Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Dear God. Thank you.

I was watching Steve Harvey today when he hosted Praise The Lord and his first guest was Kirk Franklin. He was saying how he used to get freaked out about getting saved again because he never knew any saved fun people. Then 16 or was it 11 years ago he met Kirk and he was amazed that you can be saved and still be fun and funny. Eventually when he did decide to get saved Kirk encourage him and was there for him. He talked about his life and how he is struggling to live more of a christian life now. Steve said a phrase that stuck in my mind. "I was who I was. I am who I am. and am cool with both people."

Thats why am writing a Thank You letter. Lord you know where I have come from. I have messed up, done things I shouldnt have, things that am not proud of and been someone I shouldnt have become. Things if my mother knew she would either have a heart attack or kill me. But you loved me anyway. And while I was in the shadows you were still shining your light on me. Even when I disappointed you and made you sad, you still loved me. That is what broke my heart, my stubborness and made me want to come back.

I thank you for my past. It made me who I am. I thank you for my future. Because in it am going to become the person you meant me to be. That is trully awesome. I thank you for the situations I went through because it helps me to understand others and not judge them. It makes me realise every day that a saint is just a sinner who fell down.

Thanks for being you. For loving me and dying for me on that cross. Thank you for sticking around when you didnt have too.

Mob love.


Monday, May 30, 2011

Cash Money

Why can't I stop thinking about you.
Your like a virus on my computer (brain),
Refusing to be deleted and running
and rerunning no matter my attempts to delete you.
I think your seducing me with your smell and color.
At night I dream of you, wanting to hold you
And during the day I chase after you.
its like your flirting with me, smiling seductively,
drawing me closer to you
But when I reach out 2 touch, you varnish,
its like a mirage!
At the beginning of the month your my friend,
at the middle your my acquintance, and by end month we are strangers.
I want you, no I need you so badly.
Dont want us to be passing ships in the nite.
Please be closer then a lover and dearer then a friend.
Come my friend, Pesa and embrace me,
tukuwe kama chanda na pete.

The blood - borrowed from the internet (author Anonymous)

One night in a church service a young woman felt the tug of God at her heart.

She responded to God's call and accepted Jesus as her Lord and Savior.

The young woman had a very rough past, involving alcohol, drugs, and prostitution.

But, the change in her was evident. As time went on she became a faithful member of the church.

She eventually became involved in the ministry, teaching young children.

It was not very long until this faithful young woman had caught the eye and heart of the pastor's son.

The relationship grew and they began to make wedding plans.This is when the problems began.

You see, about one half of the church did not think that a woman with a past such as hers was suitable for a pastor's son. The church began to argue and fight about the matter.

So they decided to have a meeting.As the people made their arguments and tensions increased,
the meeting was getting completely out of hand.

the young woman became very upset about all the things being brought up about her past.As she began to cry the pastor's son stood to speak.

He could not bear the pain it was causing his wife to be. He began to speak and his statement was this:

"My fiancee's past is not what is on trial here. What you are questioning is the ability of the blood of Jesus to wash away sin. Today you have put the blood of Jesus on trial. So, does it wash away sin or not?"

The whole church began to weep as they realized that they had been slandering the blood of the Lord Jesus Christ.

Too often, even as Christians, we bring up the past and use it as a weapon against our brothers and sisters. Forgiveness is a very foundational part of the Gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ. If the blood of Jesus does not cleanse the other person completely then it cannot cleanse us completely.

If that is the case, then we are all in a lot of trouble. What can wash away my sins? Nothing but the blood of Jesus! End of case!!!!

The wages of war (War child)

As we played with our toys and playmates in the playground, dark clouds were looming.

In the streets, in the universities, in the shambas and on radio people planned the war. They incited and they divided. It’s us against them. For us to survive they must be exterminated.

So the men sharpened their pangas and took up their guns. The children were hushed and sent into houses. The women were frightened, weeping over what was about to happen and told us to hush, play quietly and not to under any circumstances leave the house.

The fighting began: us against them, our neighbors and friends. I wondered what crime had they done. Yesterday we were friends playing together and working together in the field. I asked aloud my mother, "why are we fighting our neighbors’?" my mum cried and told me to hush I was too young to understand.

When it was over my father was dead and my older brother was missing. My mother and sisters were raped and left for dead by soldiers who came to deal with the revolution.

I have wept until my heart has no emotion. I feel like my God has abandoned me because I have prayed I got no answers.

My childhood and its dreams are gone. I am only 8 years old and I feel like my life is already over before it begins. All around me all I can see is blood and death.

I wish we could go back to one month ago when I was playing in the playground. Now am just another warchild, a byproduct of hate and war.

Why do we wage war, why? The cost of war over peace has left me scarred permanently. And the memories of the hate where love once was they haunt me.

Written May 21st 2009

God's Storyboard.

Artist looked at the blank pages. Plotted a storyline, a storyboard of a life. In pencils he draws an outline of the way the story should go. In inks and paints he fills the images in. He starts with the background; the figure in the painting is still in shadow. He lovingly fills in the scenes making them come to life, making them burst into color.

The character is painted in, from birth to present. The future is still penciled in, but no inks and paints yet. The storyboard has been written but as every artist knows characters can be stubborn and sometimes story scripts have to be changed. Some subjects don’t know their place; they want to break free from their storyline. They wriggle and giggle. The artist knows what’s best but sometimes the story has to develop on its own, to be natural you see.

The art of life is a painting. God is the artist and I am the subject in the painting. This is my storyboard. I’m living my story, trying to live it the way he wants it. Although I sometimes challenge and change the storyline the artist is still there for me. He wants to color beauty and grace into the painting. The artist has a plan for this comic strip; from birth to death he has set the number of blank scripts.

The artist’s plan is the ultimate, to make me a superhero, conquering situations and foes, creating allies to get me ahead. Now that this character finally knows her place in the story, she is content to let the artist colour in the scenes, to complete and script the storyboard that is her life.

Sunday, May 29, 2011


Love is a mirage. It looks good from far, a lake in the distance. A drink for the desperate, simmering in the sunlight and making one hope for good things. Love is an illusion, a magic trick that tricks the heart that life is all romance, flowers and candy. Love fools the wise and the foolish, making a mockery of us all. Love makes the heart expand like a ballon then as a trick of fate it makes the heart burst with too much pain. Love is like a rose thats so pretty you want to have it but when you get it there are thorns that make the heart to bleed. Love, a mirage for the dying in the desert of loneliness.

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

The voices in my head

Bubbling, like the sweet taste of bubble gum and the way it blows up like a balloon. Words, thoughts run across the brain and ink drops form words. Imagination runs wild, running away from the nets that try to catch it, cage it and study it. Its like the animaniacs driving the brain wild, those that cant understand they break under the strain and the psychiatist couch they fill trying to understand the meaning of life, and why they are depressed and why are all these people talking in their heads. I listen to the voices in my head. The ghosts of past, present and future. The voice of experience says not to tread that path again. We got burnt there. The voice of character talks to me now. Let go of the past and build for the future. What you want for tomorrow must be established today. The voice of promise speaks of tomorrow and shows brief snapshots of tomorrow and where I may be. Yet I stand wobbling on today, torn between my past; its mistakes, successes and their consequences, my present; its uncertainities and opportunities, and the future; with its twisted paths and kaleidoscopes of hope or despair. The voices in my head call, should I listen or ignore?

When the cradle falls

I can hear your laughter echoing,
Bubbling as it does when a child laughs.
Innocent, you cling to your mother,
A shadow following her wherever she went.
Your world was secure, until death struck,
In an instant, a heartbeat, Daddy died.
No understanding had you,
“Where was Daddy?” you cried.
In your childish babble of unfinished words,
A language of babies, you wanted Daddy.
Your heart ached because daddy didn’t come back,
And you clung tighter to mum, not understanding why.
Your laughter was quieter, more reflective.
A blow had been dealt,
Though you didn’t understand, you understood.
Four months later, my heart aches,
Breaks, unwept tears burning in my heart.
In the twinkling of an eye the death angel took you.
Mind can’t take that I will never see you again.
Gone too soon at 2 1/2 years of age.
No more laughter and bright spark.
No more babble of childish speak,
Giggles, greetings and good byes.
No more, the cradle has fallen.

For Mwangi, a little angel friend of mine who went to sleep last week and awoke in Jesus arms. I will remember you always.

Monday, May 23, 2011

Dear God. Thanks for the grace period here on earth!

Hey there Daddy.

Thanks for not coming on Saturday. I was prepared to go but I do have very many loose ends to tie up. And you know I need to work for that mansion. Now that the rapture didn’t happen I could use your help. I need a favor, a miracle actually. Could you multiply my remaining salary just like you multiplied the fish and the bread?

Things are crazy with the rising cost of living. Sometimes I feel like am working to transport myself to work and then back home. It seems I am working for the matatus and not my employee. Then there's those other bills electricity and water. God do you get the feeling sometimes that we may have to go back to being a candle and firewood economy? Our electricity provider has raised their rates. Never mind that half the time electricity is a ghost in our homes appearing and disappearing like apparition. It’s a shame the company makes billions off of people like me yet they don’t give me value for money. The water company well the water only comes between 2pm and 6pm and it’s a trickle which makes me wonder whether that’s my second job, waiting for containers to fill so that we can have water.

It’s like everything has gone haywire. The food prices have gone up, actually everything has gone up. The only things that haven’t changed are my salary and politicians. That’s not a comforting thought. I wonder what planet our politicians come from. They seem to speak a different language and they seem to be seeing yet blind. They are so caught up in trying to vie for elections a year away yet they can’t tell me what they have done for me so far. Our MP's are just white elephant projects, Good on paper but cant or wont work in the field. Maybe you could touch my employer’s heart and we could get a raise, based on inflation. You can’t see it happening well neither can I, but I can dream and miracles happen right?

Actually when I think about what’s happening I get depressed. Maybe it’s not a good thing that we are still here; maybe Saturday’s exit would have been a plan. But it’s cool. I know I can survive anything as long as you’re with me. You make everything bearable because otherwise I might go mad. Help me get through this rough time and get me to the other side.

You know Jeremiah 29 is a gift for me, because it shows me that you have a plan for me. I may not understand it. I may not see where it’s going; its kinda like those thriller movies with a surprise ending where you say wow well I did not see that coming. I believe it. I know a lot of people don’t but I do. After all the stuff you’ve gotten me through the rest will be a piece of cake. I’m hanging my whole life on that verse that you know the plans you have for me, plans for good and not for evil, to give me a hope and a future. God make my future so bright I got to wear shades.


P. .S. Kisses and hugs to Jesus.

Friday, May 20, 2011

Dear God - subject: End of the world

I hear that you’re coming tomorrow the 21st of May at 6 p.m. You’re so punctual. You know I never believed in that prophecy seeing as to how Jesus said that no one knows the hour of your coming. But just to be on the safe side let me be like the 5 wise virgins and keep extra oil. I am confessing all of my sins right now.

It’s been nice knowing you here on earth. I know I have been like a rebellious teenager but look I think am actually maturing. It would be nice if you didn’t have a little black book with my sins when I get there, ok, volumes of black books. I hear you show a video of someone's life and what they did while they were on earth. I have just one request; don’t let my mum be in the room. She would kill me. I know you understand these things.

Anyway I wanted to know since I am going to have my own shack, am still working on getting a mansion, can I choose the color? By the way will it be like a hotel where I can order from the menu. Do you have ice-cream and crisps in heaven? It wouldn’t really be heaven if it didn’t.

Am really excited to be meeting Jesus in person. I know alot of people will be shocked to find out his black and not white with blue eyes and blond hair. Well they will get over it. I know it will be the best fun ever. Being in your presence and hanging out with you.

Anyway I know you’re busy. You’re getting heaven sparkling clean for the visitors tomorrow so I should let you get to it.

Love you and see you tomorrow, if that’s when your coming to earth for your loved ones. If not we are still cool. I would love a chance to work on getting that mansion you know, now that I have sowed my wild oats.



Monday, May 16, 2011

Jumping without a parachute (for Wamathai)

Fear should be studied as a disease,
Being as to how it cripples the vision,
And paralyses the brain.
Fear blinds,
Makes grown men quake and shiver.
It makes alcohol and drugs a medicine to chase away the nightmare,
But causes addiction instead, a crutch for chasing fear.
I must admit its gripped me,
Held me in its claws,
Made me doubt I can make it.
But I’m gaining strength,
Fighting fear with courage and determination.
You taught me not to be afraid,
Pursuing THE DREAM is worth the fight.
I'm jumping without a parachute,
Jumping in faith that a trampoline shall find me,
Bounce me back up.
Life's too short to live in fear.
Take courage, hold my hand
And let’s take a leap.

(To my first book, I toast, that in December around the time I celebrate my birthday I shall have a brand new baby, a book with the working title of "reflections of the sun").

My Nairobi

City in the sun, the city of dreams.
Of skyscrapers and glass that reflects the sun.
Where dreams come true,
With a quick deal or two.
Where education is priceless,
But it is only a door, kimenyano is the key.
A place of jobs aplenty, you can make it you see,
Of streets of tarmac, where well polished shoes tread,
Looking for that job or that deal,
Each day looking for that golden chance to become a millionaire.
Those roads that support Mercedes, Prado’s, Lexus and
The ever faithful Toyota.
The city with millions of worker drones,
Walking and driving to work,
White collar, blue collar and t-shirt types.
The city that never sleeps,
Bars, dens and hotels open 24 hours a day,
A place of fun and laughter.
Where crisp bank notes, plastic money and electronic money,
Magically pursue anything that the heart desires.
A place of blended cultures, and blended children,
Of mixed marriages, and accents from different lands can be heard.
The place where different communities live in harmony,
And where languages flow like water and new language is formed,
Blended into new tongues that only the young can speak.
The city of uniforms: suits, overalls, school uniforms and work garments.
The Nairobi of dreams.

The city of broken dreams and nightmares.
Where degrees are worthless, and their owners are pounding streets,
Looking for that elusive dream they were promised,
Go to university and a great job is guaranteed.
The city of corrugated iron sheets houses.
Of broken families, where alcohol is god.
Where sex is a commodity, sold for what’s in your pocket,
As low as 20 bob to as high as thousands of shillings,
“Honey, come I will show you a good time, How much you have?”
It’s all in the packaging,
And some have marketing degrees,
They know how to package the goods, and services,
They know the seven P’s of marketing,
Dear Marketing manager, they could teach you a thing or two.
A city where rural transplants dreaming of a glorious life came,
Hoping to make good, to live the golden dream,
Yet 3 generations later, all descendants still living in the slum.
A city of potholes, the stench of sewage and urine perfuming the air,
Mounds of garbage and rotting vegetables create artificial hills,
Phlegm on sidewalks, and puddles of murky water that stink and refuse to drain.
A city with corrupt cops and even more corrupt city council askaris,
Who will put you in if you don’t have money for tea.
A city that breaks dreams and shatters hope,
Leaving only walking, talking and working zombies,
Strangers with lifeless eyes, empty pockets and stomachs.
A city with gangsters with guns fake and real,
With pangas that pierce vital body organs,
And leave bodies, bleeding, lifeless on the street,
As people watch not helping, passive spectators.
A city of vice and lice,
And not all things are nice.

Come visit with me, my Nairobi!


Reality for me,
A house in the leafy suburbs
Lush grass, 2 storeyed building, bungalow they call it
Sufficient room, compound with trees especially banana trees.
Paved roads and iron gates to keep out riff raff, hawkers (mari mari)
And thieves who come to steal with guns,
Watchmen who doze instead of keeping watch or seducing the housemaids.
Running water paid for electricity and look no running sewage,
We can’t have that in the suburbs.
Well fed children, posters of health and wealth,
Playing with technologies and watching cartoons,
Ben ten to be exact, and wearing with the t-shirts,
The watch and having the bag to match.
And the obesity lets not talk about that,
It’s a rich man’s disease you would not understand.
Oh my is that a cough,
Remove a medical card, hospital charge it to the account.

Yet I travel,
To shacks of tin, timber and mud,
Rusted, painted to hide the shame.
Houses are multi-purpose,
One rooms a shop, the other for sleep.
Children see what goes on at night,
In the iron bed behind the thin curtain that separates mum and dad.
No compound, no grass, just weeds,
And plants planted in ditches, and squatter land,
And in sewage I beg to not go there.
There’s thieves who come to steal with only pangas,
Stealing life savings all held in fast consumer goods for sale.
Children play outside, with not a care,
Mucus running down noses, but there’s no money for medicine.
They run in tattered clothes, some of them, young running
Without bottom clothes, free to the wind they run,
As they moon life and their situation.
They play in groups and sit out on the ground,
Happy as happy could be.

But this is where hope runs deep,
That one day we shall make it out of here,
And into those mansions and bungalows.
Some shacks hold millionaires,
Who wear dirty tattered clothes,
And who walk, or take a matatu, no Toyotas please.
But they are rich, get more than I,
Overeducated fellow shall probably ever see.
Yet we look at area code,
See only the large suburb house.
Our dreams is to have a car, a big house, 2.5 children,
Yet somewhere in a tin house, somewhere they laugh,
They have more money then you and me,
Use their money wisely, buy land and build.

In 20 years, broke because the bank mortgage bleeds,
We shall look at them in envy,
They shall laugh, in their beautiful houses,
With shops and properties to their name,
All debt free, no bank vultures hanging over their heads.
So who’s laughing now?


Did I say I would love you until death?
Meant it, meant to keep that promise,
But when you said you loved me, you lied,
And I heart broken I cried.
Now am like steel,
Made strong by the forge,
Heat or hate, makes the spirit strong,
And emerged I, strong and cold.
Before I was like ore,
Soft, malleable, easy to break into pieces,
Things have changed,
A sharp blade I am,
Dangerous, not to be played or toyed with.
Be sure of this,
If we meet again
This shall be no spurring match, no friendly war,
Or mushy banter.
I shal'nt be kind,
So keep away,
Keep hiding in your denial,
Keep thinking that you’re still a knight.
If you come near,
I will run my blade through your lying heart,
Watch you bleed, and walk away.
No defeat, no surrender.

Mango sun

Mango sun,
Sun that signals hope.
That sunrise that hued in colour,
Represent the beauty of a new day.
Hopes that wake with the dawn,
New day, new script,
Or is it old script, new cast.
Reminds of the song same script, different cast.
Optimism, it’s like a bottle of perfume,
That is sprayed or dabbled,
Whichever catches your fancy?
Smells good, that optimizism,
Would you like a bottle?
It’s sold in ounces, limited only to today’s supply.
Tomorrow has its own scent, fresh, elusive and free.
Yesterday’s is faint, like what’s its name?
Can’t recall, smells a memory of another day.
I’m a mad hatter, you see?
Believing in rainbows, fairies, dragons and possibilities.
Let’s have a laugh,
Smile like a clown.
Let’s sing in the rain,
Do a two-step on the dance floor.
Let’s do a trick or two, amuse the audience we will.
Let’s eat ice-lollies, and some chocolate cake.
Let’s play or better yet let’s watch cartoons.
Let’s enjoy this glorious day.
Let’s laugh until our hearts burst in song.
Tomorrow morning shall soon be upon us,
Awake we shall and find it was all a dream!
It’s back to work,
And the yellow hot sun.

The man who broke his heart for me

The preacher said to the ladies, if you are heartbroken, turn to Jesus. Jesus who loves you so much he died for you, broke his heart that you may live. This man that loved women, not in a sexual way but in a spiritual way. He stood up for women like Mary Magdalene, who was condemned to death for adultery, he saw past her sin and saw her, the woman that yearned to be loved, wanted to make a living because she had no man to take care of her. Jesus looked beyond her label of prostitute, forgave her and told her to change her ways. That is why she washed his feet with her tears, dried them with her hair and poured the costly oil, her fortune on his feet. She acknowledged that this man was not an ordinary man.

Then there was the Samaritan woman, Jews were not to hang out with them. Jesus talked to her, had a drink with her, and showed her that she was more than just an adulterous woman, she had a destiny. She was so amazed and awed she was the first woman to spread the gospel. She got from Jesus living water. She got transformed by the power of Jesus love, his compassion and knowing that as a woman and a Samaritan at that Jesus could have ignored her but she touched his heart and he changed her destiny.

Then there was Mary his mother. They say the true measure of a man is how he treats the people around him, especially his mother and sisters. Jesus loved his mum so much he did the first miracle for her. This woman who so believed in him, she was the first convert to Christianity, she believed in him even before he was born, believing what God said that he was the messiah. And even as he died he thought of his mum, knowing that his mother's heart was breaking for him even as he did break his heart for all people. He told John, the disciple who he loved to watch over her as his mother. Oh what a man of sorrows yet a man of compassion.

Then there is me, the prodigal daughter that run away. Wanting this life’s pleasures and gambling away my queenly inheritance. I broke Jesus heart, kept him nailed to the cross with my deeds. Yet even in darkness, his light and love was still shinning in me. And when I came home, bruised, hopeless, broken he ran to me and embraced me. Clothed me in new garments and had a feast of rejoicing in my honor. He forgave me for my sins, restored me, let me know that he loved me and always will. This man that continually heals my broken heart, and lets me know that I am a princess. This man that broke his heart for me, let his body bleed that my heart and soul might be healed, and give me a life beyond the one I live now, an eternal hope and destiny. It’s true this man broke his heart for me.

Saturday, May 14, 2011

The light of my heart

Love that man the Son,
His love radiates like the sun,
Bringing warmth to the cold and breaking icy hearts.
Constant too like the sun is he,
Always there his light shinning on the good and wicked alike,
Piercing through hearts broken,
Shining his light in the dark and bringing souls to enlightenment.
He who sat with his enemies having a meal,
Tolerant of those who hated him,
Turning those enemies into admirers.
He who modeled servant leadership,
Who humbled himself and washed unclean feet with water,
Unclean hearts with his blood.
He who knowing they would betray him,
Loved them anyway, spread his arms in love and died,
Forgiving them before he died.
This man who forgives my daily betrayals and departures from his path.
Yet this man still loves me even when I break his heart.
I love this man the Son,
The light of the world,
The light of my heart.

Friday, May 13, 2011

Growing older

Am growing, older every day. Everyday the canvas that is me changes. The lines now become more pronounced. Am glad for the laugh lines, for all the joys big and small that have drawn themselves on my face. The tears of loss and sorrow too have etched their ink on my skin. With growth has come learning, hard painful lessons. The only love am sure of is that of God, my family and my closest friends. Of these only God has never made my heart bleed, never hurt my tender soul. My heart's been broken and the hurt so deep, its unfathomable. And these too have left their lines on my face and in my heart. Am wiser though, experience being a bittersweet teacher. I have learnt that sometimes all you have is you, because others dont believe in your dreams. Growing has rid me of the arrogance of youth and believing that things will go as planned. I have realised; things, plans, people change but I must keep my true dreams alive, the ones that feed my soul and make it glow. Am older and wiser, learning to grow from a young sapling into a strong mighty tree. Am growing.

Monday, May 9, 2011

Broken dreams

Where do broken dreams go?
Is there a hospital for broken dreams where they can be fixed up and mended?
A hospital bed where they can relax,
Get IV'ed with antibiotics and fluids to get their strength back.
Can dead or dying dreams be resuscitated,
Brought back to life by technology,
By machines that spark them up and cause them to live again?
Do broken dreams feel pain and do they bleed?
Where do broken dreams go to die?
Is there a mortuary for them
Or are they just dumped and buried by the roadside,
with no one to care about them.
Where do broken dreams go?

Talking over with words

I wanna break the rules,
Skid on thin ice,
Go where no man has gone before.
Tired of being miss goodie two shoes.
There's this fire that burns in me, hot, scorching.
I have a dream, a passion to succeed.
My dreams are sketches on paper and in my head.
Childhood visions of being a great writer,
And the words they burn in me,
Wanting to get out.
No fire can quench this dream.
And it will be, this dream.
Am breaking the rules,
Shattering the windows of my soul to give a peak inside.
The world is my stadium and am ready to play.
So break open the bottles of ink,
Let’s paint the town red with words that intoxicate,
Let’s break the mental barriers that lock down our creativity.
Let’s rebel against the institution of what’s been set in literature.
Let’s break it down, break the rules.
Let’s take over the world with our words and thoughts.

Deranged characters

Running across my brain,
Like athletes on weed are some characters called words,
That want to form a coalition called a story.
I am the captain of this ship
But the shipmates they mutiny and take over my brain.
They force me under pain of torture to write.
Wake me up from sweet dreams
Force me to write in blood and tears what they create in my mind.
They have no mercy these characters.
They are like the animaniacs,
Crazy, deranged but sweet at the same time.
Their aim is to take over the world,
One poem, one story at a time.
Am a walking, talking human puppet,
Controlled by little characters running in my head!
I need rescuing, am not responsible for my actions.
Don’t blame me for what I write.
Am only a puppet being manipulated, a mask as it were.
Everything can be blamed on,
Laid squarely on the heads of those funny characters in my head called words.

Winds of fortune

Blow winds of fortune,
Blow my way.
I need a change,
Need good fortunes.
It’s been a crazy year,
Ill winds blowing my way,
Trying to blow me to the ground.
Keep rising slower and slower.
Need strong winds to propel me into my future.
Lift me up and help me stand.
I need a change of fortunes,
And I need it like yesterday.
Good fortune winds smile and blow my way

Sweet addiction

The taste of it makes my brain rush,
At 180 km/hr.
My heart starts beating fast,
My body gets all energized,
My taste buds dance a tango,
My fat cells throw a party.
Building blocks they are for those hips, butt and thighs,
Easy to gain and hard to lose.
But am addicted,
Can’t help myself.
My eyes wander when they are in the room,
My willpower shrivels and hides under the bed,
No courage to resist,
This overwhelming addiction,
To sugar,
In sweets, biscuits, cakes, chocolates, juice,
The list goes on and on,
And the hunger grows,
For more and more SUGAR.

Sunday, May 8, 2011

Mum - Happy mother's day

She has the best heart; her heart is open wide for her children. She's always there for her children and would give up everything for them, her love, money, possessions and even her life.

She is soft, her hugs are the best. She knows how to comfort when a child is hurting or just needs reassurance. Yet she can be hard, disciplining with a firm hand when children are out of line.

She is an angel when children are sick, nursing them back to health with her love, concern and a bit of medicine. She is her child's best friend being the first to believe in them and encourage them to achieve their dreams. She is their advocate defending them when they are in the wrong. She makes the best food; there is no better tasting food then hers.
She is an angel, an advocate, a nurse, a banker, a teacher, a chef, a doctor and a best friend. She is everything sweet and good.

She is a mother. My mother, my sister, my best friend. She is mum. And I wish her the best always. Pledge to love her till my dying day. I pray that God will give her a long life. I pray God's favor on her life and his blessings abounding in her life.

Thank God for mum.

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

Dear God

God your a great guy. known me all my life, know all my truimphs and failures and still are there for me. Lets get buddy buddy for a minute and tell me whats up? Whats the plan? It seems you have a strategic plan for my life but I dont know about it. What are the highlights? Can I get a summary? It would be nice if you could share what your planning for the next couple of years?
I would like to know what happens. Do I get a new job? New man? Children? Mother in law from heaven or hell?

It would be nice if you could give me just a peek into how my life is going to be like. You know I trust you. You made me after all. And you had a plan of how my life should be like. Yes I know I messed up and deviated from the plan. Hey it helps to be a prodigal because when you come back you know you will never make the same mistake again. Ok so I have been a black sheep more then once. Am working on it. Am taking dyeing classes to clean up my act, actually if you could just wash me with the blood of the lamb I'd be cool. white as snow.

So am glad we are having this conversation. So its of how, can I see the blueprint of the way things will turn out. The suspense is killing me.

Sincerely your pal,


Tuesday, May 3, 2011

Diary of a mad hurter.

Today am feeling it, emotions burnt raw. I feel like being a gal and crying, huge pools of tears that bleach out the pain. Unfortunately am not that gal, and my twin painkillers of food and writing just serve to depress. I gained about 10kgs did you know? Weighed myself yesterday just to confirm what I already knew. That chocolate biscuits and crisps just serve to make my fat cells and taste buds happy.

The writing, well it’s a painting of just how tortured a soul could get from love, broken love. Sometimes I look at my words and marvel, because am like did you have that much power over me, power to make me want to cry, to be bitter and tormented?

You are clearly my muse, because whether in love or hurt you inspire me to write. Actually many of my best pieces are based on you. I will not subscribe to the words "I hate you". Those words have power over a soul, as much or more then the words "I love you." One day I will look at these words, a journal of a heart in hurt rehabilitation. I will marvel at how foolish I was to let you break my heart, actually wonder what I ever saw in you. But not today. My emotions are scorched, bleeding raw, sensitive. For today I allow myself to bleed, to feel, to think. For today my emotions are raw and exposed.

Monday, May 2, 2011

Searching for a Daddy!

Daddy figure. Yes, looking for a daddy figure to take care of me.
Not a sugar daddy thats not my thing,and I aint for sale.

I want a man, daddy figure whose a real dad. A man who loves me unconditionally. A man who knows being a daddy is not just making babies but looking after them, nurturing and disciplining them.

A man whose priority is his family, not chasing paper so that he can chase the bottle and loose skirts. A man not afraid to do homework with his kids. A daddy who loves to spend most of his free time with his family. A man with a sense of humour and a love for God.

I want a daddy figure whose not afraid of the kitchen, whose comfortable cooking for his kids when mama's not around. Yet he is a real man, bringing in a paycheck, making sure to plan for his children's lives. A man who can hang out with his boys yet know that his family is the most important priority in his life.

I want a man who knows his role as my man, as a father to my kids. I want a daddy figure. A man like my Dad.

Looking for love

Where do I start?
Looking for love, in all the right places,
That’s what I should be doing.
But what happens if am still hang up on you?
On your smile that warmed my heart.
On our conversations that made my day.
How you made me smile when I was down.
Where do I look for another guy who has the qualities that you did,
A you that’s not you.
Problem is I need a clone of you,
One who won’t take me for granted and break my heart.
Been out of that date madness so long I don’t know where to start.
On the web, in church, through the networks.
Don’t want to be alone yet don’t know,
If am ready for the highs and lows of love.
The blows that knock you to the ground
Or the power that makes you soar.
I don’t know if am ready for love
Or is it love is ready for me?