I Hide, You Disappear!

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The coffee tastes good. Someone surely did something right
and can you look at the sun; selflessly filling earth with magnificence.
I’m happy to see you too.
It’s been a while- twenty years while-I almost forgot your face.
The last time I saw you, we were playing hide and seek at Tchidi’s house.
It was really quiet inside the cupboard…
I waited for you to come find me.
Looks like you finally did.

I am confident enough now.
Even learnt how to cycle. A few bruises, but I was okay.
The neighbour’s kids have been asking about you,
they were filled with wonder when you didn’t pick me up from school that day,
and every day when I fell ill.
These nosy kids!

And Mike from the body-shop asked if your car has been working right since then.
He also claimed you hadn’t paid him since ’02.
I told him you’d visit once you got your pay.
He believed me, saying you were a good man.
No, don’t worry; He passed away- ’twas an accident!

My teacher says I’m doing really well at school
she never ceases to praise my genes for the good grades in Math-
says I must have gotten it from my parents.
But Mama says Math is mind-draining
she must be really odd, right?

The sun is going down,
I need to rush home now.
I don’t like dark streets
but it was nice meeting you.
Maybe next time you’ll have a chance to talk,
and I will be here to listen
then we’ll know if what they say is true:
that you didn’t mean to leave me.

They call it a mistake!

Before I Go

I want to be loved by someone
just in case I don’t make it to tomorrow-
someone to cry for me,
think of me
reluctant to let go of my bones…

I want to be loved by someone-
its an honest fear of dying alone
without eyes to stare at me like a gem
like a wealthy man and his treasures
a look that my soul would hate to forget

I want to be loved by someone
one who won’t be afraid of mutual intensity
because many nights I have felt the cold
that the world offers between two sheets
and I’ve forgotten how warm it could get
lying between two arms.

A Cup of Friday

I turned 12 last October. It wasn’t a magical day like all the kids in my block claim. My family sang like a forced choir, and after the cake-cutting, I was off to the cafe down the street. It had been standing for years now, and the cracks on the walls were signs of a very short life span left. I took a book from my series of The Diary of a Wimpy Kid, and sat at the last table in the corner. The lack of customers in the cafe was a loss for Mrs. A, but the serenity it brought was a plus for me. I ordered my usual: a glass of milk and cake, and indulged my mind in Greg Heffley’s vacation in the Dog Days. That’s when he entered. He sat at farthest table from mine, and his eyes drifted to see me staring. I was ogling at this creature before me, and in my head, the Wattpad teen-romance stories were coming to reality: the new cute boy in town, the nerdy girl, and the breakfast date.

I will be turning 22 next October. Maybe I will be having a better year than I did this year. I’m currently at the school library, trying to understand the aspects of Business Law in the 2 hours before my presentation. The morning doesn’t seem promising, and the shiver in my bones isn’t rhyming to my favorite jam. V walks through the doors with two cups of latte and a box that seems to be packed with cupcakes. Not giving enough cares about her environment, she screams out my name as she places the box on top of my books. “You worry too much kid!” How was I friends with a human that hated reading? Anyway, coffee had always been a great start for me, and V has always been my best friend. This was my kind of favorite breakfast.

I will be turning 32 next October, and that really scares me. My male-dominated profession doesn’t allow me to harbor such feelings, but not being ready to think of midlife crises forces me to have fear. Stuck in traffic from work, my eyes can’t help but stare at the hotel across the street. The floors look exuberant from far, and the architecture bears a social-class definition. The environment surrounding is serene and almost perfect for my meeting. At least Mr. O would have one less thing to complain about. I imagine myself wearing my navy-blue pants suit and I feel my toes cringe at the thought of high heels. The coffee has the taste of its berries right from the rim of the cup: something that would lessen his complaints. Just one problem- his lawyer’s eyes were intimidating me. I thought coffee brought tranquility?

I turned 42 last October. It has been an exhausting April for me, and thoughts of retiring have been kicking from all directions. Aunt Gladys’ son, my husband, is planning a getaway weekend at the beach, and the anxiety has been creeping out all week. A morning at the beach, watching the sunrise on the water’s surface, sipping on mango juice glazed with whiskey. This vacation is meant to distract our minds from the ongoing divorce procedures, but for me, it seemed to be a summit for me and my gods. “Why are you leaving such a good man, ey selfish woman?” Traumatizing. This wasn’t the breakfast I dreamed of.

Its October once again. This time I will be turning nineteen. I always thought my first breakfast date will be like the former imaginations. But it was entirely different- completely real. It wasn’t like I read in the books, or watched in the movies. The streets were quiet and peaceful, and the drizzles made the soil smell edible. Wearing my black coat like a second skin, the euphoria of dates tickled all my senses; bearing warmth. I was having coffee with my long-lost friend, and the cheerfulness of that moment was something I wanted to capture till the end.

Her nails had a freshly painted coat of dazzling red lacquer, and her hair was neatly combed. Her outfit had the ability to showcase confidence and casualty, and the flamingo purse she clutched was the wrap-up of it all. Although coffee with creamer had always been my go-to, I felt phony-like I was disappointing the coffee lovers-as she ordered black coffee. But the exhilaration of sharing this moment with her outdid all other emotions of the day. The rains got heavier, and the connection we had was watered back to life. I was falling in love with the old things; with someone who meant a lot to me, over a cup of coffee.

[fee-ka] • Swedish 
(n.) a moment to slow down and appreciate the good things in life 
“Coffee with friends” 

Beautiful pieces

A palace in the middle of imaginations.
A wreck of a home-to them a dynasty-
full of blood craving a taste of harmony.
She was born.
The walls creaked with ecstasy,
the wails brought hope: she believed.
She saw them broken, ready to make their pieces whole,
little did she know, she was set for a ruthless road.
She was just naïve.
She was me.

Hours had gone, the sun was no longer the same,
the dynasty broke, the bonds shattered in ages.
She was still very young, but not too selfless to understand
that despite the peace, she also brought war
and mixed with love, she bred despise
for the ceremonies held were not of joy,
but of malice, and specks of regret.
She was meant to die.
She was me.

In the thatched shanty with her grandfather she lay.
He was her last hope; the first drunkard she had seen.
His words brew blind hope
as his songs uttered blessings to his own.
But she wasn’t his blood,
he cared less to know her name-lest he would have said it just once-
even if as a curse, to her it would have been a coated blessing.
That’s all she ever craved, eight hours beside the river.
That’s all she ever cried for, till the river turned into clay.
She wasn’t related.
She was me.

The bamboo trees swayed in matrimony.
The light was back, though in secrecy.
He was sent by the Heavens to teach her how to love
and there, he became one of her only two relations.
Minutes later, he was attacked and kept away from his own
and on his return, he could no longer breathe.
It became her first loss; her first drown.
She had lost all she had-
forgotten for a much brighter illusion.
She felt tired.
She was me.

The bus drivers hoot out loud in distress-
she had just rested for six seconds.
The weight on her shoulders had gotten heavier,
the humans surrounding drew farther.
Her heart had never known to seek help.
Her eyes grew impatient for the sun rise.
Now she cries no more, for her pain surrendered
to drunk glasses and bended knees.
Her soul remains caged,
her body lies feeble, years awake.
The world is tempting.
The battles are enraging.
She dreams of being with her papa,
then maybe with closed eyes she would be good enough,
maybe in another life, she will be strong enough.
There’s only much one can take:
her mama knows not,
but she needs a break.
she is me.

311 Sunset Love


I was up all night, making a list of  words I’ve always wanted to say
Forgive me if they don’t sound right, my mind’s a mess that ain’t worth a stay
so here goes nothing…
you mean a lot to me, more than I ever show
before I became broken, I was something worth a glow
then I met you, and my insecurities grew worse
for I was afraid to lose you, even before you became mine.
You are my definition of perfect, my kind of enough
my favorite escape, and my unforgettable laugh
to me you are my safe place,
 no better home than in your embrace
and I want you to be my forever,
so if forever ends tomorrow, then let me treasure today.

I was up all night, making a list of all the possibilities
forgive me if I sound ‘too much’- but I need to ask
what if time isn’t what they say it is
what if it’s not my healer, but a constant reminder of old days?
What if your name remains in every beat of my heart
and our song is the only music that stops without a start?
Would I be on your mind like you’d stay in mine?
Would you crave for our past-would it make you smile?
I would have lost someone I truly loved,
and maybe that would die
but you’d have lost someone who truly loved you
and that, my love, isn’t easy to find
I might lack the right words to make you stay
but will the time come when you leave my heart half again?

I was up till 4am
writing this letter to tell you how I felt
I don’t think I got the address right
but if you get my message- remember I am hopeful for the reply.


If I’m just somebody that you are gonna leave
and you don’t feel something when you look at me,
If you’re just some habit that I gotta break
I can clear myself in 90 days,
You’re holding my heart,
just let me down slowly
I’ll be okay

Pink – 90 days

Red wine or Punch

The disguise we have coating our eyes
wrangling the emotions, piling it all inside
desperately searching for desire in a stranger’s mind
vowing till death we part
feeding the body, deceiving the heart.
Childhood fairytales are now the magic of this ardor
ready to die, with painful steps down the aisle
for as long as we are not alone;
the emptiness felt at home is hidden behind the ‘say-cheese’ hall
for no one should know we are searching for love as two broken souls…

Nothing seems worse than letting go of the one who loves,
to hold on to the one who let go.
Bribing the pillow not to tell of our tears,
and hoping the corners stay silent of our midnight fears
agonizing at how fast the tables turned
one day you are here, but today I’m waiting for another to return.
Not much has changed; for even my prayer remains the same
if not chance, then fate will agree and our paths will cross again

And maybe after all these years we shall meet at our favorite place
take a drive of hopeful stitches that would seem insane
tell stories of our past secrets and our deepest regrets
And under the oak, in each other’s arms, we shall laugh
at how we always ended up breaking each other’s hearts.

I hope you fall in love with so much more in this life than just another person. I hope you see firework shows and just remember how big or small you are all at once. I wish for you enough tears that you will remember you are allowed to be human, but all the laughter it takes to carry you through those sodium waves. Please don’t give up on the power of imagination, because imagination will never give up on you.
Be forever wild, and love with all your might, even after you’ve been broken one too many times.

Erin Van Vuren

He loves me not

Someone once told me you love with your heart and not the brain. That’s when I figured I’d been doing it all wrong. Always thinking of how beautiful we would look together, constantly imagining our lives for infinite-ever, falling for the sweet words you whispered, as your rum-dripping lips pursued mine…Letting this thing they call lust deceive me, telling myself I’m grown now. Utter surprise the petals did not lie. Cause you dont love me, neither do I. We are just lonely, looking for a bed to belong. Maybe for the night, occupy our disoriented minds with each other’s touch. It isn’t love…

How I wish the flowers lied, then you’d be mine. Not just mythically, I’d be your soulmate. You and I…sweeping away these petals-proving them wrong. And what about the butterflies that bring out a feeling-of love-maybe? I wish it was love. At least some sort of feeling. Or maybe I picked the wrong flower…I wish it made my heart beat slower, or stop, or beat faster. Or maybe I plucked these petals carelessly… Then I wouldn’t be on my own between these sheets.

I just wish he really loved me. More than I wish I felt the same.

NO TENANTS-please!

brown chairs inside a room

How does a whole human being try to fit inside my head-
where there is no space
just words and tears: poems of fear
fighting to spill all at once?
No peace: not inside my head

Please stop trying to get into my head
I’m suffocating: help-me-breathe!
Find some other home
one with a bed of peaceful rose
Not thorns: not inside my head

I know all you want is a place
to help yourself: fix your brokenness
to recover your way-be you once again
Then you will let me get used to you
that I won’t bare it when you leave
No, don’t do this to me: not my head

Ask them, those who tried to reside in my head
it’s just not the safest place for you
or them, no one!
Yes-I am chasing you away
because I don’t want you getting hurt
ask them
they will tell you to stay away from my head!


Not a heart problem, more of a pen.

black ball point pen on white notebook

My pen refuses to write, it wants to listen to my heart

So allow me to write this down fast, before my thoughts also decline

Yes, I can’t find a better way to say I want you

A better way to give what we have a try

But at the same time, I feel like it isn’t what I want for me,

You and I don’t seem to desire the same thing

I heard you find something once you realise you lost it

But I feel like I am losing you, even before I get to have you

And I can’t seem to gain the strength to find you

Or even-wait-let me strike my pen again…

You seem to have a thing for the ‘extras’

Again I feel judged for being just a church-girl

It seems like luck is still on my case

Cause every time I pray about it, I still get to hear, ‘its not your time’

I craved for you, even before I knew you

I protect you, so much, yet I don’t even own you

Yes! Call me insane, but I’d really give everything for you

To notice me, or at least just smile at me

Tell me that my dreams may one day be reality

Even if not with you, but someone shall appreciate me.

My preacher is calling out, that every human being deserves a chance

I wish everybody understood that my Heaven lies in you,

But they won’t let us be, they claim different don’t mix

I want to tell them how;

I find my peace as I battle with myself, to talk to you someday

and tell you, that I really mean all the words I said.

For now let me go refill my ink,

I promise I shall be quick!

And upon return, maybe, I will remind you my name…

Does it ever get better?

adult alone anxious black and white

You told me that you went through this, and even worse, right?
You told me that you shed tears, wept, and felt empty inside
You did say, too, that you went on your knees, and called onto Him,
and that in time, though it seemed null, He replied, right?
You told me that you felt numb for a while
and assured me that it doesn’t go on for too long.
that your emotions came back, and your happiness was no longer a dream, right?

So now tell me, what else did you do?
Cause I have done all that, but mental freedom is still untrue.
Maybe there is something you hid from me that I should do
to get better, to be okay again. Maybe,
there is something you were told, that made the ache less painful
Or someone you had in your life, that made the cross less heavy,
Please, just tell me, tell me you didn’t lie to me, tell me
Does it ever get better?