Hurt

Pain pain

Go away

Come again another day

I’m tired of being trapped

Tired of trying to get you to notice me

Tired of pulling all these stunts

I want to be the real me when I’m around you

But the you I see doesn’t like people like me

Doesn’t want to be associated with the likes

You see me, maybe

But you don’t see me that way

There’s so much to me

Than just the girl in glasses

Than the girl that spends eighty percent of her time at the library

Than the girl that spends her leisure reading Dan Brown

Than the girl who is socially impaired

You pretend to like them

To be like them

To do stuff they do

When you’re just like me

And in this imperfect world,

People like us should stick together

It hurts

To like someone who may never give you even an ounce of their attention

To like someone who is capable of liking you back

But is too scared to risk anything

Because they seem to have everything

It’s not like I want everything

I just want you

And I hate the fact that the heart wants what it wants

Because I don’t get to choose who I like

If I could, I would

Unfortunately,

All I have is pain.

Pain pain

Go away

Come again another day.

Waiting

Do you know what it’s like being in solitary confinement?

Just the feeling?

I know you don’t

But I do because you’ve put me through it

When one is deprived of

Sunshine

The external environment

Human interaction

When one is treated like a caged animal

Like they don’t deserve to live

Like they live on loaned air

And the only right they have is of them being alive or dead

What’s the point in living anyway?

What’s the point in fighting so hard for someone you know you’ll never have?

In holding onto a love that already faded?

In listening to love songs when you know you’ll never have love?

What’s the point in breathing?

When the only breath I want to feel is yours in my ear

Is there a point in longing to get out?

In wishing to see the rest of the world?

I’d rather not live

Than live to see another day in a world where you aren’t with me

I’d rather stay in here if I have to

And be insane

Go mental

Than leave and be constantly tortured by the image of you with her

Do you even know what it does to me?

To my soul?

You probably don’t

Because you can’t understand something you’ve never felt

You can’t comprehend something you never knew

It truly is detrimental in here

But it’s a price I’m willing to pay

In hope that you’ll be mine again

Even if that little candle of hope is slowly burning out

And soon all this will just be some stupid history and I’ll be the foolish persona

Take me back

image

I don’t understand myself

I just don’t

Occasionally I lie clueless in bed

Knowing only one thing

That I want to be held by you again

That I miss when you tuck a piece of hair behind my ear

And lift my chin

I miss you looking into my hazel eyes

When you lean on my shoulder

And whisper that you’ll never let go

The sound vibrations make my blood boil

I know it’s cliché

But it sends shivers down my spine

Saliva suddenly escapes my mouth

And my throat becomes dry

My knees weaken

My legs cannot support my weight

I can barely stand on my own

My hands behave as if they’re lifeless

They can’t hold

My heart swells

If it weren’t made of elastic cardiac muscles

I swear it could explode

My breath is slowed

For a split second,

Not one part of me is functional

I think I die

I can’t think

I can’t breathe

I can’t see

I’m motionless

But then I spring back to life when you wrap me in your arms

The only place I believe I belong

But this is all in my head

Because we can’t do this anymore

I can’t do this anymore

A tear flows freely down my cheek

And I lie in bed again

I don’t understand myself

I just don’t

But I know that

I miss the safety

The protection

The homely feeling

The sensation

I miss you.

By laurahstar.

Picture credit:
http://www.condenaststore.com/-sp/A-smiley-face-lies-in-bed-next-to-him-is-a-water-glass-with-his-line-dra-New-Yorker-Cartoon-Prints_i8542053_.htm

When I didn’t know…

Hello dear reader. I know it’s been too long since I last posted and this isn’t a story or anything of the sort. They’re random thoughts but maybe you can gain a thing or two ahaha.

Carry on…

Let me begin by saying that I am no expert. I have no expertise in anything yet. Nothing at all, well except the little biochemistry and medical stuff I’m learning at school. All I’m writing here is purely what I experience and maybe for the sake of those who are also caught in the same situation and just do not know what to do about it. I know something you can do but that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s what you should do. See what I did there? Can and should are two totally different words. Glad you get it!

So I’m just one of those ladies. I have decided that I know nothing about love and relationships because that’s the sheer truth, I DO NOT. I am a 19year-old and the only thing I keep telling myself is that I’m too young for that shit. Well I don’t know for how long I’ll be ‘too young’ but probably till the time is right and to be honest with you, I don’t know if that time is ever going to come. I’m hopeful though.

Mine isn’t a long story. It’s a very short one with too many versions. I read romance novels and wish I was that girl but the second it happens to me, I feel like crap. I want a guy that texts me good morning or makes a collection of videos for me stating the same, but when he does it pisses me the hell off. I want someone who calls me every time of the day to check up on me, but if he does I resent him because I wish he had better things to do than waste his airtime on me. I want someone who proposes to me. I want him to ask me if I’m willing to be his girlfriend or not but the one time a guy did that with a whole garden of roses I felt too embarrassed and ended up not saying yes. I couldn’t take it. I just stood there speechless, like an idiot, watched as other girls felt excited instead of me and almost shit my pants. I wished that river carried me away to some far away lake to not feel that embarrassment. It wasn’t pretty I tell you. I want a guy who would love me too much that he’d be feeling like shouting to the whole world about it, but then I just want to keep us private. Let everyone think that we solo, as long as you know you got me and I got you.

I can’t tell why I wish and want this, when deep down I want that. I dream of PDA, but when we’re in this please just walk on the other side of the road, don’t you dare try to hold my hand or wrap your arms around my waist or put your arm on my shoulders. I dream of drama, you know; you messing around and I going through your phone and finding fishy texts and photos, but when we’re in this its only peace I’ve had. I dream of us being that iconic couple that people are jealous of, but just allow me to call you by name. I’m not good at that “babe”, “honey”, and “sweetheart” nonsense… nah-ah. I suck at that.

But the past 2years I’ve been learning. Maybe I was too young for that shit.

There is and always will be a huge difference between true love and attraction. Whatever I was experiencing or maybe feeling (choose the vocabulary you like with regards to this) was merely a very intense but passing attraction, if I may. I had unrealistic expectations that just didn’t fit very well with my personality and lifestyle. I was getting into that thing I called relationship for all the wrong reasons. One time it was out of pity, the next out of rebellion, and then as an escape route and sometimes as a rebound or maybe outta peer pressure. And honestly, it was too exhausting and that resulted to my anger, embarrassment and lots of insecurities. 

Love needs to be as 1corinthians 13: 1-10 states. Patient, kind, long-suffering, trusting, tolerating and rejoicing in truth. My version was conceited, envious, angry, proud, rude, selfish, resentful and just wrong.

Always ask yourself these two questions…

Attractive? Yes! Suitable? Questionable… run away sister, run! It’ll ruin you.

Love (or what we tend to think it is,) and other disasters -part two.

Read on.

However all is not lost. One fine holiday you post a ‘swagallicious’ photo of you on facebook and in no time that guy you’ve been eyeing hits the like button and rushes to your inbox before the dust settles on that like button. A hey here and there, some late night chats, flirty comments here and there on every photo you post and in no time contacts are exchanged for further chats. You know the drill. A few weeks down the line he invites you out on a date at a park with a nice bench to sit and watch the sun go down as you talk about life. It’s picture perfect. You notice that on this particular day there’s something different about him; he’s cautious and looks like there’s something on his mind. He’s also really smart dressed in this sheep clothing and cunning hat to complete the look before popping the question: will you be my girl friend? You give an excited yes! And that’s WHEN IT HAPPENS: your first kiss. Leaves you as high as a kite! On that night you sleep on puffy clouds right next to angels singing you a lullaby while playing their harps. At last you join the dating pool. When people talk about my boyfriend this and that, you do have a say in those conversations. You graduated from the spectators club. If only you knew that being a spectator was a myriad times better than being in this relationships ship. It all waxes so well, you’ve never felt happier. You notice that all those love songs that sounded like broken records are actually very deep songs that you can relate to. You fill your playlist with them; most of the songs are from him, sometimes a song every night from him as a dedication during the holidays. Turns out Shakespeare aren’t dumb stuff after all, turns out his pieces are sensible and thou can understand what he speaketh in his poems.
Tragedy is forgetting that after the moon waxes it must wan too. On the next holiday you go back home and after you’ve settled down and eaten all you can, you dial his number excitedly. He picks up alright but his excitement doesn’t match up yours. He sounds “okay”. There’s no “hey babe I missed you so much!” his enthusiasm can be compared to that of a mortuary attendant. During this holiday communication is less and dull and You are the one pushing most of it, but you hold on because he’s probably going through a rough patch you tell yourself, everyone has those days. Since you’re still the smart girl you’ve always been you decide to meet him up to find out what is going on. A meeting is arranged and the day comes and you ask him the question that every girl at one point in their life will ask,
“So where is this relationship headed to?” he looks away.
“Jesse?” now he’s looking at you bewildered like the question was from outer space.
“look, it’s not you, its-“ and right there and then you want to bite his head off literally because you know what he wants to say next and are so disappointed that he chose to follow the cliché. Would a little originality kill him? Certainly you deserve a little more dignity than that. He goes on to tell you how he has been to the doctor and he was told he has blue balls and its either he goes all the way or does nothing at all. It is then that you join the dots as to why all this is happening. It’s unfortunate that you’re wise because sometimes ignorance is bliss. He can’t be with you if you’re not going to give him the cookie. All these doctor shenanigans are probably a report from a doctor alright, a witch doctor to be precise. So all this time he was investing in you was to get returns. Sex returns. It breaks your heart because he was your first love (or what we tend to think it is) and you had given it your all but had chosen to remain pure because your principles dictate that fornication is a sin and you’re not ready for the consequences. You go back home with a very broken heart, it hurts so bad that you want to rip it off your chest just for a while so you can breathe; but you have to put on  a brave façade in front of your mother since you live in ngong hills not Beverly hills’. Telling your mother you have a boyfriend while still in high school would only result to her slapping the daylights out of you. Brevity is your only option. You’ll take this like a man. Only that most of your mornings are occupied with wringing your pillow dry from all the tears it soaked last night. Your playlist is filled with Adele’s songs and your favorite being Toni Braxton’s unbreak my heart. You can sing all its lyrics, including the sighs that Toni interjects with and play all the chords in that song. At this point you are certain that Toni composed that song in readiness for your heartbreak. Looks like your fate was long ago decided and the die was cast way before you could spell the word chinkororo.
It may feel like your heart has wounds that can neither be healed nor stitched. At one point you’ll say you’ve sworn off men. I come bearing good news: you can move on, you will move on. This is a story of many girls out there. That’s how I know that you can move on past this, because it’s part of the motions of every girls’ life. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but it’s going to happen. One day you’ll wake up and realize that the sun looks brighter that day and there’s no sad feeling tugging at your heart strings anymore. You are not the first person to have settled for less so don’t beat yourself up too hard, okay? Just take the lesson, forgive yourself and move on. And no, you haven’t lost the love of your life. I haven’t met this Jesse guy but I can tell you for free that he isn’t the one. How do I know this? I’m a fortune teller and I can see your future. I can also see that if you continue eating all those fries you’ll develop some love handles, and those don’t go so well with a bikini. Okay, I’m not a fortune teller; But I know that such compromises are not because of love. You made the right choice by not giving in to his demands. You dodged a bullet. Many bullets actually. Lets name a few:  you escaped being on  his body count statistics, you escaped the deeper heartache of knowing that you were used and loosed, you escaped not keeping yourself pure till you say I do to the man that the Almighty ordained for you. Above all you escaped wasting more of your precious time with someone whose intentions with you were equal to that of a wolf left in charge of sheep. And no, you weren’t uptight. You never were.  You just knew what you wanted out of life and somehow that got corrupted because sometimes we hear things from close associates and gradually, like tiny seeds, they’re planted and if it happens  long enough,  they start germinating in our heads. These seeds are weeds and they need to be uprooted; and this is why we need to be wary of the company we keep. We’ve all heard the adage that we turn into the five people we hang out with. It’s as true as it can be. Sometimes we have this confidence in ourselves that no one can influence us. Remember they are small tiny seeds, you don’t see it happening, like ships passing in the night silently, you won’t notice it happening but it doesn’t mean it’s not happening. If that’s not convincing enough then let me back it up with the good book. We can never go wrong with it, yes? Now, by quoting the bible I don’t intend to lock out those of other faith, I’m just speaking the language I’m more conversant with. “Do not be deceived, bad company ruins good morals”-1st cor. 15; 33. I’ll leave it at that.

Love (or what we tend to think it is,) and other disasters- (PART ONE)

This amazing piece is written by one of my best friends (Mercy Kish☆). She’s a gorgeous person, very focused on encouraging girls out there going through “stuff” they think they can’t pull through. Scroll down. You’ll learn a thing or two. I promise!

You grow up in a perfect home setting. You know, the one where mom loves dad and you and your siblings don’t try to maul each other’s heads as a past time because you’ve grown up in church where you should love one other and in Sunday school you sing “ we’re marching to heaven, beautiful beautiful heaven,” and because no child wants to get left behind in this band wagon, you behave appropriately, respect your elders, finish your vegetables(hehe) and love each other because Jesus loves obedient children and watoto wabaya wataenda kwa shetani (bad ill mannered children will go to hell), as your mum would tell you every time you started flying off tangent. So basically you were raised right as a child.
At primary school you are a smart pupil. A teacher’s pet if you may; and you make your parents so proud with your stellar performances. When Your parents’ friends ask what you’d like to be when you grow up you proudly say a doctor. Your science grades back you up; you believe it too because watching grey’s anatomy only fuels the fire within you. I mean, come on, if you’ve watched greys’ anatomy and have neeever ever considered being a surgeon and going to med school for 5 years and then doing your internships and becoming a resident doctor if you pass the boards exam to then proceed to being a fellow in the specialty of your choice and finally you’re an attending, did you really watch greys? I think not. I really do not think you did.

Wait, what were we talking about again?

Being a primary school teacher’s pet. Right. So you are a good pupil and at this point in life boys are stupid and you turn your nose when looking at them. In fact it used to be your worst nightmare having a boy as a desk mate. You’d draw a line on the desk. A literal line, metaphoric too and should he cross it he’d be treated with disdain and contempt. And if he really crossed the line (both, or sometimes just one) you’d report him to teacher. Teachaa rather. Oh primary school teachers, they really are worth their weight in gold. They act as judges in those mini courtrooms called classes. Lower primary especially.
“ teachaa look at this one!” a girl moans after a boy is looking in her direction.
Ok I promise I’m going somewhere with this so please don’t leave just yet. Not while there’s so much I’m yet to tell you. Interesting stuff I promise, okay?
To cut straight to the chase, boys were stupid in primary and all that mattered was that you were a high flier (not the book, the person,) and self confidence was instilled in you since you were young.

Enter high school.
Here you meet people from all walks of life. Those who get 10,000(only) as pocket money, those who get a tithe of that as their pocket money and those who get a tithe of the tither, those who know tomato as a fruit and those who know it as a vegetable (irrelevant). The smart ones and the not so, girls who have been circumcised as tradition and are now ‘women’, and girls who believe that the same is a crime against humanity. (I agree)
So basically it’s a dead pool, er, I meant deep pool of diversity and culture. It is here that you are introduced to life. It is here that your girl friends talk about boys and the experiences they have had with them. Being the prude that you are, most of the times yours is to play spectator ion in these story telling sessions which mostly happen on weekend afternoons on top of a  creaky bunk as you nibble on your crisps or whichever snacks you are allowed. Your friends sound happy and excited like they are living a life you didn’t know existed.
So gradually you start changing your perspective towards boys. Maybe they aren’t so stupid after all. Maybe just maybe you could start being more friendly to their advances and give them your time of day… or night. You see, your friends call you uptight and slowly it starts getting to you. At first you took it to mean that you have very high standards and don’t have time for meaningless interactions. Which in essence is true if you look at it; but now it seems like being uncool and nobody likes uncool, certainly not in high school where people are trying to be cool. (See what I did there?)
So funkies started coming up and you try finding a way to be in the leave out form so you can go ye forth and be cool. You team up with the ‘funky experts’ who know how to talk to boys and where to find the hotties and basically the dos and don’ts of funkies. Apparently you can’t fully be yourself in a funkie, ha-ha not when you want to hang with the cool kids. After a few rounds you meet a guy. Introductions happen but then ten minutes into it you realize there’s nothing very constructive you two are talking about. You are not a small talk kind of girl. You would rather be talking constructive things; it’s worse if you’re an introvert because it means the act of talking to the stranger is tedious itself. And no, it’s not because you’re moody because it’s that time of the month. (Boys really need to stop always jumping to that conclusion just because you said you’re not in the mood to talk much. For all we know it could be because you’re boring, ha-ha!) With the way things are going you decide to come up with a flimsy excuse to go because your stomach is getting bloated with all the gas that’s filling it with all the pretense laughing that you’ve been doing. You chat with a few more. Same results, bloating.
End of the day comes and people exchange funky stories as usual during night preps. You feel shortchanged when you listen to how your friends had fun while all you had was phony conversations. Come next funky you’re determined to have your own share of exciting stories. So you do some eye makeup that was sneaked in on opening day in ingenious places and they only emerge on the day of the function then sublime back to where they were hid. You don a mini skirt and push up bra to enhance your barely existing bosom and off you go. Only that your expectations are waned at the end of the day because you hardly had many people vibing you. Slowly by slowly doubts start creeping in and pulling up a chair in your head. I’m I not pretty enough? Hippy enough? Do these marks on my forehead make me less attractive? Before you know it, these thoughts have already made themselves comfortable in your smart head and have in fact, poured themselves up a cup of tea for good measure. More experiences like these only drain away your confidence, the confidence that your dear old parents and teachers had spent years building. All in the name of wanting to fit into the crowd of being famous with the boys, forgetting that it comes at the expensive cost of trading your dignity and morals because really, what are those boys really after while you’re still in high school.  Marriage? A soul mate? A long time friend with no benefits perhaps? Methinks they’re after an easy lay to quench their insatiable raging teenage hormonal desires, a trophy girlfriend to earn bragging rights among their peers. But what do I know? I’m not a day older than 21 anyway.

Abuse.

That girl
I don’t know why she’s sitting in that corner
Crumbled up
Her head buried into her knees
Her arms holding it steadily on them
Her oversized white chiffon blouse is soaked with tears
Those blue rugged jeans seem dirtier than earlier
Her cardigan wraps her wearily
Some buttons on it are torn off
Like someone struggled with them
And pulled them off with much force
I can see the pink threads protruding
Her hair is way messier
The navy blue hairband doesn’t hold it back anymore
It lays diagonally across her head
Letting her fringes stray
And the longer hair into her face
She’s pale
Those tears definitely messed her mascara
It runs down her cheeks
The pink blush now looks gray
Just like her world I assume
Her nose is red
So are her ears
And her right cheek
I think someone whacked her
Close to her hairline theres a cut
Its not big
But the waterfall of blood
It must be deep
She rubs her eyes
Making a somewhat black umbra around them
Then she runs her fingers through her hair
But it doesn’t straighten
She almost catches me staring at her
I look away towards the door
Just then I see a man giving her an angry look
Its josh!
That son of a bitch.
He pretended to love my friend Rachael
But that wasn’t love
It was a prison he threw her in
Cuffed her in chains so heavy she couldn’t escape
The beatings, the abuse
I’m going to punch the shit out of his face
But then I stop
Should I interfere?
He runs out on spotting me