...

Because my mind is a stopwatch when I am with you.
And it is so overwhelming that I do not see your face. I only see the minutes running away from us.


Because all we have is time.

Fast paced, suffocating, time.

And it is incredibly difficult to fit all my love for you into something so fickle.

How do I keep you forever?

10,000th.

Sitting here, I often feel like I have no people. 

Like I have been dropped into a place and left alone. 

And the people in this new place are cold as snow. 

But then when I look back, 

It only takes a picture or a call or a text or even a voice mail.

As soon as I get a glimpse of the people behind me.

The quality of the people propping me up. 

The architecture of support around me;

Infinitely stronger than the frigidity before me.

I remember that I am not alone.

I sit here, 

A small girl in an over sized chair.

And that is all you see.

You do not see the 10,000 people I come with, cheering me on, saying;

"You can do this,"

"Forgive yourself,"

"Try again."

Thank God for these 10,000 people :)


Inspired by a line from Maya Angelou's "Our Grandmothers" and my day today.
Thanks Ugose for making me put this up :)

Fantasy and Reality

He was a one dimensional guy.

She was a gathering of stories.

And they would clash, time and time again.

At the line between fantasy and reality.

She was an emerging hurricane.

A collection of aftershocks.

He was a one sided coin.

Stuck to the top of a mountain.

All he saw, was the sun.

It must be nice to not house a museum of caustic nostalgia in the veins of your mind.

It must be nice, 

To only see the sun.

The You I Am Afraid Of.

This is not the you I am afraid of.

When you asked if I trust you.

I want you to know,

That this is not the you I am afraid of.

I am afraid of the you after this.

The you after us.

That is the you I am afraid of.

The you after the I love you's

The you that has been transformed by heartbreak.

The you that is cold, and numb and indifferent.

Because I love you.

Because you love me.

But we are two explosives.

And so there is no peaceful ending to this love story.

So, no, I do not trust that you.

Because I haven't met him.

I haven't seen the darkness in his eyes.

But he knows my secrets.

He knows my weaknesses.

He knows his way around me.

That is the you I am afraid of.

That is the me you should be fiercely terrified of.

...

When did you know it was love?

What came first?

The butterflies, or the fear.

That someone other than yourself could change you, into this person that could feel.

Love.

Pain.

Joy.

Loneliness.

And that someone other than yourself could possibly cause you pain.

The kind that burns.

The kind that breaks. 

The kind you do not recover from.

...

Such a beautifully flawed creature you are. 

I would take your pieces, time and time again and they will make me whole.

The problem is you think you can fix me...
The problem is, you are the broken one.

Thank you! - Video

Hey guys!

This post is just to say thank you to everyone that reads this blog and also to everyone that gives me feed back on my pieces. Every comment gives me a new out look on my writing and honestly makes my day. So thank you guys!

The dream at the moment is that I do for you, what other writers have done for me, which is to write a story or poem so sincere and relatable that it feels like your emotions have been converted to words. If I have done that at any point, my dreams are slowly coming true :)

Below, is a link to a video I made to show my appreciation. I have many more screen shots in my collection but these are the only ones I could find right away. Please let me know if you cannot access the video.

Have a great weekend!

Love,
Mensu.

https://vimeo.com/106016654

Morning After.

It was the morning after.
We sat opposite each other in the room.
My mother and I.
Me on the bed, while she, was on the couch...

"I feel the need to physically rest my head on someone. This is too much for me. C-Can I.. Can you please sit next to me?"

She shook her head before saying,
"No."

"No?"

"No... Because days will come when you will feel this way, worse. And no one will be there to offer a shoulder. And it will consume you, and you will feel the burning desire to run from the world. From yourself. And if you do not learn now, you will indeed run. So, no. I will not sit next to you."

We stared at each other. My eyes hardly making out her features.

"Cry." She said.

I do not respond.

"Cry. Your eyes look like they are made of glass."
"..."
"There is a strength you are trying to find. It doesn't lie in the toughness of your face or the distance in your eyes. It lies in your weakness, in sinking to the floor and letting the beauty of your brokenness fix you. So my daughter, If you feel need to cry, if your heart is heavy, do not hold it back. Cry."

It was the first time I had cried about you.
It was silent then loud.
Painful then freeing.

Like unlocking a cage I had built for myself.
They say the worst kind of battles, are the ones we fight against ourselves.



Inspired by:
Kintsukuroi
(n.) (v. phr.) "to repair with gold"; the art of repairing pottery with gold or silver lacquer and understanding that the piece is more beautiful for having been broken.

...

Looking at her eyes, you could tell she wasn't there.
She had travelled to another world and left a body behind.

I had stared at her across the restaurant table all through the night.
Curious about who she was before it all happened.
Wishing that if I looked at her long enough, the rhythm of my heartbeat will bring her soul back to life.

...

Her laughter was long and hard.
The kind that kept you up all night.
Dancing with words.
Constructing and reconstructing ways to hear her laughter again.

...

One day we will come back here.
To the place that we first met.
And it will be a painful kind of joke
That we thought we could last forever.

Because isn't that what love is?
Or lust or infatuation. Whatever you call it.
Isn't that what it is?
This immortal kind of hope.

Many Sweet Words

You are words.
You are many words.
You are many sweet words.
You are many sweet words I want to hear.
You are many perfectly timed sweet words I want to hear.

It's scary.
That you are words.
Because words can be fragile.
They build and they break,
But they can be fragile.
And they can be an outlet to your soul.
But they also camouflage.
And they change.
They are like liquid.
Conforming to the shape of context.

"I love you too"

So don't be words.
Darling,
I would say be actions.
But those can often be like words.
Natural chameleons.
I see what you show me.
I see what I want to see.

So darling, be glass.
Lay your soul on the table next to mine.
Let us see you.
Let me see you.
In all that you are not.
In all that you are.

Let me choose to love you.
Or choose to walk away.

Love Letter - My Sweet Poison

You.

Oh, you.

You are what keeps me up all night.

And I do not mean that I cannot sleep at night.

Wouldn’t that be easy?

If that was what lay heavily between us.

I mean you are the one that invades my unconsciousness.

You are my walls.

Against which the strengths of my character clash.

You are my thing

You are my thing that kills me.

You are my thing I think about when a line comes up in a movie.

You are my default shell.

The room I run into when life happens.

So why do I write to you?

Because I love you restlessly.

Without knowing what to do or how to show you.

I love you fiercely.

It’s a love that makes me want to give to you, the world.

I love you overwhelmingly.

It’s a love that builds me with joy and destroys me with worry.

So intensely that I want to heal every hurt you have suffered.

I want to pamper your mind, carry you through the future. That way, no hurt may come to you.

I love you.
My sweet poison, my delicious scar.

I love you.

Utterly. Ferociously. Relentlessly.

...

His lips tasted of liquor.
Mine, lime.
He was my poison.
I was his antidote.

To the strong, sorry, cool man/woman.

Soo I stopped writing my "inspiration" for my pieces cause I couldn't always explain "what led."
But this was inspired by the numerous emotions I have felt for the past few days and another piece I was going to put up tomorrow (might still) but felt it was too sad and was too revealing. So... here it goes.

First words:

“What did Santa say to the prostitute?”

“Umm….”

“Hohoho!” and she burst out laughing.

"You must remember that you are human. Before this world came to change you. To turn you into this oblivious robot you have become. Oblivious of how far you have traveled. You were, and still are, human.

And so it's okay to fall. And it is even more okay to be sad that you have fallen.

And it's okay to give your best to something, or invest all you have in someone and still fail.

And it is okay to love. To love something or somebody more than you should.

And it's okay to be confused.

And it’s okay to be overwhelmed.
And it's okay to want to take a break. And to take it.
And it's okay to cut yourself some slack. To realize that you may not be everything you want to be, but you are pretty awesome. 

And it's okay to not have a "passion"

And it's okay to acknowledge that you have lost. And that it upsets you, more than you can imagine.

And it's okay to not know how to let go.

And it's okay to have that thing that "kills" you.

And it’s okay to have no control over so many things that affect you.

And it's okay to acknowledge that something upsets you more than you think it should.

And it’s okay. It is important. To talk about it. To talk about all of it.

And it's okay, but even more, important to seek help.

The more important thing is to address and overcome.

The strong (or if you prefer, “cool”) man/woman isn't the man/woman who hides fresh wounds

The strong man/woman is the one who displays healed/healing scars.

Who gives people the chance to try to fix the broken, support the weak.

                            

And lastly, it's okay to be a work in progress.

Because we are all puzzles. And in the overwhelming façade that the world has become, it is easy to believe that some people have put together most of the pieces.

But quite honestly, 

No one has.”

Last “words”:          

“({})” – Blackberry Messenger “hug” smiley.

Actually, I think with this, I do not have to put up that post tomorrow.

In memory of Zainab Ayo Omolabi.
I love and miss you with emotions unvisited. 

I hope if there is such a thing as a second life, you choose life.

...

Because someone has looked into my eyes and has found the stars.
And it is a terribly exotic, exhilarating and frightening feeling.

Train Station

She sat at the train station, watching people and trains go by.

It is because you are this mirror of loss and laughter and fear.

That is why it is so difficult to function.

It is because you are a battle.

Inside you is a battle.
Between fear and grace.

And it will not let you function.

And it makes you wonder what the fight is for.

Why you will not let yourself sink.

Why you will not let yourself feel.

It makes you wonder.
And it makes you cry. And it makes you confused.

You make me want to run.
Thoughts of you, make me want to run.
To no where.
You make me want to run into nothingness.

But not really.
Because there is so much to be experienced.
So much to laugh about.
So much to overcome.

It is such a confusing emotion to feel.
To not know how you feel.

She sat at the train station, watching people and trains go by.
And in that moment, her mind was not her own.


This blog is becoming a confusing diary lol.

To Love.

To love. Is to give yourself away.

To trust is to invest in the unknown.

To love is to trust.

To trust is to walk on the streets of love.


We all carry burdens. But we know not how to share. 

So we walk with hunched backs around masked streets.

We all carry burdens.

But we know not how to share.

And so those few moments in which we realize we do not have to hold our mouths.

We take off our clothes.

And stare at our naked bodies.

Negotiating our scars.

But we know not how to heal.

So we wear our clothes and go back to the masks of our homes.


To love is to depend.

To love is find a mind reader.


To trust is to let you take off my clothes.

To love. Is to stand naked.

To love is wear your clothes home.

Happy Early Valentine's. x

(Clothes somewhat refers to masks/burdens)

Melting Candles

I like the smell of liquor on your skin.

The playfulness of inebriation on our tired minds.

It was one of those days our hands felt like sweet-scenting melting candles

Our lips like cigarettes and sweet liquor.

Our love was this plethora of emotions.

A sickening mix of brown eyed blushes and ruffled short skirts.

Impromptu kisses over textbooks and blushing actions under tables.

Our love was grey feet from running in the euphoria of unspoken kind words.

We were drunk on nostalgia.

My heart hadn't beat so fast before.

With this longing glistening in your eyes.

We crashed.

Like two unwilling robots.

Programmed to run in the other direction.

We crashed.

My lips meeting yours first.

 Holding on to your breath like a source of life.

We crashed.

Your hand pulling on my skirt.

This sweet uncontrollable desire.

Like liquor and melting candles.

I like the taste of liquor on your lips.

The playfulness of inebriation on our tired minds.

Liquor.

Normally I'll have a story or some sort of inspiration behind my writing. But there really isn't a story behind this one. I was literally just sitting down minutes ago, channeling my random thoughts and this came about. I'm not sure what it's about myself.
I have a feeling this will be happening pretty often from now, seeing as my mind is to busy to settle down and let me write as soon as I think of something.
I hope you all have a great weekend! :)

We sat in the shells of our former selves.

Listening to the heartbeat of burdened souls.

These cracked selves we have created.

What we did to us...

 

Our lights were the taste of liquor.

Our hearts  the inebriation of cigarettes.

We melted,

Slowly..

Like snow.. on a cold sunny morning.

 

Our love...

My love.

Was a fade of itself.

A present memory.

 

We lived in the nostalgia of our imaginations.

Look what we did to us.

Look at the scars on the edge of our smiles.

See how we don’t find our eyes as we speak.

 

This is what we did to us.

This is how we tore ourselves apart.

Looked after the pieces of our decay.

 

I hope we find this laughter we search for in the dark corners.

I pray our feet lead us to the Promised Land.

And I hope we relive these days of youth.

These days we have let melt away...

Like wax burned in slow lustful heat.