sky. As long as I get to stare. Her: This daydream was plenty nice and maybe he would be nice. Having barely time; wishes may come true in time; but there's barely time. Words unsaid, instead timeless conversations intertwine, floating thoughts turning to sparks made us mesmerized. Monday morning coffee orders making movie dreams real life. Those dreamy eyes, those lazy eyes, catch my cry kind eyes. Love at first sight is some bullshit. 11/5/2018 0 Comments Silk BombsPoem Silk bombs,
You feel like spider webs. Do you taste like cotton candy? Floating around, Lighter than a feather. Floating around, You are stronger than a diamond. Mother won't let me touch you, But I still try to catch you. You fly away. You fly away. Silk bomb. Won't you come to me? 11/5/2018 0 Comments Grandma,my AgogoPersonal Piece Lines across, lines up and down. She sits in a slouch, Agogo is a funny one. A butterfly patters, her eyelids flutter and she asks it when she will leave. Agogo, my mothers mother. Agogo the funny one.
Skin emaciated, once bold and like leather. She swats away invisible flies. Takes her top off during hot weather. Laughs when the dogs bark, like friends reminiscing on old times together. Wraps her hair with old clothes and tucks in old letters. Writings posted from gone loved ones. She still smiles though she can't see them. She still remembers the words barely faded, folded and greased against her temple. Agogo you are a funny one. A voice like a cherub, she always sings. Especially when her daughter and husband disagreed on things. She sings and sings, until all our ears start to ring. She sings and sings, until we are tranced into her feeling. Powerful like a dream she spreads her wings. Powerful like a dream she still visits me. My agogo, you are a funny one. 5/5/2018 0 Comments X and o'sMy History X and O's remind me of my childhood.
Thighs my chosen parchment, Razor blades and safety pins my graphite. Fat girls don't get to cry. Ugly girls don't show it stings. So I play hide and seek when it hurts, And in dark spaces I cross my legs and count to ten. Silence drowns the doubt. Heart beat builds up sweat from passing footsteps, Wishing someone would ask of where i went. Ringing and spinning my loathing to living orbits my core. I hide on my bathroom floor. Towel laid out under me like a magic carpet, I lean against the door. Its ok to play this game if you know what for. Razor blades for X's and safety pins for O's. I remember this game. I knew what for. 27/4/2018 0 Comments ScentMonologue The vaseline you sealed your hands with, locked the stench of what you last touched. Lavender soap left its traces, but its camouflage is like a leaf blocking the sun. You pinch my butt before you drop your keys; stroke my cheeks while giving me a kiss bedewed from another. My heart freed by your tenderness. My soul returned from denail. Courage on display, I chimed
"You forgot to wash off your face honey." 20/4/2018 0 Comments fwancyPoem How did you get so classy?
How did you get so rich? Got you acting all funny, Like the world is all glitz. You invite me to your parties. Champagne glass made of ice. Got me feeling funny, Thinking," damn, this that fwancy life." Then I feel it dripping down the stem, Like an ice cream cone in hell. Asking for paper towels or a bowls, Tempted to chew through this pretentious stem. Is this the same miss? Whose version of shots Was a direct bottle kiss, Like a baby on a tit. Is this the same miss, Who loved the simple things? Sweaty dance floors, over fried French fries and sleeping in. You invite me to your fancy parties. Strict dress code, Detailed to the hem. Touring three floors of your mansion And not one room lived in. I guess that’s that "slay" life, Asking for things you already have, Bragging on things we used say, don't matter. But it’s that fwancy life. We used to look at it over fences, I guess I should thank you For giving me a glimpse. 13/4/2018 0 Comments Morning giftsStory He left a daisy on her windowsill every morning before she woke up. Every morning she gave a smile when she met it opening the window. How romantic, she would think. Since her family moved to the neighbourhood, she received this gift. Ironically named Daisy Street, every corridor road grew daisys. Next door to her, it was by chance to have her bedroom window opposite his. A young love blossomed. He watched her smile every morning and wish her hand would hold his one day like she held the flower.
Pressing the doorbell, all anxiety settled in. A decade of knowing Sinclair from a distance, not a wave, wink or glance. Their lives were separate and parallel. Jacob worked for his uncle as a houseboy since he was 8 years old. He lived on Daisy Street with his ordinary parents, who died in an ordinary way. His father's younger brother was a mean fat brute. As sole gaurdian, he made sure to inherit his brothers home and abused his nephew to make sure he would never contest. The bouquet of daisy's was all he could afford and to let her know it was him who sent her a daisy's since she moved in. Looking through her dairy, each page corner had a white petal glued on each tip. For every flower she recieved she wrote a prayer. To meet this stranger, who was consistent in giving her a daisy everyday. The doorbell rang a few times before she got up. Dragging her feet purposely, she opened the door to find her prayer answered. Together ever since Sinclair opened her door, Jacob's life grew into a new purpose, to make Sinclair a happy woman. They had their struggles. Her parent's did not approve of their daughter being in love with the neighbours help. Fortunately, another decade later, Jacob's uncle died and everything that was wrong was put to its rightful order. Jacob inherited back his home and the family business. Their world was better than a dream. Now he rests on a tombstone and lets out a cold breath. Tugging at his front shirt pocket with thick knit hand mittens. He slowly pulls out a crumpled stemmed daisy and lay it flat on her plaque. He ironed out the wrinkles. He ironed it out the best he could. Then opened up her dairy and read out her prayers. From when he first gave her a daisy, to the last daisy petal she glued. |