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…

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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…

Unbridled Joy

Unbridled: free, undirected, unrestricted. Thoughts are freely shared. Gestures are unlimitlessly given. There are no fears, no holding back. Everything that is mine is yours; my happiness, my fears, my dreams and what I ate that day. No other word, but joy, is a fitting discription. So love me unbridled so I can know joy, unbridled…

The Aftermath

The dust settles at some point… all that’s left is rubble and…. mess – in her heart anyway. So now it’s about remembering. remembering how she survived it before… How did she do it in the past? Did she bury herself under her covers? No, she breathed… in and out and in again… that’s it… treat every moment as though you chose it. She chose this moment. It was hers… So what does one do with the moment one has chosen…? She’ll tell you when she knows…

Life is Messy

Allow me to divert for a moment. I hope it doesn’t make me less black that I’m reading a book by a white American woman, but right now, I’m relating to Amy Poehler like you can’t believe.
She says life is messy and without order. It is an imperfect balancing act of putting kids to bed, commuting and work all the while trying to make sense of it all. I liked this poem she wrote when she was just 13 years old:
When life attacks you from everyside

It hurts –

Too much –

And the most 

Painless

Easiest way out is –

Death

To survive.

So there it is. She has found my spot. I will keep reading…