Before I became a woman, life was just a collection of childish adventures
Playing "ten-ten" in the evening, oblivious to the chickens coming home to roost.
"Always" was just another word and the only cramps I experienced
were those that resulted from climbing too many trees.
Barry was just "the boy with the big head"
and Joseph was my "play-play" husband.
"Hide and seek" was not a game of hearts
and cartoons always had a moral lesson.
*** was an example of a "three letter word" and life was so simple without having to wear a bra.
Before I became a woman,
fathers were always the men and wives were always women.
Nobody confused those roles becaue
"Ali" was always the boy and "Simbi" was the girl
"Adam was to Eve" as pencil was to eraser.


Before I became a woman,
foolishness was not sold on TV because the truth was preached in black and white.
A ten year old was still her mother's baby  not bride of bearded old man.
Children were going to be leaders of tomorrow,
"Twerk" was not an example of a verb
because Hannah Montana still had her clothes on.
The boys didn't stop to stare and tease because I was unripe for harvest.
Sunday school was about "How the fish ate Jonah"
and not about Salem my newest "crush."
Before I became a woman,
I wanted to marry a doctor, pilot, Jack Sparrow,
or the boy next door.
Then I grew up...


When I became a woman,
Life took on a new meaning
A collection of choices and decisions.
The boys didn't want to play no more and mama said I had to be lady.
Sally and Amina didn't want to talk anymore because puberty had reared its head
and boys were more interesting than our games of old.
When I became a woman,
I learnt about purpose and the ills of society
I stepped back and saw that little girl gradually fade away.
I did not try to run after her, her part in my life was  over.
I watched her go with a mixture of pain and happiness
I stepped into my woman suit and made my own mistakes.
I cried my own tears and bandaged my own wounds
I knew now that life was only fair to those who never gave up.


Now lipsticks and mascara have replaced a lot of play things.
Now I am woman and I want to marry ambition, guts and a man who is not too proud to believe in God.
Now I am a woman but no  child is still a leader.
Now I am a woman and I own my mistakes
Now I am a woman and I am not afraid to love, live or pray.
Now I am a woman but I have more than a figure eight.
Now I am a woman and I understand my mother better.

I pray for you young girl,
may you have the courage to wave childhood goodbye
when the sounds of womanhood begin to reach your ears
May you be brave enough to miss a game of hopscotch
so you can catch a train to destiny.
And when you are ripe for marriage
may you not look for a man that will validate your existence.
Put away childishness as you wait for that boy
that has become a MAN WHEN YOU BECOME A WOMAN.

#EchoesOfChildhood #PoemsForTheYoungMe #Womanhood #Love #Live #Play #MoveOn #Energie

Before fools began to recycle silliness
or love and *** became a commodity to be bought off the shelves of our desires.
Before muscle outranked intelligence
Or the loose were voted people of the year
Before a misguided girlfriend replaced a faithful wife
And hardwork was kicked out of the door by web scamming
Before ******* became only rounds of loveless ***
Common sense lived next to sanity on the street called society.
Because we were too busy watering the gardens of our stupidity
Common sense gradually lost all sense and sensibility
until there was nothing left to compose a corpse.
Very few of us attended the burial
Because almost all of us didn't realize it was gone...

Uncommon sense told you how high crack could get you
common sense agreed you were going to feel fly
But like an airplane, you'd eventually come crashing like a pack of cards.
Uncommon sense got her pregnant out of wedlock
While common sense was still preparing a future under a respectable roof.
The same society which kick against abortion
Serves the pregnant teenager a cold shoulder and self-righteous looks of disdain.

How do you ponder a picture without the painting
Or seperate the sea from the Navy?
Downloading apps to help bridge the gap between stupidy and foolishness
As the brain lies unused like an abandon project.
But like Lagbaja and his mask
The more you look, the less you see
The fool will always go shopping but will never put wisdom in the basket.

Some say love is red, others say it is blue
which ever one you choose, make sure you stick to her like glue.
Some say love is found, others say it finds you
but for every time you fall, you have to travel the road anew.

But love is colourless, love has no tribal marks.
Love knows not the English man or the African man.
Love sees no colour or ancestral roots.
Love only has a language and only hearts speak it.

In a perfect world...they met.
He loved computers, she loved books.
The kitchen was their favourite place though now they eat more of junk.
He said the first "hello", she really didn't say "hi".
Tall, handsome and some more
White teeth, curvy and "very intelligent."
Somewhere in the future they became friends
Intelligent conversations, you'd think they had knowledge.
Cat fights and playful jibes
Unseen glances and pregnant silences
A little bit of sarcasm to spice up the talk
An invite to dinner sealed it up.

A pause, a sigh...uncertain glances
and some hiccups in their once flawless discuss.
An inch to reduce the centimeter long distance between them
"I like you...I more than like you," he said.
She called his bluff off but she didn't sleep well that night.
All the sermons forgotten, she only could remember
The gospel her "liker" preached.
A handful of MTN extracool calls still didn't quench the fire
Something kept fanning the flames.

Finally he gave up on her or did he?
Some serious talk and several quarrels
She decided to "try" him out.
So many things happened,  God was watching this "Titanic"
The ship set sail but not before they christened her "relationship".
Oblivious to the massive ice cold danger, they climbed aboard and became passengers.
The voyage was disturbing, turbulent waters and serious storms
Two captains in one closet, they hit their heads too many times.
No destination in mind, they just kep moving like a waving flag.
This titanic crashed and heaven had a field day.
What was left of the movie was take-home memories.

But unlike that Titanic, no casualties were recorded
Only a mind fullof regrets and pain indescribable
Because they forgot the One whose mind is full of them.
But He told you to ask first
He said to you, you'll never lack a mate
So why did you jump ship? His ship.
Why was a relationship more important to you than fellowship?
He loves you still and that's why you have a bleeding heart and not a broken home..

Start all over, this time with Him in the equation.
Bring that man before your Maker
and ask God to put you to sleep
So your "Eve" can be brought out.
The lady, her man and their Maker
The eternal principle for a lasting relationship.

Can we go on a date somewhere
Where the setting sun kisses the horizon
And the colour orange remind us
Of a love rekindled like a blazing
Torch lit to lighten up darkened alleys.

Can we be friends and blank out Wi-Fi
Seek solace in a love platonic
And  that is only allowed to grow
If the feeling is mutual?
Can you be you while I be me
As we gradually make room for "us"...

I started to write you a letter
Dear unborn baby.
But instead I wrote another
And mailed it to myself.

I realize I owe you a lot
A good name, daddy and life.
I realize I must prepare myself
Body, mind and spirit
If I am to do good by you.

So before your first cries fill the room
Or we gather to celebrate your arrival
Before the African celebrations begin
Or the Jollof rice is passed round

While I still have the chance to choose you a good good father
While I still have the chance to watch, Pray and work.
Let me write my to-do list.
And diligently tick each box as I await your arrival.

So when the nurses shout, "push!"
A woman helped of the Lord would welcome you
While a responsible man kneels by the bed whispering prayers.
And together they will provide, teach, love and instruct you.

Born in a remote village somewhere in the North
Yaro
Where the fulanli herdsmen twirl sticks as they guard cattles
Yaro
Makes one remember that boy in the bible who tended to his father's sheep all day
Yaro
Life was rosy, bed warm and cosy.
Mother was called "Mama" and age stricken father was "abba".
I sometimes wondered who matchmaked them
Mother looked like she was babysitting the world
Father looked like he was going to die any minute
But they loved me and that was all my infant mind wanted
For you see I was nothing but a
Yaro.

I loved the mornings, when goats where being let out of sheds
And I ran around the huts in our compounds
In between my father's leg and over my mother's lap
Bowls of koko and ***** of kosai couldn't quieten me.
I never knew your breakfast of "Kellogs varieties" or
One apple a day, to keep the doctor at bay.
For you see I was nothing but a
Yaro.
But I was alright or so I thought.
The afternoons were spent chasing Hassan and Hussein
Those "wicked" twins who would not allow our chickens rest
My world was coloured brown, brown goats, brown huts
Brown sand, brown faces and maybe brown hearts.
Brown was the only colour in the world except of course
The sky,  which was blue sometimes and white at other times.

One day, when you were still in homes covered with zinc
Father pulled me out of bed and handed me over to some fierce looking men
Mother wouldn't look at me, Hassan and Hussein stood far away.
Father was the one holding me so I knew he was not dead yet.
He handed me my new pair of slippers and pointed to the men
"They'll teach you life," he said.
"But.." I replied only to be cut short by the sting of a slap
"You're nothing but a..."
"Yaro", I replied.
So this was it..I was leaving me behind.
Mother hid behind her layers of clothing like a coward
Father stood proud like an English man
I stood with all of them around me feeling nothing
But what my Yaro mind allowed me to feel.

It was the year the weevils came for the harvest.
The moon playing tricks on eyes eagerly awaiting its appearance.
The oily black sky desperately waiting to cry a river
and the year they came for her heart.

Don't cry, it would be alright.
The night is getting thick, the morning seem so far.
Don't cry, it would be okay
when the morning comes and the river of sorrow pour down your face no more.

Let the pain in your heart and the ice in your eyes.
let the crystal clear liquid bleed no more.

You will chase away those haunting demons
Then you will stop accepting handkerchiefs of dishonesty to wipe your tears.
You will write your own stories and sing the songs in your heart.
The crows and locusts will always come but the fields
will still choose to be green again.
Live, love, pray, be happy and do it all again.
The rains are coming...

For He causes the sun to rise upon both the evil and the good.
but just maybe this is all a part of His plan.
May the morning find you laughing...

She fell in love with the man we called husband
We were all part of her love story.
As she walked towards her future and
with watery eyes turned to wave us goodbye
we sealed her fate with cries of "don't worry."

"He's a good man and he'll take care
of you and the babies you will bear.
In five years time you will get used to
The rhythm and pressures of marriage.
Be like your friend, Ta Sallah...three children and counting."

She fell in love with a man she called husband.
Did she or we assumed, planned and gave our blessing
To what she considered a curse and prison.
They said they found him naked and unconscious
Hoping to consumate the union which he had bought.

The doctors wondered why his daughter was huddled in a corner
But the riddle was solved when she was named as one of the wives.
"He was biting me," she said in between sobs.
The poor thing wasn't even mature enough to understand foreplay.
She was not in love with the man we called husband.

He lies unconscious on a hospital bed while society ridicules her for her actions.
Now, he's the victim and she's the criminal.
He took her innocence yet all you see is a wicked woman.
There lies your mistake...
She is the infant bride of a bearded old man.

Yarinya!
Born into a life which gave you little or no choices.
Your basket of options had only oranges for sale and a tray to balance on your head.
Yarinya!
Your small feet tread the path baked hot by the mean African sun.
Yarinya!
Working to cater for the adult mouths of those who forged you.
Yarinya!
Life has so much to offer you but how your arms are deprived their right to reaching out
because they  support the tray on your head.

Yarinya!
The rags you wear shall not mark you out for shame.
Yarinya!
Your kind have shaped the world for the better.
Yarinya!
I heard about another of your kind who once sold bread on the streets of Lagos.
They say she unconsciously walked into a picture
and for her, that was the beginning of a new story.
Yarinya!
The tray on your head shall not suppress the intellect hidden in your head.

Yarinya!
Until I find you, hold on to that tray and sell the best oranges you can find.
Until I find you, bear the blisters on your feet for lack of shoes.
Until I find you, keep your story alive on your lips.
When I find you, we'll sell your story, "Yarinya Mai Talle."
And the world will know that her children
deserve much more than just clean water and UNICEF endorsements
or a tray of hawker's items and a society dead to its conscience.

Yarinya!
Where ever you are,
On the streets of Italy or under the bridge in Lagos,
Under the "dogon yaro" tree in Kano or in your father's house in Brazil
Until I find you,
God keep you from those seeking to marry you at five
so they can wife you at eight.

*Yarinya-means "young female"

#DiariesOfAnAfricanChild #ChildMarriage #ModernSlavery #ChildProstitution #AwakenYourConscience #IfIWereYourChild #PhotosByOlumideOresugun #Liferadio101 #Energie

Today I went through my forgotten junk box
Looking for nothing in particular
Old papers, toys, books and frames
Trophies, memories both happy and sad

Well, there I was thumbing through them all
Surrounded by dust and spiderwebs
A useless chore I thought to myself
I decided to find something better to do.

Then I saw it under some books
Edges frayed and eaten by age.
I snatched it up and dusted away
Every ounce of dust and dirt on it.

My portrait held the picture of her
Her radiant looks and golden smile
I stared and felt I had gone back in time
To behold a beauty, God's own Monalisa.

A scarf on her head to keep away dust
Majestic eyes outlined by kohl.
Her lips were parted in a playful smile
Legs crossed, arms folded while she sat on a
rock.

Behind her the hills rose majestically
Beneath her the flowers formed a carpet of
colours
Above her the sky was a crystal blue
Even nature was trying to give her best.

That radiant smile that tugged at her lips
Those royal eyes that gazed at me
Those looks, that smile was all I could see
A heart of gold I'm sure she had too.

My newly found treasure thoroughly dusted
I felt like a pirate with a box of treasures
Indeed a treasure I had found
For the woman in the picture is my mother..

There is a place beyond logic
Where explanations are replaced
By soft looks, teasing smiles and shared pizza.

There is a place beyond explanations
Where words do not speak
And silent is effective.
And the whole world will stand still
When love finally had a face.

Curly hair and ******* eyes
Pink lips and hands so dainty
Radiant smile and chubby cheeks
Someday I'll call you Zara.

Sparks so faint yet we feel its touch
Hand in hand my love and I
Picking out names for the future you
Someday we'll call you Zara.

Still in school reading those books
Preparing your future home
Mummy can't wait for your arrival
See you in the future my baby Zara.

I saw your heart before I knew its colour.
You remind me of Cadbury's dark chocolate
The one that always calls out to customers
Even when they pretend it's not there.

Brown eyes..the colour of brown sand
Dark yet soft, closed  yet looking at me
Sleepy circles of brown.
Your eyes called out to me
And like one in love with chocolates
I answered.
Now brown is my favourite colour.

A tiny mound of flesh, as harmless as the sparrow's egg
forged out of love or lust
the deed was done and so I came to be.
In my pulsing cocoon I lay
an unknown visitor devoid of sight, flight or fight.
Soon my cocoon of shelter will change in readiness for my arrival
and I am looking forward to my birthday
as with ecstasy I long to gaze upon the faces
of those whose ***** I was forged out of.

I hear voices and a gruff voice says "stigma"
I wonder if it is my mother's name or my fathers'.
Too many voices but it seems we are going to see the doctor.
My infantile mind says that must be my father's name
but  why does Stigma and Doctor seem to me an unusual combination?
Though I can't feel, each part of me fears this trip.
Even though I am yet to meet these strangers I hear
My little feet try to break the barrier between my world and theirs
and yet my hands stay folded unwilling to stretch out and help.

I was forcefully ripped and torn apart
hacked to pieces by one whose honorable name
is engraved on a metal plate somewhere on a hospital door
In my prime, gone before my time
bud in flame, nipped in society's name
A genius waiting to be unveiled turned voice of an aborted future.
The deed that made me ashen cold now lies somewhere in a plastic bin,
sent to a distant land by the hands of those who forged me
never to return from my errand.

My passing was celebrated with two cups of tea
and a smile of congratulation from Doctor to Stigma.
Before my ears were gone, I heard them call me fetus and
wish me a happy birthday.
My name is Fetus, I am sixteen weeks old...
How soon they forget me, their nameless, faceless, lifeless child.
But a voice says to me, can a woman forget her ******* child
that she should not have compassion on the child of her womb?
Yes, they may forget, yet will I not forget you.

The mirror lies broken with fragments littered on the floor
Rectangular little pieces and square shaped remnants
Scattered images of me embedded in star-shaped glasses
Like yoghurt left in the open, this love has gone sour.
Tick-tock, tick-tock the clock counts each hour
As I wait to hear from one whose mouth now seem duct taped.
A thousand pieces of me cut into shreds by just one pieced you.
A thousand pieces...
Sitted on the floor, oblivious to the giggles and happy sounds of laughter
Or the different sounds the evening meals make
As people go about their business like my pain does not exist.
"Come and eat", one of them calls out to me.
Can't she see that my heart's hunger cannot be satisfied
By meals high in protein or fibre contents?
Like a child suffering from malnutrition, my heart lies
Somewhere where it belongs, nestled on a network of arteries
A masterpiece of heart bathed in red yet craving for something.
One heart, one story, one me.
I pick a broom to sweep the little pieces of me and I saw her
Eyes on one piece, ears on another piece
I can't help but smile, even a broken mirror wants to dramatically tell of how scattered this life is.
Like a yoghurt left in the open, love well deserved gone sour.
You wear your emotions like a three -pieced suit
The pefect gentleman, heart enclosed in a castle like fortress
One piece you, a hundred pieces of me at your heels.
Or so I thought.
But then I met this guy while I was picking up pieces of me you had left behind.
He knelt beside me, wrists bleeding as He picked each broken piece
And handed me back to myself.
When I cried, His tears flowed too, it was like we shared organs.
Love mysterious exuded out of Him
Silently He handed each piece but not before He cleaned it up
And when He was done I was holding me in my hands
But yet I was one and the same person.
Then He turned and started walking away
Wait! I called out. "Who are you?"
"What do you want from me?"
He turned and for the first time I saw His face
Love!
They say they found me talking to myself
I know I was talking to Love.
They say Love made me mad
How do you love Love Himself?
I know He said so
He left one piece of Him for me
He said He was the only piece I needed.
One Christ, One Lord, One Love
Three pieces wrapped in one.
This zig-zag love story now triangular
Me, my Love and whoever is willing to complete it

I wonder what you'll remember me for..
the sarcastic twist of my mouth or
the mischievious gleam in my eyes.

I wonder what you think of me.
A bundle of cruel surprises or
a woman who skipped growing up.

I wonder what you see me as.
A friend, foe or sweetheart.
Whatever you choose, remember me.

The Ghost Town
As the wheels of the carriage rolled by,
red dust disturbed,
vision hazy and unclear,
a face looked out of the carriage window
to stare at what remained
of a once beautiful and bubbling city.

No stray cats or dogs or rats
or children playing on the streets.
No happy sounds of laughter there
or old men remembering days of their youth.
Now the town lies gloriously desolate,
forever deprived of its former glory.

No longer are shops open to the public
neither are markets functioning efficiently.
Streets are now deserted roads,
once beautiful homes decorated by dust.
Their walls adorned by climbing plants,
spider webs providing makeshift curtains.

Even the sun shines with blazing fierceness,
making one wonder if she's angry.
She's had no choice but to shine and stare
at the atrocities carried out by men.
For thousand of years she's looked and shone
a sorry and powerless unwilling witness.

At night silence reigns like a king,
no one is home, that much is obvious.
Only eerie sounds are heard,
of doors creaking on loose hinges.
Nobody bothers to close them up,
it seemed their occupants left in a hurry.

Night is feared like a dreaded disease,
fear can be tasted in the mouth like bile.
Walking is now short unsure steps
with an occasional glance behind the shoulder.
What remains of my beautiful city
are deserted streets and empty homes...

Dub-tub, dub-tub
Dub-dub-tub, dub-tub
The sound of some heart which got too close to another heart.
Peaceful sleep so far from the bed
Hanging by the window, ready to fly
The minute she tries to close her eyes.

No broken windscreen or shattered glasses
The sounds of an injured heart are very silent.
Slowly her legs hit the floor
The morning after he said good bye.

Twenty-four hours is still a day and the sun will still rise and set.
Oceans will roar and babies will be born
Creation will still speak of the Majestic God.
A broken heart she was never supposed to have
For heart was not made of glass.
Now she knows so her heart has turned elastic...

Heaven looks on as love continues to woo hate
Will it their suffering alleviate?
Who teaches love what door to knock on
And who answers the door when terror on the night's wing is borne?
When you first met, everything seemed to
make love to your five senses
The taste, sight, feel, voice and smell of
everything around your beloved seemed
to caresss the very core of your being and without wanting to
you found yourself drawn to this creature whose existence you
Had no prior knowledge of.

And so like Adam you went to sleep
But you couldn't sleep long enough to
Allow Him fashion a gift for you out of you.
You were restless, your garden lay fallow, untended to and deserted.
Since proverbs31 was never a criteria for your selection
love you said was like designer clothing and since she was no Victoria secrets
This package you intended to present to yourself openly.
And so you became the giver and the receiver
Leaving no room for a blessing to find expression.
For your kisses were presented to her without a hallelujah.

And when she accepted them she doubted the authenticity
But who cared anyway? It was the age of fairytale marriages.
Love! Yes love was sufficient to keep.
But didn't we all think so until Eve ate the apple?
Still , the marriage must hold for all have been invited.
After all, we'll learn later...google.
And so we all ate and wished the couple a "happy life"
Becoming partakers of a lifetime of regret
How awful or was it? The wine we drank tasted happy
and the music was sweet.

Now the wedding is over and he knows
That the devil also wears prada.
Chained to a lifetime of regrets and loveless affiliation
How did the marriage he dreamt of become the marriage he cursed?
She looked at him and tossed the pen to him.
The divorce papers were ready to be signed the lawyer told them.
But before the pen kissed the sheet they awoke with a start.
They had fallen asleep in the marriage counselor's couch..
A glimpse of the future was enough to make a decision...the marriage was called off
And back to the garden they went to learn how the first marriage began.

My  love for you is like "butter."
Melting at the sight of you
and yet what I feel seems solid.
Like two slices of bread
waiting to be put one on top the other
we compliment each other.

My love for you is like butter,
butterflies in my stomach
and skips and leaps in my heart.
My love for you is like butter
Soft, yet hard...
#Energie #LoveOnlyKnowsYou @eneric24

Twinkle, twinkle little love
How I wonder who you are
Buried deep inside my heart
Like the treasures of the Caribbean.

Row your boat down my stream
My waters of love calls out to
Ride the waves of my love for you
This our love is no ordinary dream.

The world had so much to tell
but very little time to spare.
She searched for what to do
and decided to write it down in books.

There are more treasures to be found in books
than all the treasures stashed up by pirates...
-Walt Disney

My lover, my lover open up the door
That leads to that precious heart of yours
My lover, my lover here I am
On bended knees, my only wish to be seen by you
Come let's talk love and ***
Come let's talk you and me.

Shall I compare thee to a summer's eve?
Tell you to cleave even though I know your name's not Steve?
Your eyes so white, a future with you so real.
Waiting for you like a parched farmland wait for the rains,
promises yet unspoken hoping you'll redeem.
The sun sets over the horizon, another day draws to a close.
As I hope in this love story, in the end I won't lose.
Reaching through the darkness, hoping to grasp a little of the unknown.
Love eludes me, like peace taken off the streets of Borno.
How shall these things be??
Like that garden valentine's story, I want to be your Eve.
But before you, there was one.
He has managed my heart like you've never had.
He sees right through me into you.
"Do you love me"? I ask Him.
And His reply makes yours seem like a child's play.
I understand that until you love Him, you cannot love me.
And until you love Him, I cannot love you.
Until we love Him, Valentine's day would be nothing more than shades of red and blue.
So before you give her that red rose, do you know the Lilly of the valleys?
Girl, before you melt under that candle light
Do you know light Himself?
Before your skirt rides up to your waist
And those hands skim over skin
Before she unbuttons your shirt
Before you forge out of "love"
What you are supposed to give birth to in love...
This triangular love story
Him, me and whoever is willing to complete it.
Before you come bearing promises wrapped in circles of gold
Put a ring on this triangle
Else me and you can only keep being parallel friends.
Journeying to nowhere

They tried to fit little pieces of you into boxes.
Sly people, as cunning as foxes.
Paint a picture of freedom but keep them in cages.
Delete the evidence, blot it out of the pages.

I am no Maya Angelou but I know how the caged bird longs to sing.
Clip the wings and break the beaks, cover the wounds and they still will feel the sting.
Litter their screens with the pictures of your bird
Make them feel fly from the comfort of a bed.

Reward them with ghost followers while they lead unproductive lives.
Tell them they can "hammer" as they believe your lies.
Fit them into a frame so they can see the world from your eyes
Capture their hearts so it can be as cold as ice.

But you see there are birds that chatter and birds that tweet.
Birds that matter and birds that speak.
You say the words are very few
Yet I see you airing your view.

You say the space is very small
Yet you can talk about your car and all.
You say the world doesn't need you.
Yet you blame it for not paying your dues.

You say you want to get up and shine, blind our eyes and be a light
Yet you don't want to get up and fight.
You say it has always been like that
I say that's what the little box did to your head.

But I know a man who had no tweet handle
Yet He had more than "77k" followers.
He had no droid yet He mutitasked
More than that your Iphone Six.

If you want to be a light, a hundred and sixty characters is more than enough.
You say your battery is almost dead
Yet it can tweet the last thought in your head.
If you want to really talk, one hundred and sixty can do the job.
Let your tweet so shine before men
One hundred and sixty can do the job.
Open the cage or squeeze yourself out
If one hundred and sixty cannot do the job
If my options scare you too much
Sit and watch me do your job.
Payday will come and we'll meet at His feet.
My hundred and sixty heaven will retweet!
#tweetgelism #OutOfTheBox

I woke up today and I realized I owned a street.
One which you have walked past, through and on two many times.
How many times did you drive by those network of veins and arteries?
How many times did your words sweep clean the surface of my street?
How many times did you put a dent in my walls and crumble
the dreams that stood like houses
on opposite sides of my heart?
How many portholes have your speeding made on that street I call heart?

You don't even read my heart signs.
Like a traffic offender you drive past
oblivious to the red, orange or green signs.
But someday you'll knock on my door
and it won't open.
Someday, you'll walk past a heavily pregnant me
and wonder if that little bulb of life would have been yours.
Someday you'll reach out for me on a bed and not find me
because you never put a ring on it.

But before then my street is empty.
My dreams still are standing
and I am doing the best I can
to be a good wife and mother.
Before then, I'm still building this street
every hurt, disappointment and cruel word
I'll use to build this heart.
This street shall be called lovely
hope and forgiveness.
until then, keep driving by.
My gates are still open.

I saw the way she looked at you

And I waited to see how your eyes would reciprocate.

I stood afar off and watched your gaze move slowly,

From the slender hands that held the wine glass

To the blood red lipstick that smiled at you

To eyes that invited you to exotic worlds

And over the top of her exotic hair

Until it rested on the face of another.

Mine.

In a world of many distractions, your eyes choose to focus on me.

Tell me what I can do.
Tell me what I have done.
Tell me what I ought to do.
Tell me what I should have done.
Tell me.


It's not you, it's me.
I really don't know how to explain this
But I don't have the will to love you again.


It's not you, it's me.
You love too much and I cannot handle it.
You care too much and I can't accept it.


It's not you, it's me.
You want commitment but I am a traveller.
I want a love that is fleeting, you want forever and a day more.

It's not you, it's me.
I love you too but only for a while.

I love us.

I love how far we've come

I love what we share.

I love the future we look forward to

I love the way you look at me.

I love the way you hold my hands,

I love the laughter that begins from your stomach

And ends with a smile that lights up your eyes.

I love us.

But much more than these, I love you.