Pain

Broken

Old respite, I bid thee farewell.
I’m gone. To a place I do not know well.

I broke my branch before I flew.
I’m not going back to the place we knew.

My old friend, I bid thee farewell.
Do not think my actions aren’t swell.

Caution :you may not recognize me.
I’m broken. In pain. And I bleed.

A pain I’ll need.

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Give up?

1.16 a.m.
Screen, blank. Stare. Tears. Blink, twice. Home, silent. Headphones, blaring.
You should sleep.
Maybe.
You should lie down and continue tomorrow.

Maybe.

What’s the point working on a piece only you see everyday?
No one might enjoy it. In fact, you could be hated for it.
There is a chance it will be nothing like the picture in your mind.
This is not the first time you’ve felt deleted from history. Probably won’t be the last.

“I’d better be deleted than not to have existed”.

So, you sit up. Crank up the volume . Type.
No one got rich lazy. Plus, I am at the prime of my life.
My future self would never forgive me if I gave up now.
I won’t.
I can’t.

We can’t give up now.

In Another Life

There couldn’t have been a wronger time for us to have met.
There couldn’t be a larger distance between us.

Expectations. Obligations. Reputations.

In another life, I’d be a teacher, and you’d be a student.
We’d fall in love after school and get married after class.

In another life, you’d be the doctor, and I the patient.
I’d bask in your wisdom and cherish your care.

In a parallel universe, the stars align for us.
The angels sing when we kiss.
Your voice softens my face, your touch slows my beat, your smell reminds me of why I am alive.
I live you and you for me.
Like in the movies, you own me.
I trust you.
In another life, I am the one.

But in this life, I am me and you are you.

Boh, You’ll be fine

[ I wrote this for you. But I thought of all the others like us who feel this way sometimes. I hope you don’t mind that I posted it here.
I know you you won’t mind :)]

Life’s short boh.
I’m sure you’ve lost more than one person you really cared about.
Someone you’ll never see again.
You have an obligation to make that love worth it.
You have a duty, as the one left, to live a happy life.
A joyful life. A meaningful life.

You are going to have troubles. Shit storms. Hate.
You’re going to feel fucked.
A lot of the time, you’ll wonder whether this life is worth the trouble.

“All di suffer na for wheti sef”?

Those are the times when you need to forget about the who- you.
Forget about the when- now.
About the what-life.
And think about the why-the why.

Why are you here? Why were you born? Why are you alive?

To suffer? To hate?
To love? To create?
To be angry? To stay sad?
To destroy? To build?
To support? To enable?
Why did He let you see today?

Why aren’t you dead?

In you darkest moments, when you’ve disappointed everyone. When your eyes swell with sorrow. When your head bows in shame. When your alarm rings. When you get the rejection email. When she says no. When he cheats.

When you think to yourself: Lord, why is this happening to me?
The answer is in the question.
It is happening because it IS happening.

Because.

Your existence is bigger than you can comprehend.
The sacrifice for your salvation is larger than your puny mind can mingle with.
You are bigger than you think.
Don’t let the petty roadblocks of this stream called “life” derail you my friend.

Get up. Smile. See how far you’ve come.

If you could do anything in the world? What would it be?
Guess what? Your existence is a miracle. The air you breathe is another chance. Your heartbeat is hope for a better future.

Every pain is a reminder of the joy of peace.
Every tear is a collection of the price of freedom from all kinds of slavery.
Boh, you don’t have time to regret.
There’s this gift the Lord sent to us all. I’d like to have piece of it too.
It’s the gift of “you”.
Thank you for being you.
Go. Be. Live.

I love you boh. You’re a gift. I’m here.

Liquid Demons #ShortFiction

She wept.
My shoulder drenched.
The mucus coagulating.
Slowly. Freely.

Like an exorcist I patted.
Granting the demons freedom.
Her shoulders buoyant with fury.
Boiling. Truly.

My sister who never cried.
The one who scorned weakness.
Turned to me, me…the family weakling.
What could this mean?

At that instant, it meant everything.
That her heart was as weak as mine.
That our souls were threaded by more than blood.
The currency of pretense, dismissed.
And respect, born.

She sobbed for minutes.
Hours. It didn’t matter.
I didn’t care.
We didn’t bother.

She cursed and hit me.
She let the demons on me.
“Thank you for trusting me”, my heart screamed.
Thank you for letting me.

Mother questioned the strange noises.
The guttural muffling.
My lie made no sense.
My honor depended on it.

Mother couldn’t bring my door down.
Martha stopped hitting.
My shirt was torn in many places.
But on her heart…worse bruises.

She rose from my arms.
Towered. Regal.
The demons…gone.
Or so I thought.

“This time, I’m done. Come, let’s pay that idiot a visit.

Sorry


Sorry.
What is the essence of an apology?
Who apologises?
Me for saying,doing or even inferring something hurtful?
Or you for failing to understand my point of view and thus getting hurt by them.
Why should anyone need to apologise?
Why should anyone hurt?
Why should anyone get hurt?
How does one hurt?
Why do I feel this pain?