womanhood

a work in progress

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Don’t.

Don’t look at me like that.
Don’t be so attentive.
Don’t give it all away.
Don’t laugh at everything I say.
Don’t open doors.
Don’t be a gentleman.
Don’t have great friends.
Don’t be so considerate.
Don’t walk with swag.
Don’t wear them kicks.
Don’t take me so seriously when I’m talking about something so deeply.
Don’t champion me.
Don’t be there for me.

Don’t.
Because it’s making me weak.

X
K

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Getting off

Yes.

Where do men get off.

Thinking women are inadequate.

But the sicker thing.

Or the bigger, most disturbing question is…

Where do women get off.

Behaving like they’re less than. Like they matter less. Like their needs are less important.

What are we teaching our sons?

What are we teaching our daughters?

X

From the woman who did this and is still figuring out why she did it and how to clean her mind from the potty state it was in.

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The Chase

Hey you.
I know you.
I know that game you’re playing.
Such a tease.

I know men who stop, drop and roll for me.
I know that tone.
That delight.

I know this dance you and I are playing.
The flirty dance.
The one which is a rush.
With each message arriving with a heady ting.

Each stroke.
A flush of guilt and euphoria all at once.
I know.

It’s the chase.
The whole game is the chase.

Once that’s over.
The game is over.
For me it is.

Unfortunately for you, it has begun.
But I’m out honey.
I’m out.

X
K

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My Boys

I’m here.

Miles away from my boys.
My man and my son.

The cheeks that brush mine so often.
The arms that spread wide open to engulf me.

My man.
The wise counsel at night when I’m restless and anxious.

My son.
The abundant love that never doubts me.

The two of them.
Fill my world.
On most days.

Being without them makes me feel like I’m walking around without a pair of my limbs.
I don’t know why the credit card account is blocked.
I don’t know when lunch time has passed.
I don’t know how to find the strength to fill a day with more fabric talk.

And I long.
For each of them.

Each hug filling my insides.

But.
That said.

I grow stronger each passing moment.
I learn about export duties.
I know how to send a firm “no” non-verbally at a harassing taxi driver.
I smile at receptionists and I know they find the magic in my smile,
A magic I thought I’d lost long ago.
I realise I’ve paid double per metre than I needed to.
I am pampered by others in my life, I usually care not to notice.

The mother coming home to Aru is anew.
The wife coming to V is anew.

The learning is in the risk you take.
The growth is in the leap you rise to.
When you feel pain, there is some kind of personal journey happening right there.
So don’t run.
Stay.

Feel it anyway.
Because.
The only way out.
Is through.

X
K

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Before it’s too late

You lost the love.
You lost the love.
Somewhere between then and now.
You lost the love.

The tendrils upon her face.
The depth in your eyes.

You lost the love.

Now there is just the everyday.
There is no cherish.
I’m searching for the laughter and I can’t find it.

She doesn’t laugh.
Neither do you.

Oh.
There is care.
There is concern.

But let me not be fooled.
There is no.

Love.
No adoration.

Your sign?
The bickering.

Decades from now?
It’ll be rage.
Or maybe it won’t even be decades away.
Just a year or two will do.

Rage.
Hate.

Trade it my friend.
Trade the bickering for love.
Before you let it poison her.

So long gone, you can’t identify the woman you were once so deeply in love with.

It’s on you.
Because she’s past halfway there my friend.

x

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Throw your hands up (in the air)

Somedays it seems you’ve just got to let go.

Not give up, but give in.

To what the universe is deciding for you.

Making the battle easier.

By accepting.

What is in your hands.

And what isn’t.

X

K

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Dear Aru (mid Feb, 2017)

My Dearest Aru,

I love you all over again.

In that deep unrelenting way.

And it is glorious.

My heart beat beat beats for you.

Boom boom boom.

My chakras spin for you.

And my feelings.

Oh. My feelings.*

 

We are buddies again.

It is glorious.

And I realise.

All over again.

And again.

 

How can I love you?

If I don’t love myself?

 

How can I honour you?

If I don’t honour myself?

 

How can I respect you?

When I don’t respect myself?

And so.

 

To love you,

I’m listening to me.

To my insides.

Hearing them say,

 

Karishma, take time out.

Karishma, stress less.

Karishma, do a little dance.

Karishma, get take aways tonight.

Karishma, go to work and do what you love.

 

Karishma.

Feel no guilt.

Feel no fucking guilt my child.

Just love yourself and the rest will follow.

 

And for you Aru,

I have the deepest, heartfelt, bloomingly, wild delightful love.

All for you.

Because I started with me.

 

X

K

 

*Sometimes my poetry comes from lines I’ve heard / read in the past. I don’t know how it seeps into the keyboard. But this line (and I had to share for you Jane Austen enthusiasts – comes from here (https://youtu.be/CgkS5_PTfZQ)  at 1:10). SWOON Moment!

The Problem With Religion & Spirituality

I’m yet to find a spiritual person who doesn’t talk as if they have achieved a height in their life that is higher than yours.

One who doesn’t speak of their wellness.

Their incredible depths.

As if.

You, the listener, really need to be a part of it all for your life to be better than it is right now.

And I think that’s the problem with it.

Just because you, the spritiual / religious person, think you know more, doesn’t mean you are more.

Everyone is just as amazing, blessed and incredible as everyone.

X

K

Isn’t life so much sweeter when you live it on your terms?

Angst

I don’t think you understand.
What it feels like.
To not know.
When he’ll pounce next.
To leave the home in fear that your baby might not be in safe hands.
To see bulging eyes.
To know that you.
You. 
Are not present.
In that moment.
So far gone.
You could do anything.
And so today.
Like other days.
I hold my shit together.
He cries in my arms.
But what if.
What if tomorrow.
I rile up?
What if tomorrow he hits you?
Then what you gone do?
With all that angst?

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