Levels of freedom

I remember, or dont when I had the first taste of it
Of earth, of air of freedom
Now I could breathe on my own and cry whenever I pleased
This is was level 1, first step to freedom .

Then slowly I could get picky or throw a tantrum
I could weigh in on the decisions of what’s to wear
But the second level came when I went to school,
Freedom from home for a day or a half

I believe freedom is proportionate to age or in some cases inversely,
As you join institutions of higher learning you no longer have to report back,
With your ID at hand, you are now free, or a slave to this new status.

Now comes ultimate freedom, this is not like high school when you could choose to skip meals,
In this world, you adhere to a scheduled, a lifestyle without the reminder of a bell,
To decide investments or loans
The freedom plot thickens

There are constants and variables in this quest,
Driving forces and limiting ones alike .
Now the irony is clear,
The last level of freedom is enslavement?

Monthly agony

Like a clock ticking, like a timer waiting to go off,
This is a tale only the XX can relate to
A time when the world doesn’t understand half of it…
A tale of my monthly agony .

I remember when I was young, my visitors were taking their time,
At least that’s what my very african mother called them,
Most of my friends were ahead of me, had started down the road
Of that monthly agony

I kept wishing, hoping, dreaming prayed even for the moment
And when it finally happened I was so happy,
To finally be a grown up and use the bread the visitors needed
Back then it wasn’t a monthly agony

Since then, it’s been a cycle no pun intended,
Sometimes it’s kind with a bit of discomfort,
Sometimes raging I can almost feel the storm in me,
I fear this monthly agony

Maybe not fear exactly, because its absence is way worse.
I have made my peace with it .
Peace means painkillers, hot water, daytime bedtime, and watch out , no sudden shifts in position.
This is my tale of my monthly agony.

Caring hurts

Tears in my eyes ,
Pain in my chest.
When I cry, I do so with passion, like I mean it,
Like I will never cry again
It hurts to care

What’s the point of words if they just remain that,
Am bitter because everytime am gullible,
And at the end of it, it’s just me disappointed,
Shouldn’t have expected,
Shouldn’t have cared, because it hurts

I tried not to,
Froze my heart, added some cement,
Who could possibly break cold stone,
Only to realize the cracks are within itself,
I hurt myself when I didn’t care

Finally I get the point,
I must care for survival,
Because no human is an island,
Because I was made so,
And so I must, even if it hurts..


At that moment my heart pounded, I was nervous, emotional even
I really wanted him to win, from all I’d heard he deserved it,
And when the pacemakers fell back, and it was his moment,
Eliud Eludes Me.

From the moment he cracked the 2 hour limit, I felt proud
That we shared a country of origin, that the world still favoured the humble.
I shared the news, hardly taming down, almost as if he was family
But then again, he is a family man…
Still Eliud Eludes Me

Do not get me wrong, the elusive nature feels like an illusion,
A mirage I cannot wait to clear up,
I am so inspired yet so defeated
So happy yet so doubtful of my capabilities
This is why Eliud Eludes Me

I need to be inspired, I have to keep going, keep Jogging like kipchoge,
The world holds me back, with all its might,
I am fighting hard to block out the negativity, snares and just listen to the cheer
So Eliud no longer Eludes me

“Your dream, my dream,
Your Hope, my Hope,
Your vision, my vision,
Your persistence and mine also,
To no limits nor limitations”

So one day I will stay humble in the face of prosperity,
That I will help those who cannot go on,
With the support system much like yours
So that your legacy lives on,
Eliud, Eliud, Eliud.

I just can’t tell

The feeling, the stench, the despair the loneliness,
I had gotten accustomed to the signs,
A shift in blame, a finger pointed at me
What felt like freedom now ironically my bondage
At the end of it all, I just can’t tell

Funny, everyone else can tell, but I cant
The red flags or the white ones
But then again, aren’t they just as confused as I am?
I try to see the pink, because am a girl
It’s my favorite color after all, says the world
But, I just can’t tell

It’s hard to find yourself in a world that is more confused than you are,
Even harder when the spinning gets worse,
The blur makes it hard to see, tha nausea hard to think.
At this point I just can’t tell.

I’ve never believed in fortune tellers
But by jove I swear I would give all my worth to have a hint
Of what the coming days had in store
If my worth would ever be more than a dime
Because quite frankly,