Come oh float to me
Blow me winds
winds I’ve lost
in the mess that’s my ‘mind peace’

Come oh bring with you
bring me chainsaws
cut a hole in my head
piece my mind into fragments of disturbed confusions

come oh come to me
drive me out to the chaos and noises
which we once, dreamily sought escape from

Come oh let me lay on you
Free falling into a tub filled with crass, fears and my old madness

Come take away from me
This mental zen that’s stolen all my words
words now, corked off into a bottle
cast to lands cut away from mine

Come oh be with me. Make me cry, make me sad, feed my hunger.
Come oh come to me… tell me who I am as I was before I got rid of you.
Come oh rid of me… all of me that i am without you.

come

Tomorrow is the last saturday of the month.
I will spend my early morning doing community service
“for me and my country”.
It’s Umaganda day… I would like to say that am bummed out about it- but
somehow I know that aside from waking up at 6am – which if my cough doesn’t ease,
will be no hassle at all seeing as it hardly allows me any sleep – I
won’t be getting up to much manual labouring really.
My idea of Umuganda tomorrow is to ‘meet and great’.

5minuute UPdate! I DONT HAVE TO DO IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!I am sad sad excuse for a ‘young rwandan!’

I would like to say am back… but that leaves room for questions
I discourage questions. Questions directed at me. questions that demand answers..
non-rhetorical questions. don’t ‘pose’ them. I can’t handle the truth. my own truth

I’ve been lost tangled in the virtual webs of facebook. totally taken by the new;
contributing to my own threads and deligently working on my status updates…
that is writing- right?!

I woke up this morning feeling like shit. I have a cold. I am quickly growing abbs as a result of my all night
coughing. There wasn’t any soap in my bathroom this morning. hot water takes the dirt away.
I looked at my face in the tiny bathroom wall mirror,
and for the first time in months; my face was working with me! I looked pretty. the exact way i would like my face
to look like when in moments- episodes- of ‘Must Look Pretty’… it never does. And then this morning; with my cough and runny nose and
no-soap-bath… my face looked great! I put my sleek powder and lip gloss on, and I could have kissed my self

Silver lining! I don’t mind being in this state for a while… shit, Its time for my Meds.

pS. i LIKE being back

You better lose yourself in the moment…

I miss blogging
I miss the closely knit blogger world (once upon a time)
I miss coming here and saying it all as it comes to me. In details
brown red and blue

A boy told me recently… he insists he is all man. and A MAN I must refer to him as…
well a man taught me recently;
Love’s colour is purple.

I miss my purple-y blog world. I miss going on and on about my purple-ness; the abundant purple in my life and, sometimes
the lack of its (readily) availability.

I want my lunch super and tea.

………..
………..

This is all. All of this

mine
yours
theirs
unspoken
unheard
dismissed
shared
twisted
tested
writen
spoken
sang
hurtful
romantic
heartbreaking
consoling
good
bad
harsh
rude
sweet
unfinished
incomplete
more
and more
WORDS

Must I get what the writing means

This itch’s growing unscratched;
You phone calling me
Me text-messaging you
Who said video-skyping will
make the heart grow fonder
a love-to- be-continued
Does it get better?!

I, with all thought, shall label this
Emptiness. This
Voices without yours. This
Faces which include not
the one I long to
kiss. This
Stories that aren’t ours
Emotions still abound. Here.

Here.
Smiling mouths paste easily on sad faces
Resilient, hopeful hearts carefully enclose in a body
A body trapped in a time
A time winding up and out.
That 16 year old virgin was born,
to parents dead now,
with HIV/Aids.

All I long for right now is you
Here. with me.
All they’ve longed for since five
is school, a formal education.
A shot at what they believe me
to have- that forever elusive future.

Everyone seeks a better one.
I found you. You found me. And that
future is not even here yet!

Do I simply accept,
the absence of warmth
your face in my hands
your breath, coming alive on my skin
Reaching out for my heart,
thudding, thumping. Hard. Fleshy.
Shooting out for the heat,
in heat.

Should I get accustomed to it all
Must I?
This which they’ve labeled loneliness
Not I.
This which whose purpose cannot be amounting to nothingness;
All of these voices, words, people
stories, advices, take-home-pangs of guilt…

Tears roll stained by my own aches
This emptiness is flawed;
My heart is filled
to the last one of her veins
with an icy coldness.

Where is the hand,
The hand that knows its way up,
Up inside my windy blouse
Up cupping my heart,
Up firing my love,
warming me up
tearing down,
All my false fears
reassuring me,
with eyes approving…
that this terrible poem
was a worth a listen.

I come in
and somehow
I am stuck there in.

Here time is elastic
Nights to days, days to nights
and i could still be exactly
where I was the very day I got in

stuck in. sucked all. my hot air balloon
is deflating.