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A spoken riddle from a sore heart

I’m not the type who sings in Barbie’s voice or dreams of tooth fairies lingering with their dust on my earlobes. I’m not the type to watch the sky take its toll while the calm clouds wallows meekly on the unstable surface till the night comes and wait till a shooting star runs across the sky for me to make wishes of what I wished tomorrow could keep in his treasure for me. I’m not the type to dream less of love when I’m keenly in need of it for survival for the dark days ahead of which I sought to find out nor am I the one who stands out leading people to the right door when I’m already no more a visitor in this dark world of thorns and spades where ghost whispers and souls lifts up to responds to their mutterings. Who am i?

Honestly, I don’t know.

I’ve dwelled in different chapters of this emotion; some burnt into ashes and I’ve bathe in it for the lost redemption, some torn in tiny pieces that I could hardly read through what it wishes to communicate to me, few written in letters of the mind that could only be read with cold eyes that had wished its lashes had closed forever. 
“They’d understand”, she had said. But strangely, how do I communicate the words I know not or speak in the language that almost never existed? We are different, I’ll say. Alike, but strangely different.

Lol! I don’t understand me.

Sadist? You must be insane to think that of me. I cherish little of what life in her generosity have got to offer. I love to listen to sounds of the violin making what’s meant for, love to stare at the stars in the sky; so far but near. Always struggling to make themselves noticed amongst their twinkling peers. I adore the innocent smiles on the face of a baby when she grasp my index finger almost seeming like she’s wishing that I should never let go. I treasure the sound of her laughter and the smile on the face of that Nobel damsel whom I wish I could take on a date in the evening, all alone on the beach watching the east sun go to rest while holding hands and muttering crazy words to each other. I have mixed emotion when I’m tossed aside to wallow alone in my cloudy mind. And I hate Admitting that I’m weak even when the scars on my mind says otherwise. I love music, the reason I feel alive most times when I'm tired of what looms around. The best companion I've had in years. I love writing, lol, guess that’s exactly what im doing right now. I adore girls with black skin, natural, vibrant, they make me remember most times that beauty lies within, they make my heart beats ten times faster than it should, always a love at first sight ,they are bundles of radiant gold meant to be worshipped for to give an insight of what it all was, why Africa was never a curse. I love hiding my face when lovers plays the role of romance even when my mind is as wild as the ocean where different lusty thought swim and feeds. I like drawing myself a bit outta' a moment of laughter to imagine if the laughter on these people's faces could stay forever. And disappointedly, I love being lazy and flirty, most times not to achieve anything but for fun

So, I guess that's me. A crumb of what I admire.

I wish I could be the thundering voice slaying silence, but instead, I've made it my haven.

Writer— unknown



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A spoken riddle from a sore heart
Pawners Paper
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