Forward

Happy Sunday erbody!

How’s the weather in your corner of the world? It’s been raining in Joburg since last night. It’s the perfect weather for staying cooped up in bed with a good book, a stew on the stove while in the arms of a bearded Nubian King! Wow! That escelated so quickly😂

Today I’d like to share what vaguely resembles poetry, but prefer calling prose… I’ve learned this week that moving on and getting over is dependant on me and not always on outside factors. I tend to play victim a great deal of the time to excuse my own holding on…

Anyway! Here you go! Enjoy the read!

So we’ve been sitting here.

Hunched over this mess,

throwing blame back and forth as though in a tennis match.

I’m tired.

Of sitting.

Of wallowing.

Of spewing accusations at you and wiping upthrown bile from my own face.

I’m moving forward.

You’re welcome to move with me.

Or you can stay behind and wallow on your own.

As always, I appreciating your dropping by for my posts! Your support means the world to me! Have a beautiful week! I’ll see you on Wednesday😘

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I Love my Hair Campaign

I’m back! So I took part in this campaign over at Twitterville! Attach a picture of your afro with a poem of encouragement. Check out the hashtag to see what other women are saying!

My fro does as it pleases.
Stretches out, shrinks back.
And so I do the same.
The world will adjust.

Invigilation

Invigilation is a slow game of Pacman. There are, however, no winners;

Just teachers entrenched in those aisle

Picking up dropped pencils and adjusting facedown student cards- bored out of their minds

Knowing fully well that their only escape is a quiet classroom and a pile waiting for that red tick- Or red cross.

Students, stuck in their seats filling pages and pages with dates and sums and reasons in hopes that they will will be rewarded. Sometimes merely waiting for the declaration: “Pens down!”

Indeed, this game of Pacman holds us all hostage!

Better Than Me

No one knows how to lift my spirits better than me.Just put me behind the wheel and give me an adventure to embark on.

No one knows how to make my heart flutter better than me. Play me something beautiful, progressions with minors and husky voices and words that sing what I feel.

No one takes care of me better than me. Give me my matchbox flat, flavours to mix in a pot that nourish my belly and my soul.

No one calms me better than me. Make the room quiet and leave me to my own devices.

No one knows me better than me and no one loves me better than me because I’m all I’ve got…

Exposed

“But then you’ll see,” she said, hands protectively over her heart.”I want to see,” was his cryptic response, his eyes appealing, begging to see what was lying beneath the protective barrier.

And so she shakily lifted her hands from  the most precious part of her. He saw it…

 She could not read his expression as he turned around, without a word, and walked out of the room leaving her confused and exposed…

Dust

“I want to be a better writer. Help me,” She pleaded. She wanted her words to touch someone. She wanted someone to connect with her ramblings.

The best advice she gave was no different to words of wisdom for the walk of life. “Keep writing… reading also helps with that.” 

And so she must keep scribbling on the page as best she can. Keep turning the page until the ink dries and soon, they will connect…