I thought I owed you,
‘What do you want to be when you grow up?’
‘Where are you going dressed like that?’
‘Who is he?’
‘When are you coming over?’
‘Can I buy you a drink?’
‘Will you take minutes?’
‘Could you listen to them?’
‘When will you have kids?’
‘Why aren’t you married?’
I truly thought I owed you,
So, I walked while looking over my shoulder,
Kept the memory of your hands, body on me, hidden,
a gift to the demons that plague me.
I thought I owed you,
ANSWERS.
I asked for time,
You wanted to dine.
I asked for time,
You asked why,
Is it worth a dime?
So, I watched you squirm, watched you act like you were building a castle.
I watched you tell everyone we were okay.
I watched you remind the world that:
“he who finds a wife…”
Wife?
I asked for time and when you closed in on what I had,
I left.
Now, here I am listening to the sound of the fridge, reaching out for my phone as it charges,
Counting the many ways I tried to show you,
Love, what seemed like a minute request to you, was an eon of freedom,
to breathe, think, question, re-align, mold, challenge,
every fibre of my being.
We will find a place,
A shelter from the world,
From the likes, comments, tweets, retweets, re-posts, screenshots.
A world where you and I,
Dwell in solace.
We will find a place,
Where you and I would be,
Still.
Dear Stardust,
How are you?
How does the sun look like where you are?
Is she bright yellow up above you, or tangy orange as she travels home? How does she look like?
And you?
How do you feel right now?
I spend my days writing these letters to you, talking to you the best way I can, using what I have.
Sometimes, I feel like I could pour my heart on paper more than on a device.
The internet never forgets.
I want you to behold my handwriting, to see how I slant my consonants, hide my vowels…
Stardust, I guess I just have better conversations with you when there is a pen and paper between us.
I am not this person,
I just enjoy playing her once in a while.
So, if you, my love are truly sorry,
Then let your remorse be accompanied by a book,
Or books.
I could plant a garden of flowers,
So, no more red roses or white roses,
Say ‘sorry’ and add ‘I got you this!’
My love, if…if truly you are sorry,
Then do as you wish, and hope that I’m pleased.
If…
For years, I kept my eyes on the road,
always on the lookout, waiting, hoping,
ready to hear the words “you!”
Not just me, my sister, her friends, their friends…
little feet, dark afro hair, big dreams, little feet, big eyes
Waiting to be told that “we are worthy, and we matter.”
So, like a bus that never arrives, I stood up,
I placed one foot before the other,
walked until the sole of my feet bled.
I chose me, I smiled with me, I loved me
I loved her so much the years breezed past.
And when a still small voice tries to tell me otherwise,
I glitter.
Lately, it feels like I’m Atlas.
I carry and I’m weary under the weight of the world.
So, I look for solace in the confines unknown,
untapped by none but my mind.
I go after solace,
Like I’m in a race.
Today, right now…with you, I want to rest.
I look for you in the places you used to inhabit.
It is easier to close my eyes and remember you,
I’ll admit that I am a coward.
Yet, isn’t it so comforting to play safe, to be in control,
To know that you cannot to make me cry?
I look for you in the memories I have of you,
Like silver and gold, I seek to blend you,
Yet when the light strikes what I know of you…it disappears into the void of the past.
Like silver and gold, I seek to mend you,
Yet when the light strikes what I thought of you…it unravels how much I missed trying to mold you into my idea of perfection.
Like silver and gold, I seek to mend my ways,
I wonder how far gone you are to turn back and see me standing right beside you.
I wait.
It may not seem like it, the silence,
the instagram and facebook posts,
the tweets and retweets.
The hours I stare at your number on my contact list.
I am waiting.
I don’t know if ever there was pride attached to a girl waiting on a boy to make a move.
I don’t know who said it wrong for a girl to wait,
But a part of me sits, silent, restless, waiting…
Waiting for a sign, just a sign…a sign…
Oh, how I sigh…
I wait.
Our people say that the past is best left alone.
They sit in silence when it visits or passes by; for they’ve long known how heavy it is to carry an unwanted visitor to bed after the evening meal.
Our people know the past so well they express it in songs, proverbs, tales…but never in the present.
So, when my heart was weary, I turned to them for help and like they know best, they made me sit outside of their space, watching silently until I had to scream…
Then they said, “The past is your shadow, everything you do or say passes by with time and when something comes back ask yourself who let that door open and why…our shadows do not stop us from walking in the sun, they do not stop us from walking in the moonlight, but ask yourself who leads? Is it the shadow or the one whom the light shines upon? This is why we sit in silence, why we sit still and let the past pass by or if it sits beside us…our eyes are forever on the present on knowing unlike it, we can stand up and leave…”
nilichoandika 