Behind You

Spin around
And see me there
Watching you

With intensity,
As if my life
On your next action.

I heard everything
I never wanted to
And watched my dreams
Run down into the sewage pipes,
Where I never meant them to go.

Stop and turn around.
You will see me there,
Stuck in the middle
Between crying and running away,
Wondering where to put my heart now
Since I have to take it back from you.

Turn around and tell me something,
Anything to make it better.
I’ll believe you.

I’ll believe you
I’ll believe you and forget everything.
We can live as if none of it ever happened.

Turn around 
And look at my face.
Tell me that none of it is true.

My Stack of Evidence

It was all there; stacked up as evidence. I didn’t listen to secular music, didn’t wear make-up or jewellery. I dressed modestly; owned a couple of long skirts and dresses. I spoke well; didn’t swear, very polite. Friendly. Always did what was asked of me. Never absent from church on a Sabbath.

I’m even a leader in the church. I think I am the youngest one. The head of a ministry.

I have a beautiful voice and I use it for God. The songs that I’ve written are so touching.

Such a lovely girl. And she loves the Lord.

And boy can she preach! I heard her preach a sermon…

An elder even called me holy. I hated that the most.

I got mad at David one time for calling himself holy. There I was reading the Psalms and this man decides he is going to call himself holy with all his dirty laundry hanging for everyone to see. And this is the man God said was after His own heart? What the…what the heck God? Who are You if this guy is after Your own heart? He just called himself holy. What an utter lack of humility. How dare he? I would never do that, not under any circumstances. I would never be so bold as to call myself holy. Sorry but I can’t read this anymore. Straight to the elder with this one. Can’t believe this.

But I guess it was okay for David to do that. He wasn’t being boastful but actually humble; acknowledging his calling from God or something like that. I forget what the elder said.

Okay then David was fine, but what about me? Was I holy? Was I ever going to be holy? I heard a preacher on the radio one time say that holy people don’t believe it when others call them holy. I didn’t believe it when I was called holy. I actually wished it hadn’t happened. It was the farthest thing from the truth. My countenance showed my dislike at being described by that word and the elder just smiled at me in a grandfatherly way. I didn’t think there was anything to smile about at all.

Still, there was the evidence. All that stuff I did that made others think I was this wonderful young lady “on fire for the Lord” or whatever. I did it on purpose too. I was under the very strong impression that I needed to do all those things. No movie theatres. No movies period – unless they were Christian of course, and Netflix was very helpful in providing those. No flashy clothes – no keeping up with any kind of trend. Didn’t like them anyway. I found everything worldly repulsive. I hated living with non-Christians and having to eat something different when unclean meat was being served. I hated being around it all. I hated everything. Actual persons too. That part was wrong. I wasn’t supposed to hate people. I was a murderer according to Jesus. My actual little sister, I love her, but most times I just don’t know. I look at her a lot and ask questions in my head. I used to ask God why He gave her to me. Apparently it’s because I’m strong and I was the one most suitable for the job of taking care of her. Thanks a lot elder. Thanks God. Really.

What do I do about all this evidence though? It all pointed to something that wasn’t true, that didn’t exist. I wasn’t entirely sure that I loved God, that I didn’t just repeat it enough times to get myself to think that I did. I couldn’t for the life of me understand how people could speak so confidently about going to heaven. “We have this hope.” What hope? We could be doing all this stuff and still end up in hell. You never know what’s going on in God’s head.

I was scared everyday. I sinned no matter what. It was so exhausting. I wake up and I have to pray. I’m not even fully awake yet and I have to start talking to God in my head still full of fog. But I have to, because that’s the way you should start your day and it really does affect how you feel throughout the day. But what if I forget? Oh God I forgot. Oh God I’m so sorry. Forgive me please. And then I’m mad at myself for forgetting. And when I get upset I don’t just let it go. It’s worse if I forget to read the Bible or the devotional because where in the day am I going to find any time to read it?? Ugh. And if I don’t find any time at all in the day, I’ve gone a whole day without reading the Bible and I have to force myself to read it before I go to sleep when all I want to do is just sleep. But I have to, so I know I read it at least once for the day. That’s all I need, because you are supposed to read it every day.

Then there’s worrying about how I look to people, and I have to pay attention to that because I’m a Christian and I should look like one. Without me explicitly saying it, everyone around me should be able to tell that I’m a Christian. They should see the glory of Jesus coming off of me (I think). How do I do that?

Oh and don’t complain. A Christian shouldn’t complain. Believe that God is taking care of everything. Everything is where it should be. You are where you are because God placed you there. You are to learn something. God is molding you and fashioning you. Be a light for him. You are blessed.

Oh my gosh I’m tired.

I never got that rest everyone keeps talking about. And I did go to Jesus. I ran after him like a Jamaican after a world record. I ran and caught Him and held on tight. Well I must have held the wrong part of His garment or something. Or maybe I missed Him entirely. I was weary and heavy-laden. I went to Jesus. I was still weary and heavy-laden. And not a soul understood. Not one. I was doing everything I was supposed to, everything they told me to. And they weren’t lying either. It was right there in the Bible. They showed it to me, and I read it and understood. They weren’t lying. It was what I was supposed to do. If you love me keep my commandments. So I kept the commandments. All of them. As much as I could. It was evidence. It was proof. I did all of it. And every single time I messed up I asked for forgiveness. Every single time. So much so that I got sick of it. But I had to. I needed my slate clean. There was to be no sin written beside my name in whatever book it was written in. I needed everything to be gone so that I could go to heaven. It was either that or burn, and burning didn’t sound all that great.

But what was all that evidence for? What did it prove?





It proved absolutely nothing. So I let it go. And I let myself fall.

I’m listening to secular music right now. I went to the movies the other day (though I didn’t really watch the movie). I’m back to watching Korean dramas, and now I even listen to Korean music too. I bought two pairs of slippers that aren’t really…I don’t know. They’re not bad, but I probably wouldn’t have bought them before. They’re more than necessary. I scolded my sister once for buying slippers like them, and look, now I’ve gone and bought two pairs. Though I haven’t done anything regarding make-up and jewellery, I really want to. Well not really, but I want to. I think about it a lot. It’s not as repulsive to me as it was before. People aren’t either. I’m more sorry for them now. Instead of looking at them as awful, disobedient people who should do better, and obey, I see them as people. Regular people. People who aren’t perfect. But at least they don’t try to cover it up like I did. And that is what I was trying to do – be perfect. Because Jesus said so. Be perfect, even as your Father in heaven is perfect. Not like I ever could, but I tried anyway because Jesus said I needed to. Well great Jesus. Telling me to do something we both know I can never do. But I have to at least try, and try hard, because You said so.

And that’s what my Christian life was like. I did what I was supposed to do. That way I could escape God’s wrath. Oh was I afraid of that wrath.

In the beginning of my fall, and several times since then, I thought I’m going to start over. I’d have to. It wasn’t like I stopped believing in God. I didn’t believe in the scientific creation story at all. It had to be God. And the devil does exist. So…I left it to Him really. I thought in my head that He was going to do something. That eventually I’d end up with Him again. Somehow – I don’t know how – some things would happen that would lead me right back to Him. He is my first husband after all. And I don’t like divorce. He doesn’t either. I guess we’re just separated right now.

But I did it wrong the first time. Somehow I have to start over, all over. And I have to get it right. I’m not really looking forward to it, but I do want it to happen. You know, before it’s too late.

“When I am writing, I am trying to find out who I am.”


The Daily Post

Maya Angelou by Spanglej, CC BY-SA 2.0.Maya Angelou by Spanglej, CC BY-SA 2.0.

Words mean more than what is set down on paper. It takes the human voice to infuse them with deeper meaning.

Find a beautiful piece of art. If you fall in love with Van Gogh or Matisse or John Oliver Killens, or if you fall love with the music of Coltrane, the music of Aretha Franklin, or the music of Chopin — find some beautiful art and admire it, and realize that it was created by human beings just like you, no more human, no less.

There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.

The idea is to write it so that people hear it and it slides through the brain and goes straight to the heart.

When I am writing, I am trying to find out who I am, who we are, what we’re capable of, how…

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War Casualty


I will not serve You
For I am beautiful.

Enter Adam
Enter Eve
Enter me.

You are wrong.

You are wrong.

Well what happened?
Where am I?


“Choose what?”

“A master.”


“Because you must.”

“What if I don’t
Want to?”

“Well you have

“Chosen what?”

“A master.”

“What? When?”



Not That Special

There isn’t anything special about me. I’ve never thought so. In school when once we were made to say aloud “I am special”, I didn’t want to at first. I don’t think I believed it. I just went along with it and I ended up smiling because I thought it was a nice idea; to be special. When I was with my mother, she told me I was beautiful. I didn’t believe her. I didn’t think she was lying, but I knew she thought I was beautiful because she gave birth to me. I couldn’t take her word for it. One time, after I washed my hair, I came out of the bathroom with my hair wrapped in a towel. She said I looked like one of those African princess, that I was her beautiful African daughter. I thought she was being silly, that I looked nothing like an African princess, and that I just had a towel on my hair because it was wet. I told her that. She said that I was still beautiful.

I used to pray a lot asking Jesus to come quickly and take the good people with him. It wasn’t fair to them that He was taking so long and making them suffer waiting for him. The church secretary said that the reason Jesus hasn’t come yet was that He was waiting for us to get ready for Him, for me to get ready for Him. I didn’t think that was fair. Why make those who are ready wait just because of me? What’s so special about me that He has to wait for me? Don’t do that. Many people have died already. People are still dying. There are people ready and waiting right now. Why wait for me? Don’t wait for me. Take those who are ready. The other night I told Him again. Don’t wait for me. I’m not that special.

He’s still not here.

It’s Saturday night, and I paused my drama because it was dragging, or I lost interest.

I just finished a cup of cereal and I was just about to look up a movie I watched a while ago that I’ve been thinking about watching again. I want water because the cereal was sweet but there isn’t a bottle close enough to me that I won’t have to get up to reach.

The commencement ceremony for my college is coming up at the end of the month but I won’t be attending because it’s going to be held on a Saturday. Oh and it’s Friday night. My mistake. Tomorrow will be Saturday.

My father bought me a sewing kit this week. I think it was Tuesday. Yes. It was Tuesday. There was a rip on one of my dresses and I wanted to sew it up. Doing that made me want to take up embroidery. It was surprisingly very relaxing. I hadn’t expected that.

I decided to let my nails grow for the time being but they’re very soft and break easily so I bought some nail hardener for them. Hardener my butt. I wiped off the remnants of it earlier in order to put on a fresh coat and my nails are just as soft as they were before. I’ve always noticed this. Anytime I grow my nails and apply nail hardener it never works, but I still do it because I like seeing my nails shiny.

I’m currently reading a book about a cereal killer and it’s really interesting. I read it sometimes on the train. I think I bought it two weeks ago.

I’m tired.

Half Alive

Spoilt to the core
And asking for more
Of what I want.
What will kill me
But make me feel better.
Smell the coffee
And put on a sweater
This weather
Has never
My kind.
Jackets and ties
Smiles walking with lies.
And I lie
And ask questions
Not to mention
The section of my mind
I’m afraid of.
Don’t even know what to call it.
Always calling me.
Let me sleep.
So I don’t,
And I walk around
Half alive.

Doers of Good

Well wasn’t this an interesting morning?

I got into a stranger’s car.

I think we’ve all been taught by our parents not to talk to strangers or go anywhere with them, but this morning I got into a stranger’s car; a smoking, tattooed stranger’s car.

I must have taken too long to fix my hair. Frankly I forgot that I had to do my hair this morning so with the last few minutes I had before I had to leave the house to catch the bus, I hurriedly pulled out the plaits I had put in the night before last, and pinned up the left front side. By the time I was done there were three minutes left for the bus to come to the corner. I had to leave right then.

I grabbed my sweater, told my brother to take his and go to his grandfather, and grabbed the rest of my food for the day with plastic forks and headed straight through the door.

I usually like to check the time as I’m leaving the house to see whether I need to run to the bus stop, or if I have enough time to walk – and how quickly I should. I thought I had enough time this morning so I wasn’t going to check but my worrisome self thought it was best to. Arriving. The bus was coming right then. I needed to run. I did. My eyes were fastened to the corner hoping I wouldn’t see the bus pass right by me. It did. I saw it before it came to the stop, but I was a bit too far away. I waved my free hand, maybe I called out. The bus didn’t stop. Then I definitely yelled out.

Hey! Then damn it!

Couldn’t someone in the bus tell the driver to stop for me? One guy was looking right at me. Damn!

I was still running. Maybe – I don’t know how – I could get it at the next stop. It wasn’t too far away, but it would only work if someone was waiting there. I would catch the bus if it stopped for someone.

Enter the smoking, tattooed stranger in his silver car – nice looking car – asking if I wanted to get to the bus.


Get in.

I took a few more steps to the bus. It was useless. I would never make it. But I couldn’t very well just go into this guy’s car. I couldn’t even see his face properly. He was wearing shades and a cap.

Get in.

I looked to the bus again and let out a sound of frustration.

I went to the car and pulled the door handle. He hadn’t opened it. How was I going to sit anyway? There was a bunch of stuff on the front seat. He was holding them towards him with his hand.

Get in.

It’s not open.

He opened it.

Get in.

I pulled the handle again. It opened this time. I got in and threw a prayer up asking God not to let anything happen to me.

I sat at the edge of the seat and watched the back of the bus as Mr. Sports Car Guy raced up to it. He drove up to the side of the bus and got the driver to stop.

This is one lane, not two. Not exactly what he said but you get it.

She needs to get on the bus.


She needs to get on.

Well then you should have gone ahead of me and let her off first. He meant at the next stop.

That’s what I thought too. I thought that’s what he was going to do.

Whatever. The driver thought Mr. Sports Car Guy was trying to cut him off but he explained that he was just trying to get me on the bus. The driver told him to let me off at the corner ahead.

It was another stop. The bus pulled over (there was someone there anyway) and the car pulled up behind it. Of course I was smiling by now. I couldn’t believe what was happening to me. I said thanks three times as I was getting out and then said God bless, figuring he wouldn’t mind since it was a Christian song that was blaring from the speakers. He’d been sort of smiling the whole time and be basically nodded his head no problem and let me go. I ran up to the bus – the other person had long gone in – and tapped my card. I waited to tell the driver thanks. He was listening to Mr. Sports Car Guy tell him thanks and say again that he was just helping me get on the bus.

After I said my thanks I took my seat – a little out of breath. I still couldn’t believe it. That guy really just helped my get on the bus. I looked in the line of traffic to see if I could find his car. I wondered if he lived around here. Maybe I would see him again. Maybe he would help me again in the future because he remembered me from today. If I saw him again I probably wouldn’t even recognize him because I didn’t get a good look at him. I was thinking that God was awesome. I told Him that. I was thinking that He had sent that man to help me. It really would have been awful if I had missed that bus. I would definitely have been late for work. I definitely did not want that.

Thanks Mr. Sports Car Guy. I’m going to be on time for work today.

Thanks God. I think that was You.