6/4/2018 0 Comments GOOD WOMANJeremiah told me I'm a good woman. Strong woman, a woman with baby baring hips. Tender supple breasts to milk a nation and ass so high he could rest his woes on and caress his stresses to a smooth finishing seize. So I smile because I'm humble. I submit because I am polite. I stay silent because my voice isn't on his list.
Jeremiah say he loves me because I cook and clean good. Not a fork out of place and my stews never need extra seasoning. I know his palate to a T. Two teaspoons of sugar when really it's two and a half, ironed boxers in the morning and a beer after work. The good whisky on football Sundays and the bad brandy for your high school buddy poker nights and a glass of wine when you want to get frisky. A whiff of your brisk kiss scented with Cellar Cask gets me high on ecstasy for your sweet loving and you lead me on and say good night. But wine gets you horny, so really this can't mean goodnight. But he begins to snore before his eyes close and in between compliments me "you are a good woman" Don't say nothing. Shut the fuck up. Subliminal voyage to the cycle of being a Good woman. This is what I yearned for. These are the writings on my vision board. Scribbles and doodles of a big white house, with stainless steel window frames. Blue fences and bushes shaped like my toy tea sets and life size teddy bear, coz when I sit alone in my garden I keep dreaming of Jeremiah leading me to the roses, embracing me in his hold because his hold is my world and he loves his good woman. His woman. His trophy. His wife. I wish I had a little more detail to my childhood day dreams.
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29/3/2018 3 Comments ChameleonStory There is a tree by a river, I sat by one sunny day. A Chameloen changed colours, crawling a branch on its way. It wasn't a very good Chameloen, changed to every colour beside brown and green. It suddenIy slipped and held on by its tail. It screamed. Luckily I noticed this pulsating rainbow. Luckily I feared not catching it on its fall.
"Thank you friend." This creature could talk. Asked me a wish and only one before I set him free. A wish with condition, a wish that let me choose any colour I want to be. I sat back and thought. I cradled this reptile in my hands. Until it made sense, I said, "Change me to a colour that will make me the handsomest in the land.". Chameleon jerked, jived and bobbed its head. A loud snizz and poof, it was dead. I put it down, its corpse still bright. Said a little prayer. I said goodbye. One moment passed, maybe two or three. I looked into the river, and what did I see? The same reflection as before. The same colour as me. It died proving my suspicions, my colour is complete. 23/3/2018 0 Comments Mad manMonologue They used to tie me to a tree. But I don't blame them. I was young and looking at me then, I would have tied me too. It sounds barbaric, uncivilized and inhuman. And it is. It was. Understand that where I come from we don't have words that explain how the mind works. We don't have terms or science to tell us what is wrong. If you hear things others cannot see; talk to things that cannot be heard; do things that don't make sense, then you are tied to a tree. When I was young once and normal, my mother loved me so much. She would carry me and hug me, told everyone that I was her prize, her number one, her angel. Life was sweet. The cold was nothing more than a season. "Shhh... its my story. I will tell them what I know." Sorry they don't like it when I tell people my story. Like I was saying, the cold was nothing more than a season back when mother carried me around her shoulders. Until I had a dream. I had had many dreams before, this was different. I walked to my mother's room, is what I was told and called her by her name. She was tired, I over heard her say, but she knew I was different. My eyelids half open and drool rolling down my chin. I said things I should have not and in ways I should have not known. I wasn't awake, I was still asleep but my life was tied to a tree since. The cold spread to summers when people from the city came to visit. They'd ask for me and where I was, and mama would lie that I went visiting my father. Oh yes, my father was alive...or dead. Where ever he was all we knew is that he left. I was tied to a tree in the first 3 summers, and then chained from then. Eventually when they realised that I understood, I graduated to being chained to a bed. I would learn when I was alone. The voices would teach me. By age 12 I graduated from tertiary school, I just never received a certificate. You call them Ghosts and spirits, and perhaps that is what they are. But they let me know to just call them people too. They are doctors and nurses and french man and ordinary day folks, they've taught me everything I know. I'm a certified actor, author, poet, philosopher and herbalist. I can speak 22 international languages fluently and can understand nearly any. In my prison I have had the time to learn the lessons of thousands and hardly interacted with one. A bitter sweet life. 15/3/2018 0 Comments Two pairsĀMonologue Two pairs of shoes. My boy has two pairs of shoes.One for church and one for school. An extra size too big, to out smart natures footsteps, will buy us enough time to save up for the next. When he goes to play, his bare feet are used. Limping home from cuts and bruise. In all smiles and sometimes hiding tears. He never falter, he never complains. He knows to make the most of what we gain. So he wipes them down at candle light, like a new toy he holds them cautious and secure. A spit wipe, a rug rub and a coat of Vaseline for shine. He looks forward for tomorrow,to leave his footprints in this climb.
8/3/2018 0 Comments pretty petals"Your petals are so beautiful." a blue eyed girl, came to a bench were the only brown eyed girl in school sat. Confused she looked away and ate her lunch meekly. Inviting herself, she swung her legs back and forth, opening her paper bag pulling out an apple, "My daddy says, we're all flowers" apple juice dribbled onto her chin, "and what comes out of our heads are petals.", she faced her again and yelled incase she wasn't listening, "That's why we're all different. Yours stands up high and shiny, just like a real flower." Her eyes lighting up looking at her new friends crown. "I wish my petals stood like that." sadly reminded that her hair was different. "Your petals have a pretty colour." The brown eyed girl finally let out her voice. She found her first friend. Her best friend. Two flowers in June. 2/3/2018 0 Comments dirty sockFound a dirty sock in my closet. Not sure of when or how you got it there. Two years since you must have lost it. Two years since you have been here. Pulling the dirty sock from my closet. I smell how your feet stink after a basketball game. The feet stink from your body. It would drip wet before sweaty sex, clothes falling to a splashing mess. You would pour heavy rain from your forehead. Heavy rain from your chest. Heavy rain from your body. Now your sock is all I have left.
Laying your sock on my bed. My mind traces memories of where its partner slept next. You'd lay them after press. Your brief nicely folded next and opposite, trousers stretched, shirt still on the hanger with a vest. I reminisce about that morning kiss and the rub of cotton, cheap cotton, between my legs. Giving me a rash like it was spring. But I loved the feeling. Got so used to it, I convinced myself then it was your skin. It’s how you have always been. When we began as two simple friends. Friday movie nights and Sunday school twins. Inseparable like the sock you floated in. 23/2/2018 0 Comments hopeShe liked to pose with her head cocked to the side. Right hand rested on her hip, one leg straight and the other slightly bent. An unnatural position to hold in statue but without fail, every photo she took she would pull a dramatic pose. Hope, loved pictures. Since a little girl, she would attentively pay attention to the pictures of men and women in fancy clothes, expensive watches and sometimes with a bottle of perfume at the bottom of the page. Unable to read fluently, she would sneak the magazines out of the main house where her parents worked, to their home at the far back of the compound.
One bedroom and cosy, they made the most with what they had. Hope wanted more and now older, she decided to pursue her dream. When modelling agency's rejected her because of their various criteria, her spirit only boiled in more fire to chase this dream she had since she was a little girl. Desperate for a chance, she had a conversation with her second self. A debate of whether to fall into the family business and be a maid, or keep practicing and give the dream one last try. Standing up, an idea crossed her mind that made her chuckle. Each second passing, the idea that tickled her gained momentum in being a convincing next step. Inhale and exhaling slowly, she decided crazy was what will make her stand out. Climbing the bench she was sitting on, the people who shared it gawked. It did not calm her nerves. A deep inhale and slow exhale, she bent her body from memory and practice, to what she dreamed of one day being her full time job. The people on the bench eventually fled the scene. A woman standing on a bench in the middle of the public park, was not for great company. As time passed she felt stupid. A desperate and crazy idea was not the solution. Climbing down, her embarrassment was disguised by an impressive tanning and sweat mask. A man came towards the bench and handed her a card and said, "Join my team". Confused as to what he meant she looked at the card. Walking away before she could ask a follow up question, the card read, " House of Theatre and Contemporary Arts, where the worlds crazy is our normal." Hope paid off after all. 16/2/2018 0 Comments make upI fell into the blurred lines of beautiful. Thick eye lashes, layers and layers of foundation made me believe that my complexion, my skin, my texture, was all wrong. Trying to have a face on by 7am was a task that I could not maintain. How is it that once again, women have fallen for an unrealistic proposition, to clown ourselves up to satisfy the mold of womanhood.
I have a pool of friends and make up or not they are gorgeous. One of my dearest, looked through a few of my photos and noticed that I don't indulge in "beating" my face (I don't put on enough make-up). The conversation spiraled into each of us defending our opposite perspectives. Her school of thought is that of 'it makes women more confident' and I, 'it shouldn't have to make me feel confident' I do love a good lipstick and eyeliner, and like I said I had my moments when I actively seeked for brand products in the hopes of looking like a cover girl. Until one day, my thoughts ran into my memories and I remembered my little girl self. How she never felt beautiful or adequate because what was trending then, was Britney Spears wash board abs and thigh gap, and silky pin straight hair. All opposite of what the good lord made me. Those memories reminded me of a pattern that many women fall into. Self-unrecognized abuse, is what I call it. We look for beauty everywhere around us except from within ourselves. This picture we create, is a picture that was hand crafted and molded by "others" and most likely sculpted to better suit the tastes of men. I say all this with love and respect and not at all as an angry black woman but umm....Why the fuck don't men try as hard to look as "snatched" as we do? A lot of why's coming up.... Why do women have to keep upgrading on their fashion and intellect and humility, while men kick back and enjoy us like an over decorated platter of sushi? To later complain on how we draw on our eyebrows and look fake? Why is the reason to look beautiful, a mask to disguise our fears of rejection and cries for acceptance? Why is it ok for us to keep up with appearances and teach our daughters to keep up with appearances, instead of educating young black girls that beauty is in our hearts our smiles and our stand? Why do we have to "make up" confidence and not just be confident? If make up is like paint and my face is already a work of art, then maybe highlighting it isn't terrible but don't lose sight of the art. "Appeal to the masses and you will appeal to no one. Appeal to yourself and they will follow"... be who you are because it makes you happy and fuck what everybody else thinks. 9/2/2018 1 Comment HEAVY LIKE GODHeavy on my thighs. He laid hands heavy on my thighs and all I could conjure held back my tongue from lashing out at this scum "Who welcomed you here?".
Heavy on my thighs. His hands laid heavy on my thighs, grabbed up, rubbed up, crawled up, not a moment to feel a breeze, and thrust up. The sweat built between his palms, filtering through the pores of my gown and the moisture contracting us to an unwelcome arrangement. And Lord knows why I bit my tongue. Lord knows why I bite my tongue and what else I wonder is if this makes me a slut? Does this make me weak? Is this my fault? Did I "ask for it"? And before you judge me and give me sermons on bravery and further educate me on a woman's worth. Before you shame me and make me a pariah. I'd like you to try and stand up to a life time on a leash. That binds my knees to bow at his every command; binds my will to his every word; then go ahead and try diminish the complexities that compel me to view him as God. Because when I was young that is what they taught me at Sunday school. And when I was 13 that was what I saw at home. Through my womanhood you never bothered to stand up for me, unless the world noticed and praised you hero. It won't stop now, if it didn't change then. When my mother confided in pastor's, elders, family and friends. When she was unconscious and I had to call my Uncle at 3am. Peeping neighbors and whispering friends. All fear his hands. These heavy hands. These wide endless dense hands. Hard, callous, greedy hands. Dark chocolate Vaseline greasy hands. Demanding hands. Commanding hands. Tender with a darkness hands. Won't get a second chance if you tell on him, hands. I dare you to stand to these hands. Heavy like a God. 2/2/2018 0 Comments plastic bagsThe soil is hot. Their feet pitter patter like rain drops. Numb to the heat, little boys dance and weave through the clouds of dust.
"You take a plastic bag and sprinkle a pinch of sand. Twist it round; twist it round and wrap it over again. More plastic please more plastic please, it's never too much. Round and round and round and round; we make a ball as big as your head." The moon is out now and sweats gone dry. Mothers call for their boys, get lost in laughs, thuds and cries. Plastic balls sealed over a fire are now loose. Tattered balls sealed carried through childhoods of you. 26/1/2018 0 Comments Street KidStreet kid you are a sweet kid. Kneel a beggar to rise above. We meet, but never shake hands. Cupping fingers, ashy palms waiting for a buck.
Security man, his a good man. All he wants to do is keep his job. He said, "little man, I'm a Christian but you gotta get up out here before the boss comes." Boy teary and weak, pleads, "Sir I ain't had nothing to eat. Papa left and mama dead. 3 sister's, 2 brothers heaven sent. But I'm the youngest. No time for little boy stress. I refuse to steal, I refuse to sleep empty...please sir a little longer atleast enough for some bread." Saddest songs are usually love songs. This song is a kid song, chasing dreams at the doorsteps of rejections. How do we sleep knowing these songs of echoing bellies, rumble lullabies to barely scream on. Street kid you a sweet kid, someone is watching, someone is praying...today i remembered you are a child. 19/1/2018 0 Comments Albino"Momma why does she look like that?" Barely hiding behind a whisper, children stare and point at me. Like a museum artifact, pale and translucent, my skin brings attention to my condition and not to my quality.
I pull my hat down lower to hide from the conversation and try my best to cover my hands. Ironically, hiding only draws more attention. Only 3 more stops before mine, so roughly 10 more minutes until I can escape this scene. 10 long minutes before anyone else decides to explain to their perfect skinned confused kid how pigment and skin works. Finally arriving, I can feel my heart beat anticipate an exit. The walk out is just as daunting. At the grasp of the bar to take my first step off the bus, a soft tug of my shirt forces me to look, "Sorry i didn't ask you about...you know? I didn't mean to make you feel different. Here, please have one." And just like that, I felt normal. 12/1/2018 0 Comments UnderstandUnderstand that I am woman. And not your play thing. Treat me knowingly and with intentions pure. My womb carried you. My womb carries you. If I wish you will not exist. From sheer will and intent.
Understand that I am woman. And not your play thing. If I wish, I can make you ten times stronger. Have nations kneel to you and you alone. Fill your empty pockets, fill your empty mind, with priceless lessons worth timeless jewels. Make you a beggar who rules. Understand that i am woman. And not your play thing. I will not mince my words with what i mean, and i mean it when I say i am not your play thing. You believe the rules do not apply because I apply your rules differently. You believe I do not apply the rules fairly. Well sorry me, I did not realise that the rules apply and conform differently. Pathetic me. A whore, I see. A lose legged opportunity. Well fuck you and your deceit, because the tail between your legs cannot accept defeat. Understand that I am woman. And not just your play thing. As much as I created you, you created me. Ugly monster daused in ecstacy. A living nightmare in your dreams. So remember to fear me. 9/1/2018 0 Comments Escape"Faster, faster..." swift and quiet. They walked swift and quiet past their neighbours and their friends. Summer heat was unforgiving this time of year. A crescent moon lit the path. Many left this way, at the drop of heads gone to sleep. Grandmother's and grandfather's cry in their sleep. Their heir and heirs' heir, leave their lip imprints' on their cheeks for the last time. Tomorrow the laughs outside, that boomed through the window, will be 100 000 feet away. On a journey to promises that will guarantee them a tomorrow. This home has lost the war. The walls tremble louder every night. The bombs fall closer. 'We can carry them on our backs, Adada!" Pleading to bring their history with them. Fearing they will forget. The children do not fear the journey. They fear that they will forget.
29/12/2017 0 Comments SAINTS AND SINNERSPressing his sweaty fingers against my lips, I didn't not squeak. The stench of frankincense crawled the room. I trusted him. A man of God does not harm his flock.
He did not disrobe, but rolled up his gown. Everything to the last detail was practiced and rehearsed. I was not the first to have a private lesson before confirmation. Walking past my classmates and friends, I felt ashamed. Fear crept into their hearts from the plague in mine. I could not warn them, I was not allowed. Saints and sinners, all look the same. 22/12/2017 0 Comments Poor friendsPoor friends,
Have no friends. Just people who wave and smile. Look at them, look at them, Aren't they the worst of friends? Asking friends to help a friend, Pathetic and broke. We are nothing Because we have nothing, and to somethings We are just a wave and a smile. 15/12/2017 0 Comments Where will you go?"Are you and Auntie Price going to go to hell?" Connie froze with a forced grin. Her son now 10, began to see his mother and her life partner through the eyes of everyone else. Somehow prejudice found its way in. An African boy raised by two women, with no father or man as patriarch. It was an eventuality she had not prepared for. "Aunt Price and I are happy, and we love you so much. If anything happened to us, we will always be with you. And that my dear will never be in hell."
7/12/2017 0 Comments Outside my windowOutside my window I hear laughs, and cries, and cars, and barks, and leaves clap. Some whistle some not. Squeaks and chants and scents from the bakery man. Clanking of dishes and humming. Swishes partner with Swooshes, footsteps sometimes flirting in giggles. Some soft, some loud, some gaped and some proud. Sweet happenings surround me.
Outside my window I hear the crow cry, she circles and she scratches, she flaps slow motions to her land. She pulls and she tugs, she eats her lunch, her visit liked to the clock. Her steps give hiss and screech to give cringe. Loud bang and pop, she's launches to her flock. Her echoes wave down to my bed. Moments of silence fills a moment’s gap. With a rattle, moan and a splat. More wind blows, her kisses are so cold, she carries to my window the places she's known, so that one day I can find them. 24/11/2017 0 Comments Saving my love for laterLove is a complicated process. An involuntary act of the mind and hormones. Having no clue on how much to invest or believe, it’s only natural to go all in right? I’ve been in 5 relationships overall. All dynamic in their own way, some insignificant to others, but each taught me how I need to love myself more .
I was 20 and he was 23. A Freshman in college; at the peak of my puberty; it was the perfect setting. Everything in my mind has to play out like a movie. He was gorgeous (so I thought). A sculpture of a Bantu Prince, who also happened to be balding and stood on stencils like a chicken, but from the waist up…perfection. Love consumed me. I made him my paradise, even though the signs were their. Yes, he had a steady girlfriend of 3 years but I was better, I’d tell myself. He’d text me at midnight or just before curfew and never had the courtesy of walking me back to my room(that my friends is a true walk of shame). Obviously this love story ended in shatters. He ended up having more than just one girlfriend (we were 4 to be exact). Which made this my “side chick” debut. I was too naive to accept it but eventually decided to respect myself more than i respected him. At that point I made a vow to myself, I will never be anything else other than thee priority in a relationship (other than my unborn child and God of course). Lesson 1: No one will ever treat me as second best. My second relationship was the longest. 3 years together and 2 apart (long distant). No one approved of it and to be honest I understood why. Those who know me, know that I love hard. Friend or foe my heart goes out to everyone. Doesn’t make me the nicest of people but its a great balance of the good and bad within, I like to think. Like beauty and the beast, we were total opposites but all things of the surface didn’t matter. Conversations would run to the next day. Weeks would go by and it all felt like one long moment. It was authentic, pure and simple. So simple, that life didn’t feel so hard or wrong. Alas, the problems were so profound and chaotic and out of each other’s control, their was nothing we could do to keep us together. Accepting to be apart was a lesson that time taught me to grow up. Love stories don’t last forever like in cartoons. But friendships can, and hope. Lesson 2: Make sure to not forget how beautiful life can be if your with the right person… or people. It would have made sense, at that point, to take a break. Be in solitude, find myself, get a hobby, focus on getting my life together, (cliche “eat, pray, love” bullshit). But as human nature would have it, being single seemed preposterous, uncool and not on track with the “PLAN”. You know, motherhood, being a wife and all that beautiful nonsense society fed me during my developmental stage. “Being a good wife and a good woman, is the females life purpose.” It may not be said out loud but African societies haven’t changed much in that department . Women are still expected to be wives, look forward to slaving in the kitchen, take care of the children while working, in case inside her husband forgets to give her money for groceries. I couldn’t help but feel like I was supposed to be in a relationship even though I didn’t want to have anything to do with anybody. I hadn’t grieved for my past failures and wasn’t sure if the person in front of me was someone I’d even like. But being a person of habit, I told myself to give him a chance. A chance to be somebody to me. I wrote out the scenario in my head and convinced myself that my upset stomach was butterflies. And so we met number 3. He looked like a classy pimp. It was the hairless head, neat mustache and goatee that had me thinking he was a winner. He wasn’t a winner. After receiving a number of phone calls and threatening messages. The dots connected to a previous experience of “being the other woman” and i fled like the road runner with a grin. Why can’t I find the total package. Emotions intact, i dusted it off like a pro. Lost no tear over it and noted. Lesson 3: Remember lesson 1, and get off Facebook. You don’t need to know about everybody and their tribute page to their “bae’s”.#if_it’s_all_over_your_socialmedia_it’s_not_real 4, was perfect theoretically. Strong. Intelligent. Handsome. Boxes checked out on paper and in person. It was a summer fling. As fast as it started was as fast as it ended. We met when I was on a break/holiday visiting my sister’s. A mutual friend thought we would “click”, and it was instant. But i lived in a different city. And he had never actually been in a real relationship, let alone long distant. Again, this should have been the point that i should have started the single life. But i didn’t . Ugh…was his caller id after the first month( You know the sound you make when you get annoyed, uuuuuugh!). As soon as I left to get back home, he stopped trying. It was a ‘hit it and quit it’ in the sweetest fashion. No love lost . I understood he lacked experience and for a while it was my excuse to stick with it. The potential was high for a good thing. A month later, and I called it. The relationship was going nowhere. His communication skills was worse than being constipated, waiting for that moment for something to drop. In the end, leaving made me feel stronger. It was on my terms and I didn’t compromise or stick around long enough to over invest. Lesson 4: Communication is my fundamental right, I need someone who craves my thoughts and respects my attention. And fucking replies. The last and final (for now) relationship was honestly pointless. The promises and the potential didn’t stretch past the physical. Forced and at times awkward. I was enthralled into a situation that I didn’t want to be in. In the early stages I made it clear to myself and him that I did not want anything to do with relationships. Failure is not my strong suit and seeing as “love” failed me, my interest in finding it or establishing it, was no longer on my menu. But the desperation of his efforts wore me down, and i convinced myself to care enough to see if there could be…something…anything. And finally I unwrapped the shiny wrapping and found…nothing. Family introductions didn’t help the situation and i remained loyal to the cause because that’s the kinda girlfriend I am. I will be their…until I’m not. I waited for a while, knowing he would do something stupid and that would be my exit. Debatable on whether it was my fault or his, but the conclusion stands the same. Lesson 5: Don’t be with someone just because they asked. Be with someone you want Maina. Now, I am finally where i want to be and in a relationship with myself. I am learning a lot more than what i did over nearly a decade of learning other people.(Fucking silver lining of life right?) I don’t regret any of these experiences and of course this is a fraction of what happened. There was depth and meaning and care in all of them. My love tank is low and exhausted. The focal point of my love tank needs mending. I need to love myself. It took a shitty footpath to get to that lesson. Love myself to end compromising, settling or waste time. I am worth a lifetime and i am going to enjoy every moment of it. 17/11/2017 0 Comments Night FlowerSome flowers grow in the dark.
And how beautiful they bloom. They unfold they bend, they tangle and curl. Dancing to the pitch in their pit. Wild things, rare and untamed. Majestic things, pick them with care. Harmful things, make your intentions to them clear. Loyal things, these dark beings, the night is their friend. 20/10/2017 0 Comments KateSlowly, because I’m falling.
I have to let go of your hand. This isn’t how i thought it, We had other plans. Don’t cry, baby don’t cry I’ll be here when you stand. Slowly, because your falling, You need to let go of my hand. Let me hear your last laugh, See your last smile, listen to your last song, And if there’s time, Have our last dance. We had love We had life We had time. This isn’t goodbye, It is till we meet again. |