Wednesday, April 13, 2011


Dance tastes so good in my body,

If I were a flower,

Music would be my fertilizer.

If I were a disease,

Music would be the body

It pierces my soul

And replenishes my soil.

I leap and bounce and pace to the beat.

I fling my arms and wiggle my body.

I step and I trip.

I sweat and it drips.

I am elated, then defeated,

I am okay then in pain

then elated again.

The beat changes,

The rhythm ranges,

The song has ended,

The show is over,

But the dance continues.

Dance tastes good in my body.

I pray that I have more dance left in me,

I pray that the rhythm stays fresh

And as God as my DJ, I promise to dance forever.


I woke up to a fast-paced rhythm. I rolled out of bed and let my hand and feet touch the floor. It was warm. I squirted shower gel and scrubbed quickly, put on formal attire, answered the phone and listened to a sexy track on my MP3 on the way to college. I arrived right on time and heard a sigh of relief echo from various parts of the room. The presentation had begun.

_-=being_a_grownup=-_ my take anyway___==

I just pray that God is on my side, because I don’t know how to do this alone. I feel like the first two decades my parents were raising me and now I have to raise myself. I’ve never raised anyone before, but I have a feeling its going take a lot of tough love and I’ll have to say no to myself, when I don’t want to. I will have to also give to myself more than I used to. I really have to start taking care of myself and I’m going to have to stand up for myself and hold my own head up when it wants to droop low and face the floor. I’ll have to start helping and caring for myself as a mother would a growing child. I have to be sweet to myself and gentle, not like before. I can no longer be ruthless with myself because I am now officially my own owner.

I’m not sure if I was overprotected back then because I rarely thought of treating myself with careful consideration. I would ignore my parents’ suggestions if I didn’t feel like they were fun. Now I am doing the very things my parents used tell me to. Its funny how the definition of fun changes too, what used to be fun now becomes a choice, a decision... a mandatory one! Life doesn’t become a bore because of the chasm of choices, since at the moment the choices are still new. I get a sense of control from the opportunity to make a choice. Besides, when the options get too familiar there are mounts of adventure and bewilderment at my disposal and adult convenience. The only admonition is safety. Part of being your owner is also being your own protector.

The term ‘adult’ not only comes with high heels, romance, breasts, caffeine and mascara, but with deadlines, fines, hangovers, drama, heart-break and bills. Ahh... and what about the wisdom, maturity, refinement and realisation? Well, it’s a huge wake up call but unfortunately those qualities do not come naturally they are earned. It was like walking straight into a street light in the desert when I first realised this. It sucks, but it’s true, I guess that’s why there are adults who live recklessly in an aura of selfishness filing for bankruptcy while still charging everything to their credit cards and committing other unwise deeds.

I don’t know if one can ever prepare for adulthood, but here is a recipe for a prayer:

(To those of you, not yet adult but no longer children and to the rest of us still learning)

· Beams of knowledge

· Chunks of Faith

· Sprinkles of self discipline

· Pockets full of practicality

· A portion understanding

· A semi-permeable and elastic heart

· Scraps of patience

· Scoops of perseverance


... I went: skipping, hopping , running and rolling. I was heart broken and trying to ignore the business of the burning bushes within my own settlements, the dormant seeds lay scattered upon my lands ready for me to reap them and burry them into the ground. I wanted to be buried in the ground. I could hear the wailing of the lonely winds brushing against nothing but the earth searching for the lost leaves and branches. There were no standing trees left in my garden, just dispersed pips and among them the ashes of what was.

I loved him. We are separate now, like rock and water, stick and sand. I was never again to feel the touch of his hand. Restless and wounded, I scurried from one to another hoping they would free me from the ashes and my eroded heart. I dreamt a new love would spring forth and give birth to a beautiful garden, but I woke up not still in my ashy bare garden but a place much worse. I found myself living the life of a rogue. I was dangerously wanton in my ways and so very venomously uninhibited.

I didn’t want to face the remains of what was, I simply didn’t want to feel. A broken heart is one of the worst kinds of reality. Every day I switched off an emotion, anything that could penetrate my heart or conscience. I slid away into an emotional reality that just wasn’t me. I turned my back on who I was, partly because I thought he made up most of me.


I grew weary but could not sleep. The intensity of the sharp turns my life was taking forced me to be awake during most hours of the day if not all. I would sleep for as little as two to three hours a day before hearing the persistent knock of my conscience, I couldn’t face her. I was not strong enough. After all what was I to say? … I swallowed my unacknowledged tears. ..


My hands made the sound of the ocean as I spread my fingers against the wall and watched my brownness stream against the dead cold white painted cement. I stopped when I reached the door frame. The room was dark and the movie was over, but there he lay; chest bare.

I watched him at first... at a distance … I swept my palm across his torso, the result: a hushing noise designed almost to lull one into slumber. His right arm leaped across the both of us and landed on my shoulder. The weight of his hand and the faint grip alive in his fingers kept me under his spell.

At such close proximity I could smell his natural musk. His whiff escorted me into a state of celestial console. I could also feel the quiver of his heart underneath it all.

Drowning in restful contentment, I struggled with what to say so there was silence. The silence tore between me and my ease, I felt awkward. He didn’t.

As I unwrapped my lips and untangled my tongue, my eyes tried to lock into his but couldn’t. He was asleep already