The Lace Bra

It should take a lot of time to unfasten a lace bra. When you can longer turn back the clock and change your mind about plying open a can of worms, you should definitely try for a slow beginning to an end. I sound grim, I know. It’s all that love growing cold inside my liver, turning slightly green as it pushes past the gallbladder, bouncing right across onto the pancreas. It could also be the fear redefining the terms of my new found courage to date again. I date again only because I tell myself I am courageous now, I can take the heat.

But I know I have no business waving around lace bras as fodder for a mind riddled with conundrums about me, wondering whether I am worth the trouble or if trouble is all there is to me. Low self esteem is also a possible culprit if we must round up the usual suspects. This whole song and dance reeks of a lack of something as fundamental as esteem in the self, the only decider in matters as important as who and how to love.

I wish I were perfect or wiser at least; that way I’d be able to leave the lace bra in the “big girl box” where it belongs and promptly wait for the day it would be of great use, like on my wedding night. I’m not sure if I want to keep opening cans of worms with this bra. I’ve had my share of nasty surprises and really, really should stop feigning surprise already. At this rate what I wish could happen and what I manifest are never going to find themselves parallel one another, not even from two different astral planes.

No mind- I still believe in love. And in time all things heal by the hand of Love. My hope is that Love forgives me again for desiring so badly to wield this sexy, sexy lace bra at it again. I don’t know what I am doing but I want you to stay. I desire a deeper connection with you, a friendship that can’t be wished away because it is based on superficial things. But it’s been so long since Love asked for my friendship that I no longer know how to not bargain lace bras for its attention. And this lace bra? I have no qualms swapping it for a warm hand of friendship if offered, thank you.



He Aint Heavy…He my baby-daddy

Senseless argument number 1735. Five years of knowing each other well enough to stay off each other’s sensitive toes have done nothing for us. Our fights are so legendary that some Greek mythology had to be made up about cats and fighting to divert attention. If I could choose between Tyson and that man I’d be in the ring flyin’ like a butterfly, hands surgically attached to both ears. So it makes no sense to take a bullet for my one and only arch nemesis now does it? What treachery when the sisterhood of single mothers bleeds at the aorta from bludgeoned promises, half- hearted efforts of baby daddies. I take this bullet under advisement ladies; my vision is 20/20 on this one.

It is in the bottom of the darkest abyss that infinite, heavy tears of despair will fall. The vessels finally lets up, shatters into a thunderous multitude of pieces and out gushes the river of tears. “Why me. Where are you when I need you. When will it stop”. Not questions but statements of a terrified warrior woman, fearing the death of her light inside that deep, endless, hopeless pit. I hear they call it the last hour before dawn and witness that it indeed is. Tears all wrung out, face properly disfigured from the erratic contorting, as if crying and screwing your face up makes the anguish less devastating, I reached out into the dark one fine day.

There within my reach was a doorknob, firm and real and begging to be twisted open. It took far less strength pushing that door open than it did crying my heart out. The light came streaming in like water from above, bathed my face in a million minute colours that just then blended to form a halo around the now ajar door. I walked out of my own terror. I was free. Once more, I had been transported back to my own life. And through that opening I could see the contents of that very fragile life. Yet something seemed unfamiliar about the portrait of my life.

Where had the food come from? Who had filled my cup to the brim without my consent? How is it that my child had been bathed and fed while I had been lost in my terror and panic? How could do such a generous thing for me when all I had been in my trying times was alone?

But look, his eyes draw me out of the dark with empathy. He bears no ill judgment for the choices I have made and the malice those choices have brought me. Just kindness beckons me out. It is as if (his eyes) say to me, “A little girl needs her mother. She needs her to be well, her rock and hero. You can still be those things and more!” I reach out, in awe of the messenger that clearly Heaven had sent down into my hell to free me.
1735 senseless fights over 5 years and I wouldn’t trade him for anything better. We couldn’t be lovers once and were never to see eye to eye on a great many things since.

How naive I was to grieve our end when in fact there were always many other ways to care for him. Romantic desires had blinded my heart to the sight of a truly good friend, one who didn’t want to divorce himself from the shambles that I was during my most trying hour. We take too long to see people for who they really are once our hearts are wounded by betrayals. In retrospect, you really are a good man, a good father, a flawed person and most importantly a true friend. He aint my man, and thank God too, for all that did was make room for the truly spectacular friend he is!

I’m all about you.

Close to me as if you were my kin and yet a stranger I may never even meet.

I can’t imagine a world without you in it. You are the part of me that will never be erased because of the many common threads between us. We are built for fears, laughter and triumphs. Everyday we rise without fail to face challenges, and while we deal with them as fitting our unique upbringings and beliefs, our tears fall from the same place, our smiles break out on our mouths and eyes. And so however different we may seem on the outside, we all yearn for the same thing: we yearn to be loved.

I write for you because in this world where everyone needs someone, this is the one gift I can offer you freely and with sincerity. You do not have to agree with my opinions or thoughts but will find that what I know you already know too. Every question I pose you have an answer to, and so by speaking from my heart to you I open yours to me and others too. 

Here’s to hoping my heart finds yours in your moments of trial, when you feel alone and misunderstood, when you seek answers as I seek answers to the questions pertaining to life. These thoughts are rightfully yours as much as there are mine, expressed quite differently from how your mind and heart works but none-the-less true and enlightened. May they comfort and inspire you, an extraordinary piece of the universal puzzle, created to fulfil a undeniably special purpose for yours, mine and the world’s good. My words are inspired by you, my burdens made lighter by your courage, perseverance and resilience. Open your heart to me and let me share in your pain and joy and I promise I will continue to honour you.