He calls me 'love'
Every time and all the time. When its my turn to say it back, the word hooks somewhere in my throat. When we are writing, its easier and i can blame every hesitancy on the 'stupid network'. I tell him how lost i feel. He asks me if i want to be found. I have no answers.
Is it possible that when God made me, He designed that i would walk through this path fraught with thorns and be wounded and never recover? Could it be part of His perfect plan that i am never able feel love after that one time? Or did i with my own hands mess up His perfect plan? Am i doomed to suffer for the rest of my life?
I want to be happy. I am happy now but for Pete's sake, i am a writer. We writers need to be as deliriously happy as the characters we weave tales about. I want super happy. I want to be able to write my own story and that is where the problem lies. I see God weaving this wonderful story but I am too impatient to get to the deliriously happy part. So i stand at His elbow and try to help him out. " Add a little humor there, some adventure here", I say... I am screwing up very badly in helping Him tell this story. The thing is i don't know how to let go and let Him.
In happier news...i tried singing, real singing, in the shower today. My voice is as good as new. Unlike the little Mermaid, i didn't lose my voice too. Maybe, just maybe, there is hope for me...
Song of the day: Nosa : I go always pray for you
Every time and all the time. When its my turn to say it back, the word hooks somewhere in my throat. When we are writing, its easier and i can blame every hesitancy on the 'stupid network'. I tell him how lost i feel. He asks me if i want to be found. I have no answers.
Is it possible that when God made me, He designed that i would walk through this path fraught with thorns and be wounded and never recover? Could it be part of His perfect plan that i am never able feel love after that one time? Or did i with my own hands mess up His perfect plan? Am i doomed to suffer for the rest of my life?
I want to be happy. I am happy now but for Pete's sake, i am a writer. We writers need to be as deliriously happy as the characters we weave tales about. I want super happy. I want to be able to write my own story and that is where the problem lies. I see God weaving this wonderful story but I am too impatient to get to the deliriously happy part. So i stand at His elbow and try to help him out. " Add a little humor there, some adventure here", I say... I am screwing up very badly in helping Him tell this story. The thing is i don't know how to let go and let Him.
In happier news...i tried singing, real singing, in the shower today. My voice is as good as new. Unlike the little Mermaid, i didn't lose my voice too. Maybe, just maybe, there is hope for me...
I wear you like the tribal marks of an Ibadan man.
You know those men that turn their faces away when they know the rest of the world is staring?
They turn away forgetting that they are marked on both cheeks.
Any way i turn, i cannot escape you and the scars you have left on my soul.
I saw an Ibadan man the other day.
I starred at his marks for the longest time.
He turned towards me and smiled.
It was the most beautiful smile ever.
I smiled back and the scars you left me forgot how to be ugly
Its better it gets stuck in, than for it to come out and not be meant.
ReplyDeletereally? the jury is still out on that one!
ReplyDeleteI love your metaphors Kiah!
ReplyDeleteWow... i love the last bit there, the poetry kinda piece you had... with the Ibadan man and his tribal marks.... it was def Awesome. Just Passing through your Blog, i would be back soon enough, hopefully to be a regular, like the heaving of your chest with all the breathes you take.
ReplyDelete