Impatient

We were given names so that
we could live out it's true meaning.
To help us grow into that self with the suffix "ish.
Names give us an identity
the first as a personal identity
and the last name to show family relationships
but lets not forget the middle name
that serves so many roles except identification.
It could be cultural, religious
or if you are like me whose parent
had no male child, you'd keep your dad's name
so he wouldn't worry that his branch
on the family tree would be cut off.
My first name is Nancy meaning grace
and my last name is Aizojie
which is something inbetween royalty and kingship.
My middle name holds no middleground
for these perfect titles I have been saddled with.
"impatient" is what it is
Not one to retract, double back or pause
I just want to run, jump,
fly and fast forward to I'm
a patient doctored by self belief
that made me self centred to thinking
it always had to be about me.
I was closely monitored by self denial
so I was never discharged,
taking meds that will self destruct
and lying in a state with no one
to call for aid other than the
self righteous person curled inside myself
and I struggled to break the bond
between me and self
in other not to remain in ICU
cos I couldn't pay the price of solitary
confinement for the rest of my life
I knew in that moment that was
no more than a flicker in the face
of self awareness that I'd placed
an armour that hid me away
from the warmth of others and
I from them, the core of living is
seperating the reel from reality
and accepting that there isn't a director
to stage and retake until we
get the part right.
we ought to live for today or relive
the horror of wishing we could have
done better than yesterday
or die without taking the hand
of a tomorrow never lived
This isn't a self abasement to
humiliate myself and decry my self worth.
what this is, is knowing my flaws
and facing up to it cos I have made
so many mistakes that you should
take this and miss the message.
Memoirs are made from memories
and it's about that time I began
making mine not about me, myself and I.

RAW

I chase you as papers do the wind,
it knows it would never catch up
but still tries to keep up
suppliant to the whims of trajectory forces
of none other than a mix of gases commandeering
its actions and reactions.
A pupil to your iris is all I wanna be,
teach me to see with lenses curved like your brows
and whip me to shape with thick lashes
for there is no wrong to a right that doesn't know what’s left of it.
the feeling so wrong yet I want you right by my side
so let me love even if you don’t feel same
your emotions shadowed by commotions driving your train of thoughts
off tangent to its coordinate into a tunnel of unknown destination.
I know that I'm the constant with you taking different variables
and the only formula that is almighty to our love equation is permutation
cos the probability that you’d give me a chance is simultaneous to dividing by zero
which is equal to infinity after nothingness.
I feel incomplete as this piece feels bare of English
to show contrast other than complimenting the mathematics of falling
heart over head in love cos if my head was involved,
I wouldn't be caught in this dilemma.

Making meaning out of life

I woke up with this beautiful thought. It is short and obliterates any long writeup. I hope you get the intended message and live for it. God bless...

Image source: Google

Copy/words: Nancy

Punk and String

A lil’ advice for sisters;

Never tell how many frogs you have kissed,

especially if you still haven’t found your prince.

uh-un, bad idea. Can see some of you already cringing.

the number that bad? Lemme guess!! 20, 40…

aww man, never let it out…ever

cos if you do the “let’s lay our past on the table so we both can have closure type shit”

with him, well… you’d have closure alright

in the form of a greasy hair punk

who’d treat you like a string hanging loosely

waiting to be plucked and out he’d fling

lest you make a mess of a perfectly

ordered tune of dating, courting,

marriage and happy ever forever.

Now you see where the label fling came from

You always short of breath from the exertion 

and him, tall as they come moving slowly

in between hating you and loving you

and thinking “what is the best way to get rid of her” when you purr.

You see, nothing you do will erase 

the mental paint canvass from his mind

you are the sia to the mese of your past

and no surgery can replace the cut out limb

nor any facial reconstruction smoothen out

the wrinkled lines permanently tattooed on his face.

Trust me no one wants to be told “you are a dog”

but that’s what he’d wanting to use as

the arsenal to ignite the breakup

So, here’s what you should do…but don’t quote me

Lie through your teeth cos honesty got nothing on it.

Even the fairy need a lil twist in the tale sometimes

cos how can there be a maleficent if there

wasn't a sleeping beauty story.