She Wants To Be Free - Musings of Love to her not so distant self.

Shalom Mwenesi - Unsplash

It is when you start to love yourself  that he would remember to love you. With every single time that ticks he wants to be a part of this miracle of lights dancing in your eyes.

He would want to steal the words from your lips before you say...
and watch your breath dance off of his tongue as he gropes you, kissing you, hoping that some how those tight knit pieces of you will fall through his throat, into him again, just like before.

When you count your ribs and find them complete, this man will lung to be your completeness. He will be stunned to find you full yet he will try, to be your pressed down, arms against bed posts, thighs shaking together, juices running over.

Yes darling, your wholeness is alluring, inducing cravings in this man who always saw right through you, whose frequency was never fast enough to catch you tangible, warm and strong.

When he sees you for the first time in a long time you will grapple with the though of having sojourned far away to a beautiful place, a place of peace and stability all the while laying right there, the weight of his body on your own, 'what have you done to me?' *thrust* 'I am addicted to you' *thrust*. His face, a facile fountain.

It is the taste of salt that would make you open your eyes  and just before he catches them, you will close your own and whisper between cooing sounds you do not recognise anymore. 'nothing... I did not do any thing to you'.

This would not be your last out of body experience.

Sometimes a woman goes all the way only to realise she truly does not need these things, that she does not need him. At this point she becomes immortal and not being held with borrowed hands or  wrapped with firm quivering feet is alright. Like the balance of night and day, the piercing softness of morning sun or the subtle bliss of easy breathing it is okay to be unapologetically lush. It is okay to be full, to be enough.
There is nothing to be ashamed of in the place of bare knowing. 
I once spoke to a woman named Kaine in my local church who told me she was done with being the righteous that people saw and applauded when she was looking, but despised in secret.

She told me the only virtue worth having was the honesty she had with herself before her God. "People's opinions are just that" she whispered to me as I watched her shed the popular tag 'good woman' like old skin. 'These tags are prisons" she said. 'You must never allow society's definitions of who a woman should be, keep you trapped'.

I saw her differently from then on, mainly because the other women had mastered the art of tying this 'suffering and smiling' into their multi layered gele's, holding a defeated 'it is well' between their lips and folding the 'my husband is my first born' narrative into their double wrappers. But Kaine, she wore flay skirts free as a kite. Once or twice the winds blew by and I could see her thighs. 'Yes', I replied.

'Yes you are right'.  Freedom is a birds wings in the sky and whoever said feather's burn in the sun lied.   I often wonder what it will be like to leap off a hill, dive and watch my wings gracefully emerge from my back like suppressed breasts let loose on thursday night but I digress.

So that day, as sweat slowly sinks back into your skin you will lie there watching frail hope in his eyes when he tries to find out if the last five minutes made any difference in your life. Thoughts of him holding on to your arched waist the whole time swearing underneath his breath that your 'jigida' was laced with some type of magic potion, a voodoo spell on a string of beads to keep him coming back for more will flash through your mind as you make it up.

 The day after you leave you will lie in bed with you and remember how after the last time you would ever let him touch you, he exhaled with the limp exhaustion of a washed up sailor and you finally understood.  That you are a billion light years of earth and grace and it takes much more than a tall drink of water to satisfy the ocean. You will laugh deep and earthy with curled up toes because they do not know that it is you, you want to be with, cuddled in soft sheets reading a story to you as you listen.

It is your own ears you want to whisper in, to tell you how beautiful you are, so beautiful you give you goosebump's. You will be at ease with becoming love in the best type of way, slowly, clearly and completely.

When you laugh, you will love the snorting sounds of your own raspy voice. You will not squint at how each decibel hits the walls of your hollow room, bouncing back like a chaos of tennis ball's.

It is this voice you will use to scream and speak, to say what's on your mind, to tell the truth about how you feel. And the reality of you being alive will not irk you, it will not make you regret ever being so vocal and true.

You will hold every piece of you in cupped palm's and love you.

Not for who they say you are
Or for who they say you're not


This time

For you.


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