Author: OSIRO NYAR KEPHA

 

Help!

Get me out of here!

I am stuck in my head.

 

I want out.

I want to breathe.

I want to stretch and live out loud.

 

I want to thrive being me.

I want to be the real me, not an imposter.

I am tired of being a two-faced people pleaser.

 

The gale of fickle opinions blows me around.

I run about trying to capture their fleeting attention.

I am exhausted and out of breath, grasping after the wind.

 

Yes!

I want out.

I want to come home to myself.

 

I am imperfect.

I am flawed and weak.

I lack in many aspects.

 

Yet, it is such a wonderful thing to come back to myself.

May the real deal, the authentic me, please stand up.

It is time for you to take over the show.

 

 

Fear tore across the room in her pursuit.

Dread rushed into her soul.

Worry buffeted her mind from one thought to another.

Anxiety punched her and brought her reeling to her knees.

 

I want, crave, long for what you have.

I am green with envy.

Jealousy rots my bones.

I am completely mesmerized by the greener pastures beyond my reach.

I am blind to the treasure I hold in my hand.

 

 

She looked across at the couple.

She watched them silently.

She longed for the happiness she witnessed.

She quietly wept.

Standing alone, she yearned for the warm embrace of love and friendship.

She was deeply insecure, craving for acceptance.

She was privy to the empathy of faithful companionship.

She had starved herself of affection. 

She thirsted for a healthy relationship.

She finally realized she could enjoy her journey.

She knew it was time to let go and grow through her pain.

Now, she had a goal to love, accept, enjoy, respect, cherish, and take care of herself.

 

 

The clouds are gathering.

They are heavy and dark.

The storm is brewing.

The wind is howling, lightning flashes and thunder rolls.

 

Bring in the shoes!

The storm is raging.

Shut all the windows.

The rain is pelting, pouring.

 

The shoes were left alone.

Forgotten, forsaken, they were.

They are all wet, cold, and drenched.

Caught in the storm, they were with neither shelter nor solace.

 

The storm is over now.

The sun chases away the dark clouds.

The light, puffy, white cotton clouds come out of hiding.

They happily waltz across the blue sky.

 

The shoes are left alone to dry up and warm themselves.

The storm had injected them with cold dampness. 

The hot rays of the sun are soothing and warm.

They tightly hug the soaked shoes. 

 

The shoes are thirsty.

The sun shines high and robust.

The hot golden rays scorch the shoes. 

Parched, they stick out their tongues, begging for a little moisture to get them to another day.

 

 

I am mad at you.

The anger I feel towards you is burning my insides.

This rage is eroding my serenity.

I am tense, restless, edgy, and irritable.

I am rancorous.

I am on the verge of erupting.

I am about to spew molten lava and sulphurous words upon your unsuspecting soul.

 

 

You said you are sorry; I forgave you.

I keep my distance now, for I am nursing my wounds.

You flung your frustration and wrath at me.

It wasn’t physically abusive; neither was it vulgar.

It was violent, nonetheless.

I felt loathed, disdained, and disregarded by you.

 

I would lie to say that it shook me.

It didn’t, because our interaction has a sense of déjà vu about it.

I am sad and heartbroken.

The pain is more profound now.

I am tired.

My soul is lonely.

 

I have made up my mind.

I will not wait for you or anybody else to cherish me.

I guess that has been my biggest mistake.

I have always waited for others to make me happy.

I longed for someone to make me feel whole and accepted.

I have needed people’s approval and validation.

 

Enough is enough.

I am turning to myself to get what I need.

I don’t have it all together, but I am OK with me.

Though I falter and fall, I still get back on my feet.

My goal now is to be kind to myself, to love, and make me happy.

It is my responsibility.

 

I have no control over your actions and reactions.

I cannot do anything about other’s opinions of me.

So, I will love myself.

I will cherish me.

I will enjoy myself as I am.

I have made up my mind to take care of myself.

 

 

 

 

I am afraid.

I know the path I should follow.

It excites me.

It terrifies me.

It is different from what I have done before.

I am alone, face to face with myself.

My countenance is bare.

I have no mask on.

It is a solitary road.

Few walk with me.

Yet, this time around, I will not falter.

I will keep my lane.

I have locked into my purpose.

 

 

Fire, fire!

Exploding, scorching, consuming everything in its wake.

Sight blinded, ears stopped, soul, seared.

Mind reeling from the conflagration. 

The explosion of uncontrolled anger and misplaced rage has laid my life to waste.

 

 

Am I still appealing?

Do I make your heart skip a beat?

If not, where did our love wither and dry out?

When did the flames of passion die down to cold ashes?

Do tell me, how do we revive our moribund relationship?

 

 

You dish it out so sweetly.

You lay it down so neatly.

Yet, you control mercilessly.

 

 

It caught me unawares.

I was going about my life minding my own business. 

I was happy and content keeping to my lane.

I fought shy of other people’s lives, for my cup was full. 

 

I never saw it coming.

How could I have noticed it?

You see, my nemesis tiptoed on cushioned feet and struck me from behind.

I hit rock bottom, flat on my face as depression walloped me.

 

I was down, but not out.

“I don’t go down easy,” I reminded myself.

I resolved to stand my ground.

I wasn’t slumping back into that dark abyss.

 

“I am weak, but I will fight,” I hyped myself up.

It wasn’t going to be pretty, but I was determined to claw, scratch, poke, and bite my way back to life.

I have been wrestling with my foe, moment by moment, minute by minute.

I am inching forward till I get up, even if my feet wobble, I will stand again.

 

 

I run my fingers through the dirt.

I sift, knead, and sort the earth in my palms.

I inhale the rich smell of the soil.

 

My soul smiles and unwinds.

I am in my secret haven.

I come here to recharge my depleted batteries.

 

I mix in organic fertilizer, careful to keep the balance.

If I add too much, I might burn the plant.

If I put minimal nutrients, the plant’s growth becomes compromised.

 

My lips curl upwards in amused understanding.

Tending to my garden is a reflection of my life.

Balance is key.

 

Oh! How it is easier said than done.

 

 

 

I have tunnel vision.

I only hear and see what I want.

The internet is my supermarket.

My mind is the trolley.

I put into it what I desire.

Nowadays, I don’t have to pick anything.

I only need to let my guard down.

I take no responsibility to watch over my mind; lo and behold, a deluge of information submerges me.

I am free to indulge in this feast set before my hungry and curious soul.

As I gormandize, a chilling thought gnaws at me.

Nothing was free.

My mind, soul, and life were the ultimate price I paid, albeit unknowingly.

 

Her mind is tightly wound and tense.

Anxious thoughts run to and fro, intensely competing for her attention.

She bunches her fingers into an unyielding fist.

Her knuckles groan and beg for release from the tight grip. 

Her breathing is shallow, heavy, choppy, and contrived.

The iron claws of fear tighten around her chest.

Her frozen, raised shoulders look on, helpless.

Her belly squeezes in, trying to escape the chaos.

 

Exhale!

 

She lifts her dazed countenance and reigns in her wayward thoughts.

She breathes in deeply and slowly exhales.

The tension and strain in her soul reluctantly step aside.

She allows herself to fall into the moment.

She vacates the limbo of “yesterday’s regrets and tomorrow’s dreads.”

“It’s okay to take it a step at a time,” she coaxes herself.

She moves forward, hesitant, and bites into her day.

She chews slowly and swallows, savouring each mouthful of her fleeting life.

 

 

I am in my bubble.

You are in your glass cage.

I am in my corner.

You are in your cave.

There is no bridge connecting our two worlds.

Our islands drift apart.

There is a severe communication breakdown.

Storms of strife have caused a power outage.

There are signs of a meltdown.

Watch out!

 

 

I thought it didn’t matter.

I was wrong.

I was still bitter and angry towards you.

I had learned to camouflage it so well that I even deceived myself.

 

 

I have cracks.

That is what qualifies me.

I am flawed.

That is why I am well able.

 

It is the clefts, the nooks, and crannies in my soul that embellish me.

My gnarls and brokenness make a beautiful lampstand.

The light of hope and resilience, gracefully seep out of the crevices.

My world brightens up. 

 

I finally realize that I am lovely.

The dark clouds of self loath that floated on high o’er the hills and vales of my soul are no more.

I stand tall, scars and all.

The bitter and the sweet of my life have moulded me into a vase of exquisite artistry.

 

 

Where did I leave you?

My dearest carefree heart.

Where did I bury you?

My darling laid back mind.

Where did I mourn you and bid you goodbye?

My dear hopeful soul.

 

What broke you?

What humiliated you?

Who betrayed you?

Who hurt you this deep?

What shredded your heart to pieces?

What tore you asunder?

 

Why did you give up your friend, “peace of mind and a restful heart”?

 

 

It is all within my reach.

I can have it if I want, I know.

Why do I lull my will to sleep?

Why am I complacent?

I lean over the edge and balk.

I have a slack hand.

 

Why do I stand petrified?

Why don’t I allow myself to reach forward?

Why am I self-sabotaging?

Oh! Dear me, let me be!

Let me soar into my purpose.

Let me fly, faults and all.