Father’s cot.

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Afbeelding Albert Neuhuys – Watching father work

Time is always ticking inside of my mind.
I do not remember a time, when i was sound.
Maybe in childhood, definitely not adolescence,
the last time that i was present,
not prone to self negligence.
Before all of the strenuous, tumultuous lessons,
visions of love, and trust, rolling in the dust.
Is it not too much to ask for something that is non reminiscent of love?
Last night, i had a dream of my father, through muffled whispers,
I told him..You hurt us, you deserted us, and now I am perpetually nervous,
anxious,
hyper sensitive,
wondering,
does this man love me so?
Will he too go?
Will we never ever get to grow?
Will i never ever know, is the fault mine,
or is he the very foe?
And he too,
and not to forget him from last year?
How long?
Before I call them all a villain, perhaps the villain lies within myself,
my own hell,
the world that i created through my father, i said to myself,
if he loveth me not, then why should any other of his kind not leave me to rot?

Fathers cot.

Cindy Anneh-bu
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Blue day..

  
It has been a blue day, so I set my cup of tea calmly beside the window pane and watch the rain drops trickle in slow motion. I wish that they could stall time, and they truly do make the days go by, slower, so that I do not even realise when the grey sky fades to black. And I am still sat Infront of the window in my worn woolly slippers and my sea blue night gown. Now I trace shapes among the misty windows and every now and then breathe hard so that I may start again. I hate mistakes. And I have made my fair share that I ponder on days like these. When nothing makes sense anymore. Not even looking back, because I have come so far, and looking to the past is no longer an indication of how large, a spirit I possess. Nevertheless, I cannot look forward because the future looks as bleak as my tea. Still untouched since half past three, July the fifteenth. Now it sits with moulds of brown and greens. Just like the leaves in my garden of eve. I turn my head slightly, hoping that something will lift my spirits and shift me out of my misery. The moon is full and a fly whispers something into my ear. ‘Do not do it dear’ do not give up again this year. You’ve so many lessons to collect, among your tears’. 
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E – cindyanneh-bu@hotmail.co.uk
© 2016

All works published on this site are under strict ownership of the owner, and any re-destribution is strictly prohibited without permission, and necessary credits.

Things that do not leave, even when you do..

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I still love you as raw as the day that i clasped you between my two lips, and swung you, from hip to hip,
though your love is weak, and fragile, and incomplete..
I know that it is for reasons of childhood neglect.
The same reason that you are so cold, is the same reason that i am so hot.
You see, because people deal with things in different ways.
And where you decided to shut off the love that you never received, i grew so hungry for my own, and i set out in searches far, and wide..and in doing so, with you i did collide.
One too needy.
The other, not nearly as greedy..
A fated tale perhaps doomed from the beginning.
Sometimes i think to myself, the universe has such a funny sense of humour..We were supposed to be luke warm,
i was supposed to calm my waters,
you were supposed to increase your boil,
but it was not enough to quell two worlds burned so long before..
I am not responsbile for the wounds inflicted upon you, but in the evenings that i missed you, i would have taken a bite of every rotten apple that you have ever eaten from,
just to know the same pains that you have known,
just to feel where you come from..
So that maybe i could speak your language,
so that maybe in tongues i could convince you of the thing that my energy has never been enough to convince you of..
You are the one, you are the one.
And i am sorry that i grow so glum..
Tis a mere glitch, a reaction to being left in a ditch, you should know..
Do not act as if you don’t

Cindy Anneh-bu

It was she..

  
It was my mother who saved me when I was drowning, and dying at the hands of my first true love loss.

It was not my father who sat me down, and explained to me the nuisance of men, and their fragile indecisiveness.

It was my mother who sat with me as I cried, and watched over me.

It was my mother who knew, because she knew all too well the sting of a man who promises you Spring, and then when winter leaves does not grant you anything..

It was not my father who sat in place of the man who had left me and told me that I was still full of grace, and I still had him in the face of all and any ill fate.

It was my mother who awoke from her sleep, and climbed down a full flight of stares to stare at me alarmingly as my face welled up with sorrow.

Though it was my greatest woe,

It was my mother’s heart that broke..

Twitter – @spiritualpoet_

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E – cindyanneh-bu@hotmail.co.uk
© 2016

All works published on this site are under strict ownership of the owner, and any re-destribution is strictly prohibited without permission, and necessary credits.

There is nothing too wrong with you..

  

There is nothing too wrong with you..

You are not a bad man. Not a particularly sad man. And you are not a prude. Hardly ever rude, and I have not found several things wrong with you.. Yet still, you are not the one.

There is little love in my bones for you. I grow comfortable around you when you are silent, and your body breathes beside me, and I am allowed to do what it is that I do best, which is to lay in silence. But when you speak, when you part your lips, and open your beak, my heart thumps a thousand beats, because your breath, nor your tongue, speaks like his..

I do not want to kiss you wildly in the rain at 3am.. There are better things that I could do with my time, such as reading novels with my feet perched up on my window sill. Yet still, I fold into you, not every night, but from time, to time, because I am ever so lonely when my eyes hit the light.

I fell in love with a remarkable man, but he did not shove his heart into my palms, he kept it ever so safely, wrapped over so neatly, and tucked away into childhood jewellery boxes. And so I find myself here, with you, heart beating at 100mph, not from passion, not from love, but from that gnawing feeling.. That I am not where I am supposed to be. And if I stay? I may just become too engulfed, trapped, and never to be free..

My heart bleeds for the women, not in love, not in lust..but longing for company. 

© 2016
All works published on this site are under strict ownership of the owner, and any re-destribution is strictly prohibited without permission, and necessary credits.

Twitter – @spiritualpoet_

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E – cindyanneh-bu@hotmail.co.uk

Psychosis, and confusion hypnosis; a life path 7 initiatory crisis.

  
I am going through an incredibly strange and harrowing life process. Yes, it is true that i have completed an intense spiritual journey over the short time of a year, and I have changed so much that I can barely recognise who I am anymore.

I am caught in a limbo place, Inbetween time and place. No longer a product of the past, I cannot go back there, and it feels so alien and uncomfortable to me given my new found explorations, that I cannot even think of going there.

 Then there is the future, my manifestation ability says that it looks ripe, and ready, and promising. However, it is currently intangible, and it is the steps toward getting there that keep one frozen in limbo. It is a huge responsibility, almost a burden once you acknowledge that your past experiences were gradually built by the directions that you took, and understanding that these very steps that you are taking now, will once again also form your circumstances. Spiritual perceptive gives you strength, but also immeasurable responsibility.

I am looking around, and realising that many of the friends that I began this journey with years ago are no more, and that is forcing me to hold myself up to a magnifying glass, and re-assess who I truly am, who I have always been, and what this means for me now.

Everything appears hazy, yet somehow, clearer than it has ever been.

© 2016
All works published on this site are under strict ownership of the owner, and any re-destribution is strictly prohibited without permission, and necessary credits.

Twitter – @spiritualpoet_
Instagram – @spiritualpoetess_
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E – cindyanneh-bu@hotmail.co.uk

I do not want to be the woman..

  
I do not want to be the woman that you love, and leave. Sex is more than an instrument to me. It is a testimony to the divinity that lies between me, and I do not wish for my sacredness to be defiled by boyish charm, and wit. 

I am not protective of many things, as I believe in freedom, and expression, but I guard my sacred temple till I am weak at the knees, because this is my only treasure, the only home that I have known.

And I care so little for your good looks. I have seen men finer, from time, to time. Neither, did they deserve the worth that I preserve, haven’t you heard?

I am the primal woman, of the first, to give birth to this earth, and that is every reason to reserve myself. 

I know the difference, I do, between a man who seeks a home between my legs, and one whom seeks vacation. 

– Cinderella Anneh-bu

Photo credits – – Becca Fitzpatrick | Hush, Hush