Role model

I would tell my daughter the truth
Your mother wasn’t a saint
She tried to make it known
To as many that paid attention
I’d tell her of the battles
Of the nights I cried to sleep
And woke up with the brightest of smile
I would tell her of days I did not pray
I’d tell her of days praying was my very breath
I’d tell her how I put away reason
And wronged a fellow woman
I’d tell her of my guilt
But even more of my repentance
If I must be a role model,
She must hear of
My battles
My temptations
My sins
My shortcomings
Then
My victories
How I overcame
Christ’s forgiveness
His perfection
I would tell my daughter the truth

 

My uniformed love

My recent fascination, I would say ( SOON you’d know why). There is something about men in uniform and how well defined they look. Majority giving off a certain aura with the way they walk. From the hats on their head to the boots on their feet and then that manly smirk positioned at the side of their face followed by the nod in acknowledgement of ones greeting. A few knowing this, they wink you into silent admiration. Then there is the fit men in uniforms, darling don’t be caught drooling. Then there is the fit and tall men in uniform, who tower over you or for someone like me, are able to look me into the eye and see my eyes sparkle as I give off a smile. Men in uniform are a sight to behold whether in the blue, the white and the green or in their ceremonial wears. Well decorated in gold and medals. Men in uniform are a glorious sight to behold. When they stand at attention or walk majestically down the hall way or the one who professes his heart to you. Men in uniform in all their poise and definition are a sight to behold. I promise they/he are/is a pleasant sight to behold.

Unique Remedial

There are women
that pamper themselves out of their pain
Being gentle and easy with their hurt
There are others that burn the roots of their pain,
and cut it off all together
They snatch out the knife from their heart
and shove themselves quickly out of the pain
Whatever way a woman heals,
It is to her a powerful recovery
A hopeful remedy for bouncing back again

 

 

 

Tourist’s passion

I’d travel to areas of your soul
That have hidden monuments
Of your softness and strength
Capture its images
Then I’d hurry to the spring of your heart
Take a bath in its soothing waters
Be filled with its abundance
I’d take a walk at the shore of your mind
and listen to your thoughts,
empty it of things that make you sad and worry
Then I’d hold your hands
As we explore what’s left of our world

 

Realizations

Soon you realize your friendship was held together
by strings that couldn’t withstand the distance 

Soon you realize it wasn’t friendship afterall because
when time tested it, it couldn’t come out strong

Soon you realize the friendship stood when the weather
was fair and airy but crumbled at the slightest earth shake 

Soon you realize the worth of your friendship
That it walked away when your purse had echoes

Layers of healing

My darling,
You’ve peeled out 99 layers of the hurt
I hope the next layer,
The 100th layer you are about to take off
Reveals forgiveness
A thick layer of forgiveness
With healthy muscles from healing
No wounds, No bleeding
It’s time to see you covered in healing
It’s time for you to wear forgiveness

Infilling

Later,
I did not ask you to stay
I only asked you
To be kind as you walk away
I’m glad you didn’t listen
Or rather, I realised
I did not need your kindness
When I am filled with kindness
The kindness needed to breathe
The kindness that was already there
The kindness needed to survive
Not at any one’s mercy
Especially,
Not at your mercy.
Bye, love.

My fiancé is a poet

His heart drips metaphors 
that only I could understand 
He leaves commas and fullstops in the right places of my soul
during our conversation of varying lengths
and the beautiful wall of silence he builds 
when words fail him
with a door only me can walk through
understanding what he means
He loves me in symbols 
His prayer is one that goes through heaven’s doors
Asking the Lord to preserve me for him
His innocent touch is symbolic of him telling me to stay
asking me to trust him with the littlest and the most
His smile and laughter is a prose that draws my attention to the needful
one that assures me of the ease felt when loving well and genuinely
His stare is a symbolism screaming 
I’ve got you and when he says I love you, 
It is heavy and not light
A suitcase to be unpacked
Then the imagery he draws each time he stands by my side 
towering over me and hugging me till I wilt and reform
reminds me of a love I thought I had jeorpadissed long ago
My fiancé is a poet 
He has placed several rings on my finger
without placing a ring on my finger 
Then he has placed one ring all over me
Saying would you be mine forever on this side of eternity
with the loveliest of diamonds marking his promises
*If my fiancé becomes a poet*

Empathy

I found myself empathising
as I laid eyes on you again.
It doesn’t look like life
has been treating you kind.
Truth be told,
you look sickly.
You don’t look like you use to.
You look like hunger
has diminished your flesh.
You are now all bones
and look quite unkept.
What have you done to yourself
or maybe this is the fruit
of all you sowed ?
Nonetheless,
You still deserve my empathy
Please hold on to it.

Gifts like living

No it isn’t a special gift
like something i was given
when my mind developed
but it is a gift like living
something you don’t think of
or stress about doing
I wasn’t taught to live;
all that you see
wasn’t taught to me
and I’m grateful for such gifts
Gifts that are just like living