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Some things in this life,

Such as love, most especially love

Must be given and entered into with wild abandon



Perhaps they were right for each other

Because her demons found rest in the depths of his hell


Forgive her when she says you’re not her type

It is neither arrogance nor ignorance

And it is not affinity for clichés

Our childhood, Our experiences

Compel us to choose a type

You really are not her type

Coz when she will be looking

to love, to settle, to allow life into the universe of her womb

I promise you she will not be thinking of herself

She will be choosing a father for her children

Rather than a husband for herself

For the fruits of her womb

May one day question her choices, her clarity

For the kind of man, they will be stuck with as their father

So, allow her to have a type


She is a woman wild

Different shades of the skies leave her amazed

The vastness of the skies

Imprint the universe on the folds of her skin

and the night sky

inky black, twinkly

Makes her feel

So blessedly insignificant


She will be difficult to love

difficult to hold, perhaps even difficult to choose

but someday you will look at her

And love her for her fierce wild soul



Some people

Just have a calming presence

And you, mercifully

are the balance in the midst of her chaos


The first guy who broke her heart

Set a precedent

Now every guy after him

Is out to crush the broken pieces into tiny fragments

So she shielded her heart

And danced to the music that had no strings attached

But the music itself was a facade

The strings had a force of their own

And she had to dance to the soulful tunes they produced

Which broke her heart, again


You were the brilliant light that drew the moth

It knew the risks of burning up

But draw nigh, it did

Because your wildness

Tagged at hers and asked for a little spontaneity,

a little carefreeness

And along she came for the ride

It was bumpy, but to her,

there is beauty in wildness

and perfection in storms and hurricanes,

she views them as masterpieces

So you didn’t break her heart

She broke her own heart


When you smile at her, her world whirls

And all she whispers to the depths of her soul



When you talk to her, your voice reverberates to the very depths of her core

And all she whispers to the depths of her soul



When you mention: love. intimacy. care. future. forever

She freezes up and turns away

For she traded them at the doorstep of the world

And got cynicism instead

So it isn’t you, it is her

it isn’t that the way you say her name or sing her song does not melt her caution

It’s because all  she whispers and breathes into her depths



I know,

it is the way she has yet to embrace pain and hurting

To accept that there is no guarantee against heartbreak, no assurance of getting it right

She is yet to keep breaking her heart

Until it opens its doors wide to: love. intimacy. care. future. forever


Nobody taught her

how to love all parts of her body

So she resented some

especially the parts that showed she was woman before she was done being a girl

The women commented on the blossoming of her chest

And she hugged herself in demure shyness

The men and boys commented on the ripeness of her body

And she felt ashamed of it

They didn’t understand, she was a flower that wanted to bloom slowly, quietly, privately

She came to attach disgust

To the cat calls she got on the streets

As if her body had become a public object on appraisal

She’s unlearning

To detach the word shame, form her body

To embrace it with all its parts, with its flaws, with its curvaceousness

Even with the constellations that show up to trace the entire universe on her thighs and behind

She is learning to love it all


She pulls her skirt a little lower

and wishes that it didn’t hug her body

Like a long lost lover

She feels their eyes roaming, crawling over every inch

And she trembles


She wants to shout,



Burn the incense of hope

Right into my heart

Tell me a little lie

Let my heart beat erratically



She used to think

that all she needed was a man to love her

the way she wanted to be loved

until she realized

she had to love herself first

because she knew exactly how she wanted to be loved


She is cautious

For she bore the blunt


the innuendos, the sighs, the whispers

Forgive that she doesn’t want to turn out

Just like you

Forgive that she resents how passive you have been

She just carries a chip on her shoulder

And all she knows, is that she wants different things

From what you showed her of love, of men, of the world


The soil of her soul

is cracked

and into these deep crevices

She is pouring fertile seeds of love, of healing, of self-care, of self-approval

One day these seeds will blossom

Into wholeness, into depths of womanhood so replete with esteem

And these she can then pour

Into people who are just like she was, broken and cracked



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I have always been a Lover of Stories. They indeed are a healing art. My desire is that the bold strokes of my writing shall leave lasting impressions on the souls of my readers. That these stories will grow us as much as we grow them. It is an honour to be indulged in caring about words that have meaning, breathed into life via the labourious Love of a writer! Gracias!
  • Ndirangu Omondi

    This new style is so awesome. Not just coz of the simple language but for the short poem, story, reflection like tone. Thank you.
    However, If we stop looking at you like that, you will think you are not beautiful 😜😜. Maybe say we look at you that way plus more. We go deeper