Golden Tears

My tears are gold

Hot and molten.

They are stirred behind 

tired eyes and feathered lashes

By the tumultuous feelings of 

Desperation,love,hurt,emptiness

This unending dryness 

Caused by the drought within.

How can this desert go on forever.

Will my golden tears cool into bars? 

Will I mold daggers from them?

Will I ever find my oasis,

My mock ocean of relief ?

And will the next tide bring the storm!

 Or will it be calmed?

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Too broke to have an opinion.

Too broke to have an opinion so I am moving on from me.

My sacrifices and changes are naught

You won’t get past the me you knew and think you know.

You define me by the moment you meet me.

I am nothing to you but her who clings to sleep and who is lazy and has a thousand and one excuses for being exactly that.

My truths are not worthy in your court of conclusions.

I am not up for trail but the jury is out and I am guilty

My revolution won’t be found in your opinions of me

I have tried to be the me you seem to want me to be.

You unravel me with a single thought and word.

You wound and you undo all I thought I had built and walked away from.

It’s nothing.

I end up being the me you think you knew.

I am moving on from you.

I am becoming numb and my tears are emptying.

I get exhausted and broken when you constantly remind me  of how I can never please you.

I am never good enough.

I have craved your approval. Bent over like a branch every which way to accommodate you.

I am cold.

You thrust me into the frost and I can’t break free. I call out but no ones there to answer.

I am starting to turn into a watering pot and I don’t like this part of me you’ve unleashed.

I have forgotten to live for me.

I scrape hours of the night to unwind and be me.

My days are slow and they drag and it’s still the same me I get to live with.

The me who was happy to have taken a million steps only to have you destroy that believe with a simple’that’s why you are fat and eat and sleep and are lazy’.

I work hard to be a better person who isn’t selfish and I can’t remember the last time I did something that was just for my pleasure with no one else but me to benefit and enjoy.

Yet I am she who is selfish.

I am too broke to have my own opinions and I have spent them all in my book of thoughts and hurt so I am moving on from me, I am moving to a person I like and can live with.

My heart hurts too much from all the band aids I have placed.

I need to heal.

Goodbye.

Can You?

I still bleed from it

Do you recall it?

The cuts along my heart

Never self-inflicted neither deliberate.

Yet they still ooze from constant abuse

The ridges of the wounds form your signature and the scars a tattoo of your name.

 

Can you still smell it?

The pungent smell of rot

 

Can you taste it?

Do you remember its metallic taste as you bit into my soul and sunk your teeth into my core taking with you pieces well-hidden and baring them for all to see

 

Can you hear it?

The beats you forced into submission and rhythm with your constant attack on my senses till my heart beat in tune with yours and all my emotions became a Symphony of your whims.

 

My deeds a tentative plea

My actions a reflection of your mood

And I recoil at the thought it’ll be less than perfect; off beat

 

Can you still feel it?

That seizure that tells you we’re connected.

Others have butterflies and sparks

But we’ve felt deeper, known deeper,

Currents of electromagnetic waves

We ignite and we combust

 

Can you see it?

The blood from our wounds as we hurt. It trickles down slowly as we sign on the ridges of a fresh wound, clothing in anticipation of the healing that’s sure to come.

 

But for now it seeps.

Silence 2. Rukkaya.

A mix of fiction and reality. Welcome to the stories of the unheard.

previous posts

I remember it like it was yesterday. The day everything I knew ended. Who knew that just when I was learning to play house with friends I’d have to play it for real; with a stranger.

The house would be real, the babies real and so would the responsibilities.

Who knew real babies were so much more different from my stuffed dolls? That they’d require this much constant attention?

Why wasn’t I told I’d have to entertain my husband’s guest and also look after the kids and the house?

That day still feels surreal. I was called by my mother and calmly told I was going to be married and how thankful and happy I should be that he had chosen me and the honor he was placing on my family.

I was ecstatic. What did I know about marriage and all it entailed? All I knew was that a couple months ago my friend     Amina  got married and we were all jealous of the gifts and attention she got. It was beautiful and oh so colorful. I had never seen that much clothes in one place.

So of course I was happy I would have the same. The new clothes and my own room. It was getting pretty crowded in my father’s house with the yearly births that was like a silent competition between my mom and step-moms.

I was in a daze as everything about my new life was planned out without a question posed to me as to what I wanted or how I wanted it, after all they knew best.

But I quickly got yanked out of that dream the day I met the groom and plunged into a fantasy. It was a year later. The wedding day was approaching and I guess I was finally old enough. I was fourteen. He was twenty years older. He’s handsome this husband of mine. So don’t get me wrong and think I was complaining, far from it actually because unlike my friend whose husband was quite ancient, mine was handsome and just thirty-four. A man in his prime I thought. I couldn’t stop staring at him. He was my first real crush and he spoke English fluently which I always wanted to do, I had fantasies of him teaching me how to speak properly and read.

He promised my parents I’d go to school and my future home was going to be in the city.

Fast forward a couple months later. I’m all draped out and lying timidly on the bed. The celebration over and I am in a strange room shivering like a wet dog and trying to remember the advice my mom gave me.

Was it lie still and it will pass quickly or was it encourage him and it will hurt less. What was she babbling about? I am not ignorant, my father raises animals so I know how it works. But it doesn’t mean that what my mom said made any sense to me.

The door creaks open and is gently shut. But in the state I was in, everything sounded loud and thunderous.

I won’t bore you with the details of my initiation into womanhood. Suffice it to say I learned a lot of things in the hours that followed.

  1. I was the 3rd of my husband’s wives.
  2. I wasn’t cutout for coitus if that’s how much it hurt and I had never prayed so hard he’d fall deeper in love with his other wives so as to forget my room and the consequent visits.
  3. My mother lied or maybe he’s different. It didn’t pass quickly by lying still nor hurt less by encouraging him.
  4. I could cry for hour’s non-stop.
  5. It was possible to feel shame even in marriage.

Other lessons were learned but everything in small doses even my story right?

Fast forward several months later to the present and why I am telling you this. My friend Amina lost her life in child birth and that was a wakeup call for me and prompted me to have a serious discussion with my husband about my future and how I didn’t want to end up like her. She was just thirteen and her baby girl is back home with her grandparents probably doomed to the same fate as her mom.

I am a bit lucky that my husband kept his word about my education and has promised to wait before I start having kids of my own. His first wife died a couple months after our wedding and her and the baby didn’t make it. He and the second wife got into a row and are now divorced. So it’s just the two of us. We talk more than we did when we first got married. And I have come to love and respect him in my own way especially since he now listens to me.

We currently sleep in the same room and I don’t break into a cold sweat like I used to. But not everyone’s story is like mine.

Break the silence!

 

My LDR emotions are all over the place.

Today I have decided to use gifs and pictures to express myself. Some are funny(well most are) but they explain alot about Ldr and how its feels most of the time. Even in the good times.

When your in it, it aint too funny.

Hope you enjoy and let me know your Ldr experience. It will mean alot to me. Thank you. 😔😢😢😢😢😢😞😊😊.

 

 

http://www.bing.com/images/search?q=ldr+gifs&view

 

sometimes it feels this way when it seems its all falling around my ears and his.  ‘we can fix this!’

 

These words….Sorry?

I try to write,

Write the words in my heart

Put my feelings to words.

Every time I try,

I come up short.

 

You hurt me

So many broken words my pen cannot make them whole.

They’re there in the air floating through my breath

I reach for them and they evaporate.

 

I see them in the water

Drowning in my tears

I dive in only to choke on them.

 

They’re smudged and stained.

Broken and scattered.

 

I try to write but my fingers cramp with the effort.

I try to speak but my voice won’t pass the words lodged in my throat.

 

These words are all I have but even they won’t do.

I wrapped them around you like a blanket.

These words were our cocoon

But these words won’t do any more

These words are no longer enough

You hurt me and took the words away

 

What can we say to make it better? Sorry……. Sorry?

Images found at:-

http://www.bing.com/images/search?q=falling+words&view=detailv2&&id

http://www.bing.com/images/search?q=drowning+in+tears+gifs

http://www.bing.com/images/search?q=trying+to+write+gifs&

 

The problem with distance.

Map – Shortest path between Abuja and Milwaukeehttp://www.timeanddate.com/worldclock/distanceresult.html?p1=742&p2=158

Distance is 9765 kilometers or 6068 miles or 5273 nautical miles

You wound me,

Gently and quietly but surely.

You scrape and scratch

Peels and flakes of scabs

Old wounds opened

New ones inflicted.

 

A warm hot cloth,

Ointment and balm,

Plaster and a kiss.

You nurse me and patch me up.

 

Sharp words! I cut you

Slashing through your armor to pierce your heart.

Bleeding love.

Puddle of shock and pain,

Bleeding love.

Words I can’t take back

I’m sorry…

 

I need a  moment

Arteries heal, veins reconnect  me to you

I need a moment.

You breathe me in and hide me in your beating heart.

This is worth it

I fought for this and will hold on. 

 

Forgiveness

 

We start over

laughter and joy

Happiness and fun

Broken but whole

 

Why were we broken?

Not seeing or gaging reactions we blow out of proportion what could have been healed with a simple smile or laugh or joke

 

Yet we wound because we cannot feel or see,

We wound.

                     All pictures are not mine. Can be found online.

But the write up and post is. No unauthorized usage of any post found on Atomic words. All property used should be linked back to this blog.

Thank you.