Closed Book

I've come to appreciate the need to talk it out. When it feels like all is coming down on you keeping it all in is like a time bomb waiting to happen. Talking, feels like exhaling even if you don't get a solution. Just letting it out is like breathing it out. With the right set of ears its all you need, to bring clarity and most days even the much needed sense of serenity.
For some reason ive never had that kind of luxury. I don't know why but for some reason i can never find a listening ear when i need it the most. Sure there's always people around but never the right ones, not when it counts.
And I hear it often, how i should let them in, express myself, kinda hard when they fall off the grid. Its hardly their fault, how will they know when its time? Not like they are psychic.
So i do what i do best, i bury it, deep in my soul and let it rip me apart. I let it tear through me, feel as it gets my blood boiling, errupting my vessels till its organ failure. Till its a miracle I'm still breathing. And when it feels like im drawing in my last breath, when im sure my last words will be my last, then the pipes burst open and its all i can do for what seems like forever. I cry. For the longest time, shaking and screaming but no sound comes out. This must be what death feels like, screaming out from the depth of the darkness that surrounds you but no one can hear you. Reaching out for anyone to pull you back but no one ever does. Its the last straw because when its done i don't know if I'll ever move from here.

Heavy Love

They say love is a beautiful thing.
That the greatest love of all is loving yourself.
To forgive and be forgiven a sign of great character they say.
These people, whoever they are, they talk too much. Telling us everything without really telling us anything.
They skip the part where a broken heart bleeds too hard to love. That sometimes the anger and hatred and the bitterness is what keeps the heart from dying altogether. They don't seem to understand that seeking forgiveness means having to take responsibility when all one wants to be is a victim.
So what kind of love is this that only serves to hurt, to manipulate, to curve a hole from the depth of your soul and rip your heart to shreds? Is this what we queuing up for? The chance to be "loved" with Ts and Cs? From tedious ones like explaining and keeping tabs on your "bae" to the costly ones like riding on the highway to hell in our varying vehicles of fornication, adultery, lust and all manner of personalised perversion. Cant even hear your persons phone ring without grabbing your insecurity blanket. Cant socialise without risking a heart attack everytime smiles are handed out and none in your direction.
If this is love then I'll pass. I can destroy myself all by myself.
"Love is patient. Love is kind. It does not envy. It does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self seeking, it is not easily angered, keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perserveres. Love never fails." 1 Corinthians 13 : 4-8
Now this, this is Love.
My kind of Love anyway.
"Johnny met Donna and they fell in love but had no idea what love really was."
We all victims of the situation. Idolosing so badly the idea of love we settle for its evil twin- lust and their cousin infatuation. (Oh how we love to be complicated!l) All the while not knowing what it is, this things we yearn for.
Love is what happened on the cross, when the one who IS Love gave his son as ransom for our transgressions. Love is a promise, to have and to hold in good times and in bad till death parts us. It is that which reminds us of Genesis 2:18- it is not good for man to be alone. But most importantly; God IS Love.
Johnny and Donna had no idea what love was because Johnny and Donna had no idea who God IS. You can't claim knowledge of one without the other, and to expect it from one who doesn't know the who IS, is in the words of Da ' Truth; like taking anger management classes from Bruce Banner. Like asking Renee Zellweger to bring back Bridget Jones' face.

Perfect Imperfections.

Perfection.
Different strokes for different folks.
The perfect shade of lipstick, perfect dress, perfect shoes, perfect job, car, clothes, date, the perfect man etc
For one girl the perfect pair of shoes are her converse which another girl feels belong on boys and should only ever be found on female feet when one pretends to work out.
Perfect job, the dream job, different strokes for different folks. For some all things are a science and if they could spend their entire lives learning and growing and discovering the fascinating and mesmerising world that is Science, they would never know a moment unfulfilled while others, just want to rule! Politics.
Personally im a lip gloss kind of girl. Makeup too messy and i cant be bothered to remember to not touch my white blouse after ive touched my smeared face. That's just me. But there's the girl who wouldn't be caught dead without her bag of....well faces. Cat eye, dark eye and whatever else is out there.
The perfect man, then it gets interesting. The checklists going around are enough to send any sane and noble man running. He should be tall and handsome and have a good job and intelligent and strong and protective without being possessive. A little jealous but not insecure ("because jealousy is how you know they care", she said rolling her eyes), charismatic but not a flirt, fun but not the life of the party. He should be God fearing but not a prude, family guy but not too close to his mother (too much pressure), ambitious and driven but still able to make me the centre of his world..... and it goes on and on and on. Like i said, even the most noble of them all is sent running after this. And they must have their own lists these men; cooks like my mama, nurturing, caring, hot, legs as long as a train but modest enough that only i get to see them. Lady in the street, freak in the bed...and we wonder why JLo having a hard year. There's just no winning!
You can't be yourself because half the time you have this deep rooted fear that yourself isn't good enough or strong enough or sexy enough. So you settle for a string of 20s to give u the feeling of a 100 partner talking about all man are the same!
U? Miss i have so many alternatives i can't settle on one because he flawed too deep? You can't even see the guy trying to love you unconditionally because you too busy being some no good mans woman between 8-10pm. And you want to cry out to God to send you a man? Why should he when you can do bad all by yourself? So far gone conforming to the norms of this world you cant see how you killing yourself. Everyday eating away at your own flesh and drinking your own blood you dont see the ghost of a man you have become. And you still wondering why no one stays? the living and the dead can't live under the same roof. Ask Emily Rose.
-Black Rose-

Waiting to Exhale

That one phone call that you had lost hope would ever come and then it does and that hope is restored and fulfilling it doesnt come easy so you're thinking when this is mine i will have such a story to tell my grandchildren.
With that one phone call you plan your entire life, you see how your future begins and unfolds. You have fears yes and insecurities and uncertainties but you shake it all off because this is your moment. You have waited this long so the stars must finally be aligned yes?
So when it doesn't happen, when it turns out to be just another phone call, what gives? How do you take the next step when the next one was supposed to lead to your future and now its leading to the same place you have been for the longest time now?
Emotions are fleeting, lately so is hope. There's a lesson they say, a right of passage, a story that will make them stop to listen in awe.
And then you have to talk about it. And with every phrase it feels a piece of you is given away. It calls for strength but instead it weakens. Smile in the face of adversity they say, dance in the rain they say,...:)

SOS

Flaws. That's all of me. Sometimes it feels like I'm beyond redemption.
I say a prayer every morning and one every night, but all of me is convinced im past forgiveness. And why should I be? I never learn. Every day is the same old routines of the same old sin. Beating myself up because I know better but do I really? I should know better but I don't. I can't.
Its torture being me. Failing every test at every turn and seeing the failure for what it is. Like digging ones on grave. Doing it knowingly.
For a little while I saw the world for what it is, black and white. Now its all grey. Well im living grey.  Its blurred lines, blurred truths. And im,.... lost in it. Sinking in it.
The truth, I need a saviour.
"Who's adequate to save us? How about he who knew no sin."
I knew this saviour once, still do. But I moved,  because he doesnt so I know I did. He gave me peace, who flees from that? Who turns away from that kind of happiness? Me.
I am flawed. To the core. To know me and not know that about me is to not know me at all.
And I must be the best actor there is because everyone sees me and sees the embodiment of strength and knowledge and beauty. The woman I see in the mirror is scared for her soul, lacking the knowledge and wisdom to save her soul and no, there is no beauty there. Not where it matters, not within.
They say u hear the prayers of a sincere heart. SOS, save my soul. If it takes breaking me limb to limb only to build me up again, save my soul.
Save my soul.

When its all said and done....

Sometimes its as simple as being content. With your present, in your circumstance.
For how will you ever appreciate the glory in greatness if you dont see it in the air you breathe? In the clothes on your back? The food on your table? The friends and family loving you and cheering you on?
You mad because you don't get to have a pair of shoes? Tell that to the man who's just praying he had feet to begin with. Sad because you raising your babies alone? Be the best of both worlds for your little one, their love is your reward. Hundreds, thousands, millions of married people can't conceive and they crying out to God everyday just for a minute of a day in the life of you.
There's a fine line between need and greed. At what point does one go from one point to the other? From working to fulfill ones needs to satisfying ones greed? The man who started out trying to provide for his wife and kids, years later with millions and billions in the bank but not a second to be spared for the ones that should matter.
Priorities. Blurred. Who's serving who? We want to believe money serving us but really? If u can't have a moment of sleep trying to find it, who's the slave?
And is it possible to shut it all down and say ive run my race and made it to the finish line? I can go home, hug my kids, kiss my wife and we can just live. Free from it all.
There's always room to make money. Always more money to be made.
Time.....point me to a man who's ever managed to put it on hold.
To be content.
To pick ones fight.
Choose to love. A love that is kind, that is true and pure, patient and enduring.
Choose to hope.
In all things to be faithful, to believe.
Perseverance.
Courage.
Love. Mindlessly, wholeheartedly, hopelessly. Its the greatest of all things.

Single Rose

Singleness. Loneliness. Alone-ness.
Why is everyone running from it?
Why so many songs and books and movies all with the theme; make sure somebody loves you?
It's this hour.
The calm after the days storm.
When you want someone to remind you what's real, what matters.
Someone to talk to, about everything.
About nothing.
Just to talk.
To listen.
We all selling our souls for peanuts to the one who will listen.
We all laying them down by the riverside for the one who will make us laugh.
And we listen to Ed Sheeran and he tells us he thinking out loud about loving us till we 70. Kenny Lattimore promising us all his tomorrows and Toni Braxton putting it all on the line just to be his baby.
Its beautiful.
How can it not be?
Its laughter and conversation.
Companionship.
Random texts and phone calls to share alot of everything and nothing.
Its complimenting each other as well as paying each other compliments.
Its friendship.
Crying and comfort.
Fighting and protection.
Breaking up and making up.
Ultimately, its not being single or lonely or alone.
Like Mali Music says; its no fun alone.

Battle Scars

"What did you do to get him so mad?" For a minute, just one minute, everything in me goes numb. When I start to feel its the tears that come first, in their path bringing to life the pain beneath the bruises. The salt water stings as it flows over my blackened eye, like burning, like cayenne paper on an open wound. I want to stop the tears from falling, keep them from hurting me where it already hurts but all else is numb. I feel nothing but the pain. As they reach my nose I notice then the crimson colored drops on my shirt. My nose is bleeding, or is it my bustee lip? I would know for sure if I could move my arm, to feel my face but something isnt right because it won't move. I can't tell if its numb of broken or which.
I remember now how it happened, not the why, but how is coming back to me. My face, blue and black and split and swollen and bruised all over; the result of a hand! almost as big as my face coming at me at what felt like 200m/s creating a shattering impact that sends the room spinning with me in it.
Someone please stop him.
Anyone.
I need help.
I fell to the ground after that, I remember because im still lying here. The tiles, cold, were a comfort at first landing like an ice pack, for a few seconds anyway, before the first kick landed in my gut. The pain, too real. Spreading through my entire body until I can feel it in my toes. By the time the second, third and fourth come...that's as far as I can remember, its all black after that.
Lying here where he left me. Surrounded by. ...faces. Bruised, battered and broken, tears rolling down my face. And all the faces want to know is what I did to deserve this.
Fast forward to now, sitting on a different floor, far from broken, healed of all bruises. Lets discuss and address; what did I do? I loved him. Even more so, I thought I knew him enough to trust him to never hurt me. I believed in my heart of hearts that love protects even if it means protecting from self. And why shouldn't I? Why shouldn't any one? Why should love be a cautionary tale with tags like, "at owners risk," "approach with caution" or "run after drink number 2"? Why can't we be vulnerable with the ones with the ones who supposedly love us? And the men; when is strength shown in battery? In inflicting such blinding pain on a defenceless woman?
This ones not on me.
This one will never be justified.
And there will never be enough sorrys in the world to make it right.