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
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Ode, to kings of soil skins.

  
Art credit – Flowers for the Dead, Gerardo Castro

I adore,  the inner workings of your mind. I adore, the intricacies, and the delicacies that are you.

Even though society often reduces you to a mere murmur, and the places that surround you, betray you, I adore you more when I see your strength, un-breakable.

So, I take a second, a moment from my day, only to let you know the ways in which I praise you, the days Of which I wish to save you.. From so many things, systematic education, societal, programming, indoctrination, the ways in which i crave to tell you,

that you are more, so much more..

Than chasing fictitious dreams of materialism, and childish lure..

That only see you selling your soul for momentary, temporary bliss, never again shall I have to tell you this,

You are neither your location, nor your occupation, nor the chains that you adorn your wrists.

You are a gift, an eternal King, seldom, all held into one, and if ever you shall tell someone, never leave out the part where you ruled kingdoms..

A letter, from a father, to his daughter; much, much later. 

  
“I give you the world,
On a silver platter,
And I say that there is not a thing in this universe that I treasure more than you.
But already, that isn’t fair.
And I have placed so much glory, and storage on your head, and I expect you to live up to these false ideals.
I watch you closely as you play,
So delicate,
That every time that you step a little out of line, or I fear that you may be bruised, I swarm in, and I take you, and I keep
You.
And in doing so, I teach you to be afraid of the world.
You watch the others, your brothers,
And you see how they play untamed,
Unscathed by the battles of the playground,
Free, to dance around and move as one with the breeze, grazing their knees, and rising to their feet with ease,
But when you try,
I ask you to come back, to stand by me.
And that is where you will always be.
If not by me, then in the grips of another man who will expect much the same of you, to keep away from the dangers of the world, to be frightened, to be his.

I tell you that you are precious,
And there is this thing between your legs that you must guard with all of your life,
And keep yours till somebody make you a wife,
And only then will you know glory,
I tell you only then, will your story be worthy.
With this same sacredness, I give you shame.
I pass you blame.
I tell you to cover your arms, more discretely, straighten out your skirt more nearly, and close your legs,
For men are watching,
I teach you to be prey.

And at the end of the day,

I return, and turn around,
And call you my precious little girl.

A letter, from a father, to his daughter.”

Cindy Anneh-bu

  

© 2015
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.