Strings.

-

 He left me out of breath with that kiss at midnight. Hehehe. Hello 2021. I am not sure if it's the way he looked into my eyes as he drew me close. Or. The way he whispered ‘happy new year baby' into my ears with his dreamy voice. Or. The way he made me dance with him when the band played Sondela by Ringo. Or. The way he was acting all possessive, like am his alone, and he don't share. Never. Ever. Or. The way he held my hand, like he will never. Ever. Let go as went to watch the fireworks display outside. Or. The way he kissed my forehead after tucking me in, in the early hours of the morning. Or. The way he left the painkillers. Two of them. Water and a cheesy ‘Rest. I'll bring supper. xoxo' note on my nightstand. I am still not sure what it is that made me send the text message.

Fingers crossed. He has seen it. He is typing. He has stopped typing. Okay maybe he was disrupted. Recording. Yaaay! I prefer voice notes. Oh stops. Blueticks. Nothing. Two hours. Blueticks. Nothing. Six hours. Blueticks. Nothing. Two days. Blueticks. Nothing. Hehehe. Hello 2021.

Dear Lord,

His silence is just too loud. It is so hard for me to admit that I have made a fool out of myself. I am the one who agreed to the no strings attached nonsense. We are just having fun we called it. Then I started showing up in matching panties and bras. He started buying me thoughtful gifts. I thought maybe just maybe. Then I started cooking hearty meals for him. He started calling in the middle of the day just to check on me. I thought maybe just maybe. Then I started doing his laundry. He introduced me to his family. As a friend. He has never brought a girl home they said. Nail. Hook. Sinker. I was a goner. I should have known better. There were strings from day one. Pulling. Controling me like I was a puppet. Or maybe I am. Popeyesm! Hehehe. I am so embarrassed. How did I allow myself to stand on sinking sand. Now I can't breath. I can't even bring myself to cry it out. But of course umzenzi kakhalelwa. But well I should have known that in a generation where being a hoe is life I would eventually get burnt. Charred beyond recognition. I keep falling into the hands of wrong people who leave me drained and questioning myself. I pray for a real one. Who will see how much of a wholesome bombass person I am. And be willing to ride with me till forever. In the meantime may you please work on my character, personality, my entire being. In Jesus's name I pray,

Amen.


Comments

  1. Marshall NdhlovuJanuary 12, 2021 at 9:41 AM

    this deserves a chef’s kiss🤌🏾 hayi uyazbhalela skhokho.....thina we’re just followers wena lead us with that torch stored inside your pen🙌🏾

    ReplyDelete
  2. FrankLiverJanuary 16, 2021 at 9:22 PM

    This is deep mngae!👌👌

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

I am queen.

-
Image
  Dear Lord, I am not. I am becoming. I know I will be. Be loyal to umqhele on my head. I know I will be.  Be a Cinderella of my generation. All I have in place of the two mice and the pumpkin. Is a dream. A dream to be a voice of the voiceless. To speak the truth without fear. A dream to sit at top table talks and tear all limitations set for the girl child and woman alike. A dream to stand on power podiums, to write powerful pieces and address the African woman. Tell them that they are enough. That there is still hope. That they can win in life. It's not much. It's all I have. A dream. A dream to be.  I promise to leave my glass shoe behind when the clock strikes midnight. My only ticket to being found by the prince. My ticket to a dream come true. A happily ever after. An answered prayer. Ngikhanyisele indlela to green pastures and still waters. I know. I know I am tired of wishing. Waiting. Wailing for rain as I stand in this desert. I see me. A seed. I see all I can be. A
Read more

Broken.

-
Image
  Dear Lord, We’re broken. No. I am broken. To a million pieces and nomatter how much I try to glue it all together it only leaves me with scarred hands. Bleeding. Trying hard. Too hard to stop the blood from gushing out like a mighty waterfall. Trying hard to blur the memories that become a little more clearer by the tick of the clock. The memories that crash me a little bit harder every time against the stone walls. Tall walls. Prison walls that trap me in thoughts that are in darkest shade of black. Darkness that I can feel take form. A form so thick with no heartbeat. A form with a foul smell so strong I can feel my head spinning. Slowing down. Breaking. Breaking a thousand different ways. Again. And again. And again. The battles that count aren’t the ones for gold medals. The struggles within yourself – the invisible, inevitable battles inside all of us – that’s where it’s at ~ Jesse Owens Lord, help me keep my mind on things above. Where Christ is seated on your right hand.  If t
Read more

Siphosenkosi.

-
Image
 Dear Lord, “A child is a gift from God." I whisper with quivering lips. “A child is a gift from God." I whisper as I stare at the picture of the little human, being fashioned in my womb. “A child is a gift from God." I whisper as I shred the picture of the scan to bite sized pieces. I swear it does not feel anything close to being a blessing. It feels like a hot slap from karma. For the days I gave my father the cold stare as he held the door open for me disapprovingly in the ams. For the days I wouldn't listen to his counsel about the power of choices. For indulging in unprotected sex before marriage. For the days I thought I knew better. For actively being part of a perverse and crooked generation. Standing for nothing. Falling for everything. It's just one pint. It's just one night. It's just one round.  And now it's just one baby. “A child is a gift from God.” I whisper as I sob quietly and try to focus on breathing. I have been avoiding all silv
Read more