womanhood

a work in progress

Category: Family (Page 1 of 21)

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Checked Out

I need you less.
Want you less.
With every step that I take further away from you.

With every check in, every boarding pass.
Every time I move an hour forward in time.
You are less to me.

As if a figment of time.
That perhaps never really happened.
Perhaps all those things I never really said.

So.
For now.
Home is where my boys are.

X
K

It just is.

You can never tick all the boxes.

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Going around in circles

Life seems to me.

To be cyclical.

Learn what you need to learn, or it’ll go full circle, only to push you back to learn what you resisted the last time around.

So when you complain about something.

Ask yourself,

Have I complained about this before?

Make complaining twice a sin.

Make making change the solution.

X

K

Eden

A Truth Bomb, 

As my friend calls it. 

This is no place for dishonesty. 

So let me lay it out there. 

For you women. 

You readers. 

Who take my good with my bad. 
I never wanted a child per say. 

It was the done thing. 

I did it. 

Never really knowing what it might entail. 
What has transpired from that, is a real journey. 

Moments of never fully unleashing any regrets, but also moments of not loving this whole scene of baby smell and whining at all. 

Being unsure if this is my path. 

Or if I just let it happen. 
I honour and admire my mother. 

Who passed no judgement at all upon these emotions. 

She has let me feel. 

That it is simply ok. 

To feel.

How you feel. 
I’m better now. 

I have Kholo. 

Which is for me.

A making. 

 

And I have found my peace, at least for now, in the role I play in Aru’s life. 

I have found my delight. 
So moving on from children. 

I am vulnerable. 

To heights of emotions. 

To a charged sexuality when it comes to other men. 

Outside of the love bonds. 

Outside of the contract. 

Outside of the need to have and to hold. 
And I don’t know what that means. 

Don’t know how to break it down. 

How to FIX it. 
But I’m learning now. 
I’m not the only one. 

And of course, that makes me feel better. 
But. 

For now I’m a prisoner just as much as a thriving flower. 

In my own garden of Eden. 
X

K

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On FIYAH

When did I loose my voice?

My raging fire?

When did I decide to walk away, instead of fight.

Instead of saying, “HEY, STOP”.

I got so sick of you.

All of you.

Barrage after barrage.

Words that never stop.

Each trying to win the argument.

Thinking my silence would at least end the pain.

If it wouldn’t find a space of peace.

But you know what.

Now I say fuck it.

Fuck the peace.

I will say my part.

Firmly and truely.

Even if it hurts you to hear it.

Fuck the peace and fuck you.

Because you had this shit coming a long way back.

K

 

PS – So sorry for all the swears in this one. I was truly angry in that moment in time and I guess if there are no swears, it doesn’t feel true for me. I can’t feel that rage. Because that is how I express my rage.

 

Git

What life are you running from?
What life do you want? 
 
What am I shining upon you? 
 
 
There is no room for that man in my home. 
 
In my spice box. 
 
In my jewellery jars. 
 
No room for that man in my bed. 
 
No room. 
 
 
 
So go. 
 
Get gone. 
 
To the Himalayas. 
 
To the furtherest point from all of this. 
 
Because. 
 
If you don’t go. 
 
Imma send you there myself. 
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It’s Not About You

I want to stop looking at all the things you aren’t.

Because once I do that.

I can start seeing myself for all the things I am.

And all the things I need to change.

If you don’t look out for me, why am I not looking out for me?

If you don’t permit me, why do I think I need your permission?

If you don’t indulge me, why am I not indulging myself?

I am all these things for me.

X

K

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Low

You pretend to be above it all.

But today you showed me just how really low you can go.

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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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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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