Self Image

Silent Songs.

we have a right to friends? Or is it a privilege we must earn? I favour the
latter. The former implies that we can treat them in whatever manner we find
fit, however grotesque. But we must appease the things we love; we are, after
all, human! How often I long to be cherished; yet at every turn I forget I must
give what I desire. I love them but I never say it. I push and pull and in my
twisted mind “it” is love; it must be enough, right? Wrong! There is a lot I do
not know and at the top of this list is how to treat the people I love. Just
because I think in prose doesn’t make saying “it” easy. You know, that I love
them. There’s a fog over my mind and I think “it” but by the time it comes out
it is distorted and it leaves a venomous mark I know not how to fix.

didn’t forget about you. I simply tucked you away with all the beautiful
memories we had.” I’ve been saying this to people, places and pieces of me. A
little more than I should. But how can I explain that right now I am in a place
where I rather surround myself with strangers. See the strangers expect nothing
of me. Fine, they are judging me at the back of their minds. But their
judgmental comments I expect; I revel in the knowledge that I am a formidable
foe to their beliefs and norms. But the loved ones, the ones that have known me
more than 5 minutes, I have nothing to say to. They expect so much…so much that
I cannot give right now. “I love you but right now I just need you to wait for
me.” Selfish, selfish, selfish. Nothing disgusts me more than part time friends
but I have become one. Remorse fills my world and I have no words. The ones
much like me, impatience surging through their veins; yes, those already left.
Now I have to coddle the ones remaining. I need to remind myself of the people,
of the things I love. But how can I when I don’t have the words. I am incapable
of a simple “hello, are you well?” but most of all, I am afraid. So afraid to
lose them that I am paralysed by fear. I am afraid that I will change and I
will cease to be compatible with them. Either way I lose…so I choose not to
play. I watch them leave…I don’t even wave. They carry pieces of me and I let
them go. In trying to find myself, I have lost myself. From their vantage point
they see a little girl that has grown comfortable with the dark. But silently;
I struggle to find my way to the light…my frail soul is in repair. Soon, it
will be well.
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  • Reply Mbabazi July 31, 2012 at 7:42 pm

    Ah this is brilliant Nora. I get you.

  • Reply Nora Kirabo August 1, 2012 at 5:53 am

    Thank you Annet 🙂

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