The Illusion

The lie dances on the tip of my tongue,
It skirts the edges of my reality, blurring the lines between what’s fake and what’s real, between what’s fact and what’s simply my will.

The lie sings it’s sultry melody,
And it woes me,
It dares me to believe it,
Sweet and tender it beckons me and though I try, my resolve begins to weaken.

I know this song, I know this dance, but I can’t seem to fight it.
The lie has played me for a fool long enough and yet, finds no satisfaction in my fall,
It kicks me in the side though I lay on the cold cement,
It taunts me ,
And when I think my heart couldn’t possibly break again, it does.

See, the lie is a virus,
Disguised in all innocence, we welcome it,
We make it a part of our lives,
Not knowing it eats away something more in us each time we let it in,
And this space makes us crave for more and so the lie grows and grows.
Thinking we gain comfort, the virus multiplies, eating away at the very substance of our beings and we remain shells.
Empty. Needing….something. Anything to fill the space the lie took.
Then when you think its over and you can’t move on, a new day begins.

Don’t lie to yourself.

Goodbye January, Hello February *wink*    

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Dead Air

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Its that time in the semester to blow the dust off neglected books and to try to decipher the hostile handwriting that is your own. If you throw a stone in school, chances are it’ll land on someones head but they’ll barely glance up from the book they have their nose stuck in. That’s right, folks! It’s Exam Season!!

I’m on a break so I decided to pop up here for a little catharsis.

Its rare for me to find a quiet moment. In this day,why would anyone want one? I come home and the first thing I do is to put on the radio or the television. Sometimes,both. In a mat or a bus or when I’m walking the streets, my earphones are blaring. I get to school and my friends are there and we talk about nothing and everything at the same time. In class, I’m trying to digest the legal doctrines constantly being flung in my direction. Some hit. Some miss.

I can’t remember the last time I made a conscious decision to just sit in silence. The only times I find myself sitting in darkness is when kplc carries  on its evil vendetta on we, the poor elec-dependents.
I’ve forgotten the sound of my own thoughts.  Or maybe I’m avoiding it: drowning it under the sound of all the other voices.

Could it be that I’m too scared to discover what I really feel and think? I guess in my own way I’m on the run. From what? That’s completely beyond me.
Actually,no.
That’s a lie.
I just don’t want to think about it.

Back to the books.

A Not-So-Anonymous Note

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I looked into your eyes for the very first time and I forgot the question I had asked. I faltered, trying my best to understand what you were saying. I fought back a flirty smile and promised tomorrow, not today. That promise hums through time,
a simple enchanting melody that plays in my head each time our eyes meet.
My world freezes and I can’t tear my eyes away.
We are of two different worlds and yet, you don’t seem so far away.
I, with my friends, you with yours, but still there’s a … force. A pull. And despite myself, I look for you in the crowd, my heart finding comfort with you in sight.
And then our eyes meet and it seems like nothing else exists.
You hold my gaze in yours and I wonder…
Does the wind carry the same melody I hear to you?

Simply Enchanted
  

A Perfect Pair

I have small feet, size 4, according to the Kenyan accreditation. They stopped growing when I was around 12. Someone once asked me if I had a problem with balance *cue tumbleweed* They aren’t that small.

My toe nails are painted coral which has a tint of gold captured perfectly by the

light.The big toe on my left foot is scraped at the tip because when I’m home, I tend to watch TV belly to floor and it gets worn by constant contact.

I have a prominent arc, which I used to think would lead me toward the life of a ballerina. Sometimes, I arc my feet in the air and pretend to do some elaborate move.

I favour open shoes but my heel bares the dark scar of my attempt to venture into closed shoes.

If I look closely enough, I will see the faint scar on my left foot,  the only reminder of the time I was 3 and accidentally overturned a pot of boiling dog food on myself.

On the heel of my right foot is a memoir for the one and only time I visited the emergency room after landing on a whole glass after jumping off the double decker.

My feet have a story.My story. I alone know how it is to have my feet. I know the pain of constantly hitting my toes on uneven sidewalks. Or the pinch of heels that are beautiful but cut off proper circulation ( death by beauty). I love my feet. But there are those moments when I find what I think is the perfect pair of shoes and I’m already pairing it up with the dress hanging in my closet before I even fit them for size. Then it turns out that they don’t fit and in my head, I start hatching a plot to make them fit. But at the end of the day, I have to let them go and go look for my own perfect pair.

The Words I Would Say

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My Dearest Amelia,

You’re reading this so you’re  sixteen today. (If this is not your sixteenth birthday, tell Aunt Jessica that I’m going to kill her when I see her). Happy Birthday, darling! You’re father can be a little clueless as to the workings of a female mind but with Aunt Jessie, they ought to have scrapped up a decent party.

Laying here on this bed, it’s difficult to accept that I never get to see you grow up. The doctors say I have about 24 hours. They said that there were complications with the birth and there’s nothing they can do. They told me not to get pregnant in the first place but that was never an option. ( your stubborn streak? You get that from me). It drove your father crazy! But it was something I had to do. A few hours is all I get, but given the chance, I wouldn’t change a thing.

You are such a beautiful baby. Loud, but beautiful. It pains me that I will never get to help you with your homework, or even help you throught your first heartbreak.

Believe me, heartache will come, no doubt about it, but even when it hurts so much that, remember to smile through it. It won’t be the end. There’s a wonderful guy out there who you are perfect for. You can’t change a person to be what you want them to be, but love them for who they are. You’re dad was just that for me. Do me a favour? Go easy on him. ( you know what I mean). He’s trying the best he can.

Promise me you’ll be happy. Live a full life. Never be afraid to take chances. It doesn’t matter what you do, just do it with all you’ve got. Trust in God through it all. Even when it seems that all is lost, he always has a trump card to change the game. You’re my trump card.

Forgive me for not being there. I love you, baby. Now, forever and always. In this letter is a locket. My mother gave me that locket when I was sixteen. She told me that locked inside was all the love I could ever need. If you open it, you’ll see us, you and me, today.The happiest girls this phase of the moon. God’s got an eye out for you, kid, as do I. I’m sorry for the smudges but I tried not to get all emotional. I really did! ( so much for that).

Love,
Mum.