help me, find me?

Can you help me?

I lost myself…

In my quest to become somebody better.

Somebody you would like,

I lost track of who I really am,

Of who the real ME is

And i don’t like who I am now.

I don’t like who I’ve become because this is not me.

I lost my way, there were too many turns and now I don’t know where I am…

In the abyss of my mind I don’t know where I am.

I don’t know how to get back to me.

I was trying to get to you.

I left my shoes somewhere…

Between me and you, I lost my shoes,

Somebody find them for me,

And when you do, please. Look beneath them

Because I lost my soul too…

 

I lost myself… looking for you.

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My College Life

waking up late, rushing to lectures,
Always rushing to and from lectures,
Finishing up an almost-due assignment,
Always hungry. Always tired.

This is what college life does to me.
On the bad days….

On my way to a lecture,
Stopping to chat with friends,
I’m late….. Rushing to class.
Tweeting throughout the lecture,
Scribbling and doodling in my notebook,
Sleeping in-between lectures,
Skipping lectures, missing lectures.
doing assignments on the morning they’re due.

That’s what college life does to me
on the good days…

Getting up early, reading before lectures.
Going to class 10 mins to time.
Paying attention in class, taking notes,
Contributing, asking serious questions,
going to the library after class
Reading lecture slides and notes,
Finishing assignments ahead of time..

That’s what college life does to me
In my parent’s mind…

When Words Are Not Enough

When words are not enough, I cry.

Those times when there is no word deep enough to describe the hurt and pain,

and the general feeling of frustration and helplessness.

The times when it’s like all I do is talk and talk but no one is listening,

or if they are, when no one gets me.

When I’m arguing with you, and I’m losing.

When my words are misunderstood, I cry.

 

 

When words are not enough, I laugh.

Sometimes I laugh so hard, no sound is necessary

because the joy and merriment is clearly etched on my face.

And there is something more than just happiness in my eyes,

And in the way my body shakes with the ripples of my laugh.

I laugh, and once again, I am 5 and 10 and 16 and I’m innocent.

When I can’t tell the joke with words, I laugh.

 

 

When words are not enough, I scream.

Yes, I go outside and shout,

or lock myself in a bathroom stall and just let it out.

All the anger comes out in garbled nonsense.

The words cannot relate but maybe the sounds will suffice.

The groans and almost inhuman guttural sounds will tell it.

When words are not enough, words are not used.

 

 

When words are not enough, I dance.

Because dancing is one of my favorite means of expression.

Because dancing frees my mind so my body does the thinking.

Or I’m no longer thinking? I don’t care. My mind is not here.

So my hands do the talking and my feet do the work.

When words cannot express, dancing will do the rest.

 

Rowie.

Anyone who knows me will tell you I talk a lot. But there are times when it’s like I have said all there is to say and written all there is to write with no results and In those cases, “when words are not enough”, I turn to other things. I wrote this on one of those days. But I think this time, the writing helped, as it usually does and I didn’t need to call on my other ‘helpers’ 🙂

Not a Poem

“Does my life even merit a verse?”

I’ve never written a poem, ‘cos I’ve never suffered.

I’ve never watched my mum being beaten by my dad.

Or stepdad, or the man-who-lives-with-us

I never cried late at night ‘cos I didn’t have anything to eat.

I never saw my mum struggle to make ends meet

My life is a cycle… You can’t tell one end from the other.

I’m not a spoken word king. Cos I don’t have a deaf and dumb sister.

I don’t know how it feels to go hungry for days on end.

I’ve never been in Somalia so I waste my food.

I’ve never been dirt poor, I’ve never begged. Not for anything.

I’ve never been depressed so I smile a lot and laugh a lot too.

I’ve never failed an exam so I don’t learn too much.

Sometimes, I wish I’ve felt pain so I can be a lyrical genius.

So I could be a female Joshua Bennet or a black Adele

Artists dedicate their art:

“This is for the thick chicks”

“This is for my brother. Prisoner number 214”

“This is for my deaf sister”

I don’t have a poor, bruised, hurt relative or friend

I’m not a poet or a playwright, but I have a pen.

And I can write.

So this is for me.

This is for my fun life, for parents who were always there.

And even when they weren’t, the million and 1 aunts and uncles willing to coddle me.

For good schools and plenty food and sweets after meals.

For blessings upon blessings and the God who made them possible.

This is for my dimples and my cute smile and my small body that makes me so portable.

This is for my good grades and my inquisitive mind and the books I read

And this is for the friends who listen and the strangers who smile

For that complete stranger who smiled at me in traffic when I was 6 or 7 or 8

This is for the parents I was given who are strict but wise and who know what’s best

And this is for my brothers who try

This is for years of a good life

For my ability to laugh through tears. Anybody’s tears

And laughing so hard I cry real tears

This is for that part of me that knows the truth always. Even when I’m lying to myself.

This is for everything good in this world.

For sunshine and rain, and butterflies, and rainbows and the promise of gold.

This is for me. And for everyone out there who like me will always smile

No matter what ‘cos others have it worse.

“In the context of the universe, your story is worth a verse”

Does my life even merit a verse?

No.

My story is worth two verses. maybe more.

Rowie (5/03/2012)