Preferential steering,
Though target is veering.
Almost splitting seams,
Rushing to catch the sun beaming.
Capturing ceilings, develop
Concealing, mental portraits
Of what it’s about.
Hypnotic feelings, rise,
Ever leaning towards the unreal,
Till she looses what was found.
Hope, sometimes a euphemism for denial.
Passing judgement in that,
which is yet to be trailed.
Ecstatically grasping at treasures enticingly veiled.
Enticingly yours for the taking.
I lie between the sheets with her sometimes,
She sounds my soul.
When my mind was filled with pain or fear,
She licks me clean as a fresh baked bowl.
When I can’t hold her hand,
I call for her in words untold.
With telepathic expertise, she
Navigates my folds.
Till, like a flower, become seed,
My petals fall, unfurled.
Even when she’s not with me,
I look for her behind the scenes.
I breathe for her, as she can’t breathe.
I see for her, what she shows me.
I love plain paper, as a lover.
As a friend, like my brother.
And we will be, forever
Two as one.
I would like to testify…
To the little proclaimed fact,
That conversation, is a part of foreplay.
You see, I need to build, a beautifully founded fantasy,
On the impressions you leave with me.
I can erect a makeshift tent,
In which we can shelter our bodies,
In the illusion of intimacy…
But I recently remembered that I’m not for rent.
So I’m a little too busy for the energy
to invest in a fallacy.
I love the chase.
The sweat on my arms from the hunt,
Makes the taste of the meat amazing,
Lasting,
Filling,
Grasping.
Till, as it should,
It leaves me dazed.
It may take some time,
For the fruit on a tree to ripen,
But pick too soon, and you’ll have missed your chance
at a gushing, explosion,
As ready reward for your patience.
So, take your foot rule,
And measure your options.
If you don’t think your ready to wait,
I don’t think I’ll ever be ready.
The weight of a stone,
Is not measured by it’s speed in a tide,
But by how long,
You can hold onto it.
This is so true. Let go, of the things you can’t control, so your hands can be free to manage what’s in front of you, and is real.
Disbelief engulfs me,
Entirely.
Lovingly embracing me,
smothering and drowning me
As I drift, lonely.
Free.
Had no idea, I was that vulnerable.
No idea I was at risk.
No plan to face, this kind of twist.
and, knowing me,
An end to love doesn’t exist.
Never learned to put it in past tense.
So here we go,
Again heartbroken.
Without the claim to say I was stolen.
I must have gotten onto my own rollercoaster.
Gone off with my fantasies of you.
Without you.
Because if you were who I thought I knew.
You would not have deserted my view,
Without warning.
So I’m stagnant in this pain that’s soaring through,
The hopes you built and tore through.
I did.
I expected more of you.
Life being what it is, it must go on.
Tumbling on.
Oblivious to the cracks in the earth that
That spread apart my path.
So on, it is.
There’s corn to mill.
There’s cows to milk
There’s morning dew.
Life will always have spaces to fill.
There are sadder thoughts,
Than you.
So on we go, individually.
As I dangle.
Painfully.
Free.
You asked me out to eat,
Sat me down, apron in lap.
Then popped out and left through the back.
Are you serious?
We were on a walk down the park.
Enjoying the trees,
When I turned round to catch a good whiff, off the breeze,
You were gone!
Are you serious?
Really? But I can’t seem
To gather, how serious you could be?
When I haven’t the chance,
to hear you talk to me.
So I’m pending dismissal, indefinitely
Are you serious?
I was leaning on you affectionately
So I couldn’t stand straight
Aside the vacuum you gave.
Every ring on my phone is an anticipation
Of the chance that there may be some conversation
I’m not very happy at all.
Time waits for no man, much less a girl.
So there happens to be more on my plate.
If I have it my way, peace will be made.
At least to admit that my heart did a swirl.
That there’s open passage to forgive.
That you put a smile in my world.
Please.
Be serious!
Fly.
My face has mountains
and Valleys, lush, life
giving terrain.
Seeds latent, waiting for rain.
You come to me, speaking
in languages that I don’t understand
until I feel them.
But those are just stories I hear.
First I must be silent inside.
We must slice, from my temple down.
On either side.
Take off my face completely.
My nose, you see…
May lead me, to like, to want, to anticipate and salivate
at the prospect of the pleasure of dancing.
This we don’t want.
My lips may form a channel of moisture that can contribute
to a miniature lake of
spent desire.
We don’t want that either.
The mouth; the greatest offender.
It may consent to be fed, to be watered.
Alow an intruder to climb in and till it.
Should I allow it?
That, we really don’t want.
I am a child, yes.
But what goes on in my mind, may blind me from morals
that should be enshrined
so cut out my mouth,
lest I feel inclined,
to speak freely,
words that are babies.
You see, my words,
are babies.
Either fully formed, or merely conceptual.
So cut out my mouth,
as regular childbirth is not enough of a hurdle.
Though, I’ve heard, the scar tissue may kill my first-born.
Or if I’m lucky, ensure that my colon is torn.
Cut out my mouth,
so my father can feel warm,
in the knowledge that he sired a true woman.
Remove my face from me
I should not see, I should not breathe.
Remove my face completely.
I should never have the chance to speak freely.
I have no value, as God made me, functionally,
responsive with flexibility.
To let mother nature have her way with my body,
would mean,
endless shame to my family.
So Please. Cut out my face.
So I can be…
Happy.
Raya Wambui 