barbra Archives « Wamathai

I have one of those days,
Those days where what I feel,
Compared to what I want to feel,
Refuse to be comparable,
Remain separate, different,
Yet still my feelings,
That I want to feel happy & perky,
But the opposite manifests its ugly self. Continue reading →

I am at a loss
A loss of words
Words that should come out of me
Me that should speak them
But I
In my loss
Still search endlessly
For words that shall define me Continue reading →

That Feeling
Ever had that feeling that you are not enough?
Not enough for anyone or anything?
Not good enough? Not fast enough? Not skilled enough?
Ever felt like this? Know what it does to you?

Ever had that feeling that you are just average?
Plain simple, not like others, yet like the majority?
Boring, naïve, all those things labelled ‘average’?
Ever felt like this? Know what it does to you?

Do you understand how or why these feelings come?
Do you sometimes wish they never existed?
Or that they even didn’t have words to describe them?
Ever understood that? Or wished it perhaps?

I have. Its not a good place to be, and you know this.
How you do? You ask. I’m pretty sure that’s rhetoric.
Rhetoric in the sense that it simply has no answer.
I have. And I know you know its not a nice thing.

But I did something about it. Something that people don’t do.
People just wallow in it. They don’t do something.
I dealt with it. Rose above it.
I did something about it, and that something did it for me.

I am better than this, I told myself. That was comforting.
It was uplifting, inspiring, strengthening, add more if you like.
It did it for me, I said. I rose above it.
I am better than this, why of course! I am better!

When that feeling comes, deal with it. I know I did.
It wasn’t easy, it never is and will never be. I ain’t no expert.
This wasn’t the first time. But I share it in this way.
I ain’t no expert, but I sure am the expert of me

I feel your pain I feel your fear
I can see how much it makes you tear
Inside outside that shed grows near
Like being unable to use automatic gear

That fear of love is so unspeakable
And most of the time its unexplainable
So we hide and veil ourselves to places unseeable
Because were haunted of that feeling; unlovable

But there is hope if we just open our hearts
And let it run wild and free like riding a go-kart
That fear is our own creation, not sweet as a tart
Say bye bye fear, hello love…like embracing art!

I shall love my love with endless love
And try hard as much not to feel “dis-love”
Cause the fear is gone and now i love
To love my love with love for love…No fear…just LOVE.

***This is a reply to this poem here

I am this old dude

In this old town

Hiding, covered in a mask

Of my own doing

I am old

Yet still not as much

I crave for power

I yearn for it ever so dearly

Like an infants cry for mothers milk

My cry for power consumes me

I am old

Yet still not as much

“My people” I call them

They respond, followers they are

I love them, they think so

But to me, they are vessels

I am old

Yet still not as much

Wealth beckons for me

Or is it the other way round?

Truly I am not evil

While my people die of hunger

I am old

Yet still not as much

Them youngsters beg for my departure

“You’re extinct!” they claim

I know I am old

Yet in mind am not!

I am a politician

My mind shifts as tectonic plates!

When will I learn?

To respect the lives of “my people”

I lack a heart

Blame me for their deaths

And misery, oh poverty too!

I am old

And I thrive for power!

Discovering me

From nothingness to something

Simple, yet complicated

Words, they are a disappointment

Discovering me

What makes me tick

What drives me

What makes me me

Discovering me

I am nothingness

With lots of somethings

Within me discovered

Discovering me

Still a process it is

Somewhat difficult a task

Varied is the human in me

Discovering me

It will go on

Till the day I die

I shall discover me.

I wake up every morning
At about 6 am.
And what’s on my mind?
The itch to write.

Its 8 am, am at the office
Am supposed to begin work
But something is bothering me
The itch to write.

I am deep into my work
There is so much to do, so little time
And all of a sudden it bites me again
The itch to write.

Its already evening! WTF happened to the time?
I cant believe I did all this
And all I did is so no work related
The itch to write.

Its so cold outside, roof over my head am thankful for
The blanket is so cozy, the chocolate so hot
Still at this cozy feely time, all thats in my mind
I still have the itch to write!

We cry, we cry!
As the days go by
Expectations run high
Food scarcity is nigh
Its way too dry

Malnutrition is bad
Makes life so hard
Everyone feels so sad
When it wets we’ll be glad
Still its way too dry

Our government feels nothing
We are the opposite of kings
Our hearts cannot sing
Home there is nothing to bring
Because its way too dry

Thank God its wetting
It just feels like spring
Now our tummies have something
It’s a nice feeling it brings
Oh it’s wet, no cry!

Wait a minute now will you
What are we going to do?
This wetness seeps through
My rooftop I see blue!
It’s wet now, I cry

Mother nature have mercy
It feels like you’re cursing!
But it’s not her who’s the sting
Our nature of complaining
When it’s dry we cry
Now it’s wet we still cry!

I love you sometimes
I hate you sometimes
It’s funny sometimes
You’re awesome sometimes
You’re terrible sometimes
When I use you sometimes
You make me angry sometimes
You go off just like that sometimes
You get so clear sometimes
It’s confusing sometimes
Coz I can’t be without you sometimes
You re always there for me sometimes
You can be so useless sometimes
But in all of this sometimes
I still need you all times
I love you my cellphone.

I remember it like it was yesterday. We were bored. At home. With nothing to do. The mboch had gone out to the market. To mama mboga’s as usual. She was going to be gone for long. We were bored. Yea, I know I repeated myself. It was that bad. We were young. Very young. Still in primary. Day school.

He suggested we play a game. I didn’t know the game. It wasn’t kalongolongo. It was something else. He asked me to touch him. Where? Down here sweetie, he told me. It was soft. Thin. Had skin on top of it. Mine doesn’t look like that, I told him. Let me see, he said. He pulls up my dress. I quickly pull it down and tell him, wee, tabia mbaya! He says to me, just wait, you’ll like it. I let him put his hand there. It felt good. Really good. How is it? He asks. Nice! I reply.

Okay, lie down now. He tells me. Why? I ask. Just lie down. I will show you. See yours is a hole and mine is a stick. Here. See how it goes in? I pull away. Wee, wacha hiyo. He cajoles me. I give in. It felt good. Really good. He went in and out. In and out. I didn’t resist.

We did it again the next day. Then the week after. I am now 13. He made me pregnant. He is 14. We don’t know what to do now.

I thought it was innocent. I wish I knew better.
c: Barbra Jolie

Wamathai

A magazine of literature & art

Tag Archives: barbra

One of those days

Loss for Words

That Feeling

Afraid to Love

When I Grow Up – Politician’s Version

Discovered

The Itch To Write

We Cry

Sometimes

My Teenage Affair