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Life As Makeri

by Nashipai Wangu

The Abstract Dreamer

I don’t dream like everybody else. I doubt I could if tried. I believe I’d try if I cared. I dream, with my head on a pillow of ecstasy allowing my very being to be distorted by romance, adventure and ultimate desire. Everything that happens when my eyes are closed are mere formulations of my lust for another self.

There is so much magic in fantasy and such little desire or want. In it lose track of time and self. There’s nothing linear in this trance; just majesty and the unattainable. The aesthetics at the bottom of the rabbit hole are just as distorted as time and love are in the real world and finally, reality begins to make sense.

I pray that if my fantasies are mere fallacy, the reaper may take charge of my fate. For I’d rather dance in the rain than to a new song. If heaven were to grant me one wish, that is the decade must die before I, that it won’t be in vain. That one day I would awaken in a world where fantasy and reality intertwine to create my destiny.

I stand alone at the edge of this dark and foggy forest. I fear that fear will be my undoing if not illusion. I’ll place my faith in the arms my guardian angel. Listen for her voice over the screeching of my demons. Trust in her in spite of my dismay and distress. If I might trip tonight, may I fall in love and light to find life and magic.

Wasted Flower

I’m wasted in every sense of the word.
I’m high and low.
Depression with a glow.
Rhyme with no flow.
The flower that won’t grow.

I, the flower blossom
There’s nothing for me in this budding life.
Glowing in the sunshine
Growing in my limelight.
I’m safest when the moons bright.

Hummingbirds lie on me
Suck out my nectar.
I give them life
I lose none of mine.
But I do lose self.

I’m a common beauty.
You’ve seen it.
You’ll see it.
You don’t see it.
You don’t see me for me.

I’m more than a vase filler
But I fill the vase.
I bring beauty to this place.
Fill in the space witn love

Watch me die out
Replace me with any other.
Discard me slowly so I don’t notice.
I’ll feel wasted
And you won’t feel
In any sense of the word.

An Ode To The Next Generation Of Parents

I wish my parents would stop pre-victimizing me every time someone brought up rape culture. I wish they’d stop to scaring me like it would shelter me. I wish they’d tell my brothers to protect me at all costs. I wish they’d teach my brothers to protect my sisters at all costs. I wish they’d take all the older boys into the other room and tell them that they have no right to ever make any woman cry. That they should be the gate keepers of their sisters’ hearts and never let any other man think they could even try and hurt us. I wish they tell my younger brothers to call at least one woman beautiful every day. Even if it’s just our mother, let them vocalize it. Teach them to open doors for ladies and treat girls like equals…….. I mean as equals. Teach them never to lay their hands on anybody. Teach them that it’s safer without a fight. I wish my parents would tell my younger sister that she’s beautiful. I wish they’d tell her that no man has the right to what’s hers. I wish they’d teach her that her body is hers and nobody else’s. I wish they’d teach her to wear whatever makes her happy without feeling like a slut or too masculine or too girly or too anything other than herself. I wish my mother would stop wearing make up on they days they spent alone together so she’d never think she needed it. I hope she loves her hair enough to cut it. I wish someone would teach her to love what she see’s in the mirror. I pray she learns to always clear her plate. I hope she never feels obligated to even start the meal. I hope she never feels like she needs to be like other girls. I wish I could be the one to teach her all these things. I wish somebody had taught me. I pray my father loves all us women with all his heart. I wish he’d place all of his daughters on pedestals so high that we never forget our worth. I wish he’d tell us we are beautiful so many times we’d never  need to look for it outside our front door. I wish he’d never leave his sons so they never leave their sons. When they stay, I hope they keeps them in the room whenever he tells his wife “I Love You” so they never forget to do the same. I wish my father would stop telling my brothers that he loves them only when they are breaking. I wish he’d spray those three words on our family hearts and leave them to dry in the warmth of the unity he creates every day. I pray none us ever fall in love without remembering we too can be loved.

Errors In The Epitah

A thickly veiled epitaph
Over what you didn’t understand
Over what you don’t  know.
Co-sign it,
Be the blind witnesses
To this silent movie murder tale.
I’ll remember it but you won’t.
Try and decipher the cracks
In the times I smiled.
Break down the details in my break downs.
Label it all under selfish
It was never anyone else’s fault.
Define it as strength.
Sweep the ugly under the carpet
Blame it on being human.
Remember that I was not the first or last
To ever hurt or be hurt
That my problems were nothing new.
The only fights I ever fought were against myself.
I was strong but died from weakness.
Loved but never learnt to love.
No faith in desire
No desire to have faith.
The poster child of vanity
With nothing to be vain about;.
My mirrors were always cracked.
She lived through her depression but died happy.
She lived happily and was depressed to leave.
Uncentered and self-centered,
A life spent orbiting lives with life.
Alien to self and love
Alien to self-love.
Gone but never forgotten.
Then again, by who and for what?

That Night

I could have slowed down my rhythm that night. Let him catch up and feel in control. Danced a little slower and been a little more present. Maybe then I would have noticed his eyes pierce across the crowd and lay themselves all over my body. Maybe then I would have dignified him by looking back and locking our eyes only for us to blink and all this to be over.

That night, none of that crossed my mind. My body was mine and my heart and soul belonged to the music. I had lost mind somewhere in the bump and grind of the city lights. Time was frozen and I was the only one who could see it.

That night, I was magic. That night, I was freedom in every essence. That night I was anything and everything I ever wanted be. I embraced the energy of the queens that came before. I reigned hard and flooded the night with my spirit.

That night I was woman in her greatest light. I was fierce and fearless like a cat in the night. I was the moonlight and my legacy was the tide. I was so powerful that night; I made the waters dance to my music. Beauty bloomed in the name of my light.

That night, it seemed like the sun would never rise but I didn’t care. I barely noticed. I controlled night the sky and lived among the stars.

That night, they couldn’t steal me. They couldn’t handle me. They couldn’t take me. That night I was the jailer and he was the prisoner. I was untamed; unhinged. That night I saw my reflection in the face of beauty. I saw myself the way I wish I saw me. That night, I was my truth.

Burning Walls

She watched the house burn. Walls to ashes. She sat inside it and took in a fire a she never started. This is not suicide. This is murder. She didn’t leave because she was chained to perception and respect. She didn’t leave because she was weighed down by guilt. The world stood at the window and blamed the dying girl for what you did. Their words were gasoline and this was a thirsty fire. These walls didn’t cave in, they crashed down with all their might. She lay in the rabble knowing that nobody was coming to save her. She lay in the shutters knowing her sadness would enslave her. Fire die but spirits don’t. During  the loneliest of times, a hero came to her aid. A  hand struggled through the mess to pull her out. It had a tight grip but a gentle touch. Slowly, it rescued her from her demise. She opened her eyes to see her hero. She opened her eyes as smoke and dust settled  and  saw her reflection.

The Way You Love

You remain stable man.
Unfazed and unchanged man.
Loved by a crazy girl.
You love a crazy girl.
You loved the girl like crazy.
Love made the girl crazy.
Explain why
Something so common
So plain
Can drive love insane?
Explain why
Love,
Is not plain
Nor is it sane?
It’s as complicated as the lovers.
Does that phase you man?
Does that change you man?
Change you
Like your lover
Changed
Unexplainable.
Insane.
Save your lover from insanity;
Unless,
You do like the change
The strange
The deranged
Change that turns lover
To strangers.
Maybe
It’s the way you love.
Is that how you love?
Is that love?
It’s only as complicated as the lovers.
This love was easy.
Easy as falling.
Falling in and out of it.
It is love.
It is your mind.
It’s her heart.
It is the way you love.
This was the stable man.
The unfazed man.
The unchanged man.
The man who was uncomplicated as his lover.

Euphoria

It was the worst of times.
Only because they were so fleeting.

Sunshine bursts throughout the room as rains raged on the outside.

Never had we danced so gaily,
Laughed so whimsically.
Sang so freely.

Satin gowns stained with beautiful memories.
Photographed in time;
Framed in our minds.

Life has a shortage of such bliss and beauty
We didn’t know that.

We drowned in euphoria and died to ourselves.

Grace and Gratitude.
Love and Music

Empathy glowed brightest in this light

Let it shine on.
Let it shine within.

Nostalgic Melancholy

Trying to unimagine what the end of all this will be. Trying to forget what I thought this would feel like. Trying to accept the now. All that’s left inside me is melancholy. As long as I wrap it in nostalgia, it’s not so bad. Looking back is easy. You see what you want to see and it will always be true. You see what you want to see and break of parts of you. Looking back I see light. Looking back is see darkness. I focus on what makes this moment easier. I focus on what makes looking back harder. I focus on not focusing on the past. This is why I prepackage all my nostalgia in melancholy. It keeps me mindful of the bitter taste of home sweet home. Going back is too easy because I know what I’m going back to. Going back too hard because I know what I’m going back to. I could go full circle and see what the world has for me. Be it love and light; Be it sorrow and death. I could go back and let the four walls that protect me, crash me. Nostalgia presented by melancholy makes this an easy choice.

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