A Lost Voyager

I remember being driven around but not wanting to go home

I remember poking high ceilings with silence, unheard

I remember breathing into my heart, separated from my abdomen

and expiring blazes of firework.

I remember anomalies mingling with the soft mosturizer on my skin

I remember being octracized for being more ebony than chocolate

more wolf than sheep. A blank river filled with myself.

Like a voyager,

My body became a fabric taking illiterate roots

I dreamt if baltic ember beads, red as rust they were

smell of butane in the air

flanked by buttercup and daised skies

I remember calling out with glassy eyes

knowing nothing, embracing everything

searching for home or the sound of familiarity

but most of all, I remember being lost in my soul.

Image credit: designyoutrust.com/poetic-haunting-illustrations

The Bitter truth

I know not about your faith but mine has been far from smooth sailing. You see things were simpler in the mosaic time, more in tuned with the frequency of  human nature.

The law was, “an eye for an eye”. Hate your enemy, love your friends. Then Jesus wiped all that away with his blood and instead gave us the new covenant that teaches us to be  christ like

Thank you Jesus but ehhh, how do I implement this in my daily life?

Half way through Matthew 5: 34-48, I had to do some reflecting, because I know I was guilty, very guilty of a misbalanced spiritual life.

So I said, Ok father, let’s talk. You know I’m selfish, I know I’m selfish. I even refuse to lend to people I hold grudges against, sometimes they’ve probably forgotten about it… but I didn’t.

I decided to freeze the problem at it’s the root

It was simply because I felt like whatever I give away, I will need.

You can notice how wrong that thought process is ( Matthew 6: 19-21). I suppose there are two kinds of people, those who find it easier to  share. And  me.

The Bible coax us to give, even more than we are asked without expecting it back. Pray for those who persecute us. Turn the other cheek, this is the bitter truth.

If you’re on this same both with me, then the two logical steps (which I am taking as well, is to pray for repentance.  Then, make a pact hat whomever will ask you for anything from henceforth, be it money,  a resting place, clothes, bags, whatever it is, you will say Yes, even if it hurts.

He assures me that from then onwards, it will only get easier, and I have faith in his promises.

If I’m not alone on this, then comment and share tips on what you’re doing to improve yourself.

I continue to pray that God brings out the Goodness in my heart and exterminate all greed. Have a blessed day.

It’s cold outside, stay warm.

Beyond theories

What if we

bare as we are

Shallow as could be,

are a body organ

to an aboriginal life form

beyond our science

A wonder of a world beyond reach

 

 

Is it only theories and heresay

or are we prisoners

Could we communicate with our higher self,

With God

If there were no technology. No religion?

 

 

When  you realise

We are but spirits in human drag

Nothing we see is real

We fight everyday for the truth

Within self, Outside self

But in reality, there exist  truth within  truth

Truth beyond this conscious plane

 

 

We are castigated for liberal thinking

Living an ego-shelled parody 

pictures of our lives tucked away as memories

Perhaps we are awake when we are asleep

 

 

Just think!

Everything around you

is a distraction from who you are.

The lies of humanity quenches the elixir of existence

 

 

Memory Box

“A Sacred being in time she is”

 

In  time, her reflection will morph with space. Her mannerism is brisk yet mild. Like the whiff of camphor, memories flood in with no back window,

They stagnate there, never gliding away.

She is always quiet. Slightly hard-headed. Seldomly detached. Never over-bearing. No, never over-bearing. So that she may be worthy of love,

A dream that disrupts her tossing at night.

She’d watched herself grow without changing. Drowning herself in  knowledge and skills. Migrating to new world in search of peace. Sinking herself  in despair, deception and abandonment,

What a cynical admiral of love, she’d become.

At every stage of her evolution. she’d considered herself weaker, so the age to shed her harsh shell drew nearer

 

 

“But what use is counting time. When she, herself is a  representation of it”

 

One puff is all it takes to rouse her biggest critic, even then, the high was not enough to cleanse the crater that lay siege in her salty lungs,

Something else broke inside her.

Expunged of all conditions before the fall. She ponders the bitter sweet moment she lust for, but control eludes her. Hence, she shut her doors, her eyes, and her heart,

Never more to be opened again.

Finally folded her life into a memory box. A day at a time. Delved into past insecurities. Unravelled the spool of her wounds.  She’s sailed through a fluster of change,

And made a stop at every port.

Many-a-night she’d stare out the window. And wish upon Nebula. For abundance in strength. Maybe she grants her wish this time, maybe not,

Only the sardonic hands of time will tell.

They dubbed her, fallen phantom. She is  sacred for nobody taught her the subtle charm of humility. The heritage that cradles her venerated heart,

In her time, she will be extraordinary.

As she nestles her head on cotton clouds, she see the quaintness of this fiction-less mosaic . A moment she clearly wasn’t meant to miss,

The conditions that sets ablaze an estranged part in her precious box.

How are you?

 

“How are you?”

 

He broke my heart, many a times, with the things he didn’t say

I lost my mind, glancing at my phone, daring him to call.

My eyes bled, more often than not, of sweat and dry mucus

The loyalty game is rigged, but really that’s his excuse?

He was the edge to my sword. I was the curve to his bow***

 

*Ring ring*

 

Would you look at that, It’s only took five years

By Pharaoh’s knee he hadn’t changed, that much I could tell

He says, “Aye, regardless of how you feel, let’s just be friends again”

It’s is my fault, I lingered a bit too long on familiar scents

but please go ahead.

 

 

Yes!  tell me how insensitive I was, and how you were the good guy.

The devil must be a six foot tall, hazel eyed childhood friend.

 

 

All the bruises he left,  all the waiting I did

The dawn of my pistanthrophobia

All the fight I had in me has smitten to crisp stardust

Sure I want to go back to when I thought wishes were horses

Believing my horoscope, penning down a song every Friday  night to move on from you

 

 

“So what say you, Ebony queen, how about we fight for us?”

LOL. LOLer. LOLest

He must be inebriated from piss.

 

 

Sure it’d be nice to be 18 again, or whatever

So quickly I’d forgotten his retreating footsteps down a cinder path

His snorty laugh, I thought was so perfect is now a memory

The song I wrote for him is like a worm in my hollow ears

The one that scattered me with writhing pain  now lives in an empty house

 

But whatever.

 

It took a while to rid my tainted blood of your vain addiction

and it took a while to stop being 18

I fought hard to see the pure beauty that you never would

So I’m afraid, it’ll take more than everything you got to clean our slate,

but in the mean time, “how are you?”

 

Image source: Twitter

 

A Painful Soul

“Scars

from battles hurt

as It should”

 

 

Way back when waking up every morning was a struggle (honestly not too long ago), I used to write into  my Journals aka my ugly notebook. I sometimes browse through them when I feel stuck.

My first journal is actually really depressing, I can’t believe the state of mind I was in back then, but there are some OK memories in there too.

This week I decided to reedit one of my poetry from it to prove to my readers who battle mental illness, and to myself that life can indeed get better. It is a journey, I still struggle and flop. However,  I am no longer that person, yet it is my story of which I’m proud 😀

Happy Friday!


 

Eyes

like alabaster

reaching into the darkness

of my soul,

I gasp.

 

Aroused

Inside me

A faux without doubt

Another life I’ve lived

stringing cords of distrust,

 

Or paranoia

the  definition of toxic

screaming out someone else’s pain

sliding through impressionable doom

unwillingly

 

The taste

like kolanut lingers

on my tongue

masking the chamomiley one

the ones before left

 

Scars

from battles hurt

as It should

yet I must separate the truth

from fallacy

 

Staggering

dysmorphia is crippling

oodles of bubbles ripple

through a heavy

fragile heart

 

let the  legs sink farther

quaking in unison as they bite dust

again and again

my soul will find your

darker soul.

 

Help.

friend, help!

For in solitude, I live

In solitude

I will dine.


 

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Love Only

 

” Love alone is the plug”

I’ve been dealing with  a lot as of  late. As a result, I have been meditating more to get me through. This phrase have helped me this week to counteract negativity, that’s why I decided I’d drop it  for anybody who needs to be empowered as well.

 

“There is no condemnation.

There is no judgement.

There is only love.”

 

I suppose the quote came as a result of  the fact that I have been too  hard on myself. I want to speak perfect Deutsch and I want to speak it yesterday.  It has been stressful on me because I held myself to a deadline that I think I may not meet.

On top of that, my sister got a tattoo. I tried to be as supportive as I could be when she told me she was getting one. Full disclosure, I didn’t know how to react or what to expect. When I saw the tatt, I kinda wished we would go back in time so I could tell her that it’s an absolute no from me.

These two  abstract emotions were what occupied my mind.  I believe in God’s holy book, and even more in his love. His love for me will manifest  in love for myself, and love for others.

For me that means that whether I meet my deadline or not, I can’t kill myself, in fact I ought to be proud of myself, and my sister. She’s young, maybe she will perhaps make terrible mistakes as I have, but she’ll bounce back even more so, as well.

For you, it could mean anything from self-love to world peace, whatever it is, I pray God’s guiding hands pull you towards the direction he wants you to go.

Namaste.

 

The Black hair Fiasco

“Every Hair-day  is wahala

 

I was twisting up my hair the other day.  It was the end of a wash day routine, and I randomly asked my boyfriend to help. He says yes much to my surprise meaning I’d actually have to trust him with my hair. I gulped, sectioned a portion of my hair for him.

This got me reminiscing about the time we met, I had the faux locs then.  He was in love with my hair. Months later, I decided to cut my hair as it lacked lustre. I was anxious and self aware, I didn’t know how he would react. But I trusted him. Three years later, I find myself still trusting him.

I’ve also learnt quite a bit about what Europeans think about African hair;

 

“Braids combined with dark skin  are a unique combination”

 

  1.  They think it’s exotic: Braids combined with dark skin  are a unique combination for the average eastern European, it’s not uncommon to get stares in public spaces, especially from the older generation. This reminds of the time, we went to a friend’s wedding, we visited the bride’s family home as well, and I introduced myself to their grandma. The look on her face was that of disbelief , it was meme worthy.
  2.  They think it’s natural: My boyfriend also thought the faux locs was my hair hair. But after some time together, he knew the difference between hair styles. I often get a lot of questions and requests to touch. I assume I’m not the only one.
  3. They find the natural hair rather comedic:  My german teacher confided in me once that the afro was sometime in the past known as, microphone head.  I died from laughter, apparently the phrase is still used, just not as popular as before. We also went through a phase when my hair was short, where my boyfriend’ll pat it and say, “sheep”, lol, in the sweetest way possible.
  4.  hair style change means new person:  I had reintroduced myself a few times to teachers and colleagues simply because I took out a previous hair style and rocked something entirely different. This is the stressful bit, and then the questions roll in which  exasperated  me further.

Three years  since going natural, and two big chops later, I have to  say it’s been an exercising journey. There has been up ups, down downs, and safety breeches, but I’ve loved and nourished my hair (and self) through it all.

If you’re wondering why I dedicated a whole post to talking about hair, it’s just because I think that black women, and our rights as a whole have come a long way, from doing everything necessary to have our hair look like our caucasian counterpart, and consequently destroying it in the process, to just letting ourself be loved as we naturally are. I don’t know who started the natural hair movement but I’ll use this opportunity to say thank you.

Now, let us flourish!