Tuesday, December 18, 2012


 For a long time, I thought another birthday meant the beginning of the year that was represented on the cake if ever there was one. I once even argued about it when someone tried to tell me otherwise. Exactly a month from today will be my birthday. I will be concluding my 23rd year of existance, even though 23 is what will be written on the cake that I will demand for.

It has beena strange year this one. A year of beginnings and endings; of hard lessons and wisdom gained. So, look at me trying to sound profound at 22.9166666667 years old. This year is one definately worth celebrating. I managed to finish school, graduate and get a job all with in a space of about 4 months. I started this strange journey of finding myself as a writer. I never should have started it because after the frustration, angst, confusion and striving, I find that I was in the right place to begin with. My starting point is where I was supposed to stay.

I love poetry and words and all that staff. I wanted to write staff that moved people's blood the way theirs moves mine. I threw away my niche and said I was going to find it in the eyes of another. Recently I read an excerpt from, Letters to a young poet and this gentleman asked his correspondent
"ask yourself, why do you write?"
I have to go back and ask myself that. A good friend of mine told me to write for myself and I found it selfish, only because I didn't undersatnd it. I have to look within, fellowship with me and find out why I do the things that I do. Only then, will I communicate, only then will I be authentic. Only then, will I be true.

I will not pretend anymore. If I'm to take anything from 22/23. It is that. It is time to be real. I want a cake which looks exactly like that for my birthday.

Thursday, December 13, 2012

Pictures of me, Pictures of you

Play time

serious discussion

it was a work day

I love his poetry

my name;

I'm not just a girl, I'm a flame. Watch me burn with the passion of life spreading love.

Thursday, December 6, 2012

Broken hearts and bad dreams

"..When you are sleeping with a broken heart,
the waking up is the hardest part..."

Said James Blunt in that voice of his that makes you buy whatever he's selling. Last night, I had a terrible dream. I think, when you are sleeping with a broken-breaking heart, the sleeping is the hardest part. Because then you are haunted with all those thoughts but only now they seem so real. I woke up and I was shaking, literally. I could not go back to sleep. I was breathing fast and had to calm myself down

These broken strings
Causing a bleed
to the very hands that are trying to fix them.
They dig.
So deep, so firm.
Through muscle they cut.
Bones they want to slice.
Dare you to care?
Enticed by music out of tune;
Noise enchanting.
Cages your mind,your heart.
Your will slowly giving in.
Vision blurred.
Hues of confusion and uncertainty become your sight.
You've become.

This is a piece I wrote about 6 months ago. Guess what? I was not just having a great inspired moment, I was expressing my feelings. I was trying to get to know this person who was hurting. Refer to my earlier blog "Ambidextruos". It wasn't going well, he had wall after wall, each thicker than the last. Someone said I am a fixer. That is why I wanted to get close to this person, to fix. So one day, out of frustration, I thought to myself
"why would he let me in? He is right to be guarded like that. I mean, don't I want this just for selfish reasons? Just to get my fixer's fix?"
However, I was so worked up about it that I realised I needed help, I needed to get away. This wasn't working.

I went to bed with just a bit of sadness, just a bit. The kind that gets you to tweet hings like

"In a whisper I said, dear heart, forgive me. I should have protected you from yourself."

Just a bit, the kind that makes you get to bed early and say no to supper even when it's something you were looking forward to. The kind that comes from realising, you might be feeling a little too much; asking questions and guessing answers. Somehow giving yourself the worst case scenario so that you are prepared. But I wasn't prepared for this dream. It was worse than the worst scenario I had come up with. It felt so real. It was happening in my bedroom, in my bed. When I awoke, I wanted to jump out of that bed, it reminded me of too much. I was shaking. I still shudder a little at the thought of it. I closed my eyes and prayed.
"Dear Jesus, help me.." that's not what I said with my mouth but its what my heart was screaming. My mouth just let my spirit take charge. I know all is well,

When you are sleeping with a broken heart, the waking up is the best part because then you get to start again, to move on, to heal.