It didn’t even look like you anymore,
The red eyes and blotched skin…
I see that vein sticking out of your head, I see the pained expression on your face.
How could something so beautiful look so ugly…Worn out and lifeless.
….Love and life….
So beautiful, so precious, so sacred.
And yet you tore me from me.
What once made me smile, that feeling I once embraced is now the reason I can’t see me when I look in the mirror.
The reason my heart is a worn out, saggy bag of nothingness…
It bleeds for him… Yearns for those old wonderful days
When he called me his wifey
And I’d see is beautiful bent frame walk around proudly when we were around
I miss you gramps
I can’t see me anymore because when you left my whole world left with you.
There’s so much more I wanted to do to make you happy
I wanted to know you more…
Now I’m left with this huge gaping hole in my heart that is sucking the life out of me…
And that thing, life, keeps happening to me.
It keeps moving…
And I want to stop and move back and stay in those last moments…

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I grunt, I scream & I fight as I struggle against da invisible chains that bound me to the walls of yesterday. The tear-stained walls behind which a little trapped girl many years ago tried to climb over & move into a different time frame. The walls of pain wit dry blood stains that show her failure to escape her reality. The reality that haunts her despite the clock having ticked & tocked the core of her misfortune away .Time may have blinded or groomed her but it never undid what was or made da nightmares more bearable. The crooked smile of the one I hold most dear 2 this heart of mine screams hope but the agony from deep within adds -lessness discolouring da initial idea. Not even self -fulfilling words of comfort can plead with da ruthless metal of torture. I’m in a place where shadows & skeletons loom about threatening to indulge me in their hell. There isn’t even a beam of light in the gull of the abyss of depression that holds me prisoner

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Your hands move in circular motions as they trace the contours beneath & tease the little lines scattered about. The way you move almost has me in a trance because there’s just so much you do & yet you stay in that same position. You have so much power at your disposal, the power to make & destroy, because as you stand there & keep ticking & tocking you give me & every other person the chance to make things happen. You explore the same contours lines over & over again yet every time you pass that simple stroke of a line, you make it seem so magical & tantalising as if you’d never been there before. And yet you have & the proof lies in the dozens that have passed on & the deepening wrinkles I see on my mama’s face. Because while I had been endlessly watching you, you had moved on & done your bit. Just like you did before my time & will do well after my time. Time….u r immortal and cruel…..yet you are so fair in your cruelty. -Kiki (^^,)

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Strong – weak African woman

Strong – weak African woman


I am a strong – weak African woman.

A woman who yearns for love and support for completion,

A woman who gets comfort from one glance cast her way as it serves as reassurance that she still has it.

I am a strong – weak African woman.

See I say weak after strong because I embrace my weaknesses more than my strengths.

I gather my strength and wisdom from the weaknesses and imperfections that taint my idealism of perfection.

But from those weaknesses I know that I hail form a nature of a different kind.

I come from a generation of leaders,

I hail from the flat, dusty lands of the Transkei.

My ancestors escaped the wrath of the great Shaka,

Like blind mice they scattered about and trumbled upon the mountainous lands of the Transkei.

They foraged for food but still had their dignity.

They didn’t fit in anywhere because they were different.

But like soldiers they pushed on and bred a line of fine young people who gave birth to the next generation and so it went..

See if my DNA is of some pure quality of fineness and such stamina

How then can I not embrace my weaknesses when I know that there is some hereditary strength in me that can overcome such weaknesses without me even making an effort?

Strong – weak African woman, I am

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