Outside the lines

When I was young, my father would buy me coloring books, and bunch of crayons and color pencils. I’d color the shapes, and at times get it all wrong. Some of the color would smudge out of the lines, sometimes the combinations never did make sense, but all of it made me happy. It was the best way I knew, so I colored.

To love is to feel and by feel, I mean feel everything, even those emotions you cannot attach a name to. If there is anything I have learnt, it is that there is no recipe to a perfect life, there is no perfect line that we’re obliged to follow to get to our high.

Maybe you’re the wrong poison, maybe you’re the wrong type of high, but it matters not, because different eyes see different things. They see you and think you’re bad for me, but have they seen our demons dance? For I see you and I see everything that’s right.
Have they seen your eyes burn and melt my heart to the very last shred?
They know not how it feels to be held in your ams, so gently yet so firmly as if begging me to stay
They’ve seen not how time stops when you look at me and tell me you love me
They know not how even the silence that stands between our beating hearts bows down to let our demons mingle
They haven’t seen how your chaotic spirit and my ever wandering spirit kiss under the sky and birth peace
No, my love
They know none of it. How your heartstrings pull mine and how you make my broken pieces tremble with love…

I found peace amid all these chaos, and something even bigger while lost in the madness
I found love
The kind that is so ferocious yet in the most innocent of ways
The kind of love that makes me want you even when we’re bad together
The kind that leaves my heart open even when we’re standing on a shaky ground and know not what tomorrow might bring
With all of that, life is easier with you in it
It’s easier to take a jump and know that you’ll cheer even if it’s the worst thing to do
It’s easier to smile a little wider knowing that someone notices the different glow in your eyes when they say your name
Everything is lighter with you in the picture
It doesn’t matter if it is the wrong poison I’m drinking; the point is to die, and I shall let myself do just that
It doesn’t matter if you’re the wrong type of high, because it feels right, and I can’t always be right all the time, and a part of me knows, somewhere deep down, that you’re the right high I need for every low.

You’re fire
You’re ice
You’re rain
You’re sunshine
You’re pain
You’re love
Above all, you’re mine; the cup of poison I shall partake of everyday, to my very last breath, to remind me to die a happy death.
Yours truly ❀

I am coloring outside the lines yet again, and it feels just okay…one more stroke to a perfectly imperfect masterpiece.


Deceptive art

The candle light dims then eventually dies out

Sometimes slowly

Other times so sudden that we can’t help but numb

And The Reaper takes, yet another soul

Maybe two more

And hearts stop beating

Eyes blink no more

He plucks them like they had lived just to die


Don’t we all?

Aren’t we all here to die?

To leave the dreams we kill for?

And the madness we create trying to fit in here?

Aren’t we all here to be caught unawares by The Reaper?

As if he cared what you did, or what you do, or what you might have done…

It is a road we all have to take,

To leave behind memories

And the burden of our loved ones living their lives without us

And on some days, it becomes slightly alright

The memories a bit fonder,

And easier to bear.

I’m not sure it matters to The Reaper, how many of them cry, or how many of them remember, or even how many forget.

But, while at living, I’ll try make it worthwhile,

For I don’t know when my time shall be nigh,

Neither do I know when my soul shall be plucked to the endless beyond,

The uncertainty they call a rest.

But I hope I live to live before I die,

For life is just but the deceptive art of dying.


Shaking again, with tears and a slight wheezing
I’m holding stiff to the pen from where these words refuse to form
I put out the desk lamp, and its light fades away, as slowly as I feel I am. The amber fluorescence just reduces, as if saying goodbye then it becomes flicker, then the dark. It’s dark both in the outside and the inside, but way darker inside,
Really dark, and dusty and old in here
I feel like I’m walking on shards, of everything I’ve ever been, or imagined I’d be, and they are tearing me into small pieces
“Just a little longer, it gets better”
But lately even these words seem to drown amid all these chaos going on from inside
I’ve held my breath just enough number of times to stop me from grabbing a blade
But this pain is too much, almost impossible to believe
Am I really alive?
Because the beating of my heart looks more like a struggle. And maybe I need a little more pain to drown this pain I’m feeling
The man on the moon who calms me down has been away a while now,
So I’m just alone
And I feel cornered
I shut my eyes and it doesn’t get any better
The noise begins
And my shaking intensifies
The plastic pen is in shatters already, I bit it too hard
All the things I don’t want to think of, or remember flood every single part of my being
And I choke, then the truth dawns… it’s another time to get into the warzone, unprepared and worn out
I’m so torn I can barely start stitching it up together
Suddenly, I’m worried about everything and I have to mumble something just to try gain control
Then I don’t want to say it too loud because I might wake someone
So I heave under my breath ‘stay calm, stay calm’ then it escalates to ‘Help me God’ because most times, that’s the usually a sure bet
Then I’m worried about not being able to calm myself even after whispering that so many times, or, what if He can barely hear my call?
So it becomes a cycle, I’m worried about being knocked off the fortress I’d built on my own…Truth is, it is already a big mess on the inside
Everything doesn’t make sense all of a sudden
And I really want to feel better
I want to be calm, but I’m fading slowly, with every breath
And every heartbeat
I feel nearer to the end
And it crashes me to pieces
I’m trying not to let a the chaos drown me
And I hope I’ll stay afloat, till day breaks
I’ll fill the void with a few smiles and fake laughter, and cover the sadness in my eyes
And the demons will have gone to rest and I’ll be nursing the wounds, as I wait to drown one more night.


It’s been a long time, and writer’s block has been heavy on me.
I’m sitting here with the insufficient luminescence from my desk lamp trying to carve out my joy on paper. I had a feeling something would pull me out of this mad place called a writer’s block, I just didn’t know it would be as beautiful as you.
I have had the intention to write, for a while now, but I understand you don’t take pleasure in reading as much, but being the stubborn soul that I am I’ll ensure you make effort to read what a three months block bore.
Happens that on a day as this one, a little more of joy, humor and love was brought to this world. A spirit free as the wind and a soul so tender and lovable. I’ve lost count of the days we’ve spent together, understand I’m poor at Math, and at the same time it would not even make sense because it feels like a really really long time.
You are wonderful (mark this because the next time compliments are coming your way will be Christmas, or your 50th birthday πŸ˜‚) and amazing. Of course I’ve met awesome people but your awesomeness is on a whole other level. Thank you for being nice to me when I decide to be mean for no reason. For the peptalks on how to handle situations. I’m grateful for the “umekula?” questions and the lectures on how poor feeding habits are bad. And for all the times you’ve roasted me mercilessly, I won’t say thank you but I hope I learn the art of throwing dumbfounding come backs real soonπŸ˜‚
As you turn a year older, I hope you’ll be nicer to me, like foreal πŸ™ just try be nice eh, it isn’t too much to ask. Also, stop turning my hair into a mess each time we meet, and may all your attempts to get me pleading with you fail terribly. Do take pleasure in making your hair neater 😁, we’ve been over this, sindio?
Keep smiling, keep being the idiot you’ve always been.
I hope you know, that you’re a source of joy to this psycho over here. And you make me genuinely happy. I won’t stop waking you up before you’re done with your beauty rest πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚, and I won’t tire trying to rid you of your blanket on cold mornings. And yes, I’m getting you a dozen of the pink “stuff” you asked for, I hope they’ll last you a lifetime haha.

So, because we’re young, free and dumb and reckless, this is to being happy and to living one day at a time.
Happy birthday Heartstrings πŸ™‚

Crown On

If roses are red, then without a doubt, I’m a black one
If violets are blue then I’m probably lilac.

As the nights went by I fell in love with the sound of my own laughter, I loved how my body would crave for me to hold it together on a cold night. I loved how the sunset looked and how happy people were.
I fell in love with the dark circles around my eyes, and some days I’d count the scars on my body to recount the battles I fought so valiantly against myself but still lost either way. I’m happy when I stare at all of it in the mirror, because somehow, I still fought, even the wrong battles, I fought them and they got me here, where I am.

Congratulations 😊
The fight has been a hard one, and you’ve braved the cold, other days you were too scared, some days you were clueless but still got it done. For the nights you fought with no spectators and the battles you conquered just to get here, I’m proud of you. Even these days you walk hanging on a thread and still hold your head up, I admire your courage. And for all the times you were batten down and still managed to say “I’m alright”, congratulations. For the times you went to battle with your knees down and nothing but tears from your eyes, and for the tears that refused to be held back when it was so bad, I’m proud of you. You are strong, you’re a wolf, you’re priceless. You’re everything.
And here’s a toast,
To the nights we won’t know what to do
To the days we’ll curl up in a ball and switch between sad songs and black coffee
To the nights we’ll feel the strong need to be held, yet with no one beside us
To the nights we’ll have no words to paint the madness going on in our heads
To the many times we’ll get broken again
To the mistakes we’ll repeat in perfectly different ways
To the nights we won’t be able to figure out how to dance in the rain
To the days our demons will scream and deafen our peace
To the moments that will be spent laughing amid tears To the roads we’ll walk on, even the ones not yet taken To the dreams we’ll dare to dream,
And finally
To the woman that will come out of all that,
I am proud of you.
You make a beautiful mess. πŸ’«

Twenty bob

All my Tuesday nights and Wednesday mornings have a sad story to tell. And I’ll stick more to the Wednesdays because it turns out, it is my least favorite day of the week, at least since this semester begun. I wake up at five to snooze the alarm as I sleepily read the sticky note – LPR 100, Constitutional Law 8:00 am, LH 3 1st floor. TMI, I know buttttt it is not even fair. Why does it have to be that early? According to the original timetable, my stream should be having the class at eleven 😭, but OK. I know my big brother would grill me if he heard me complaining about school systems being unfair.

“Eagles must always be willing to go the extra mile”

Our mantra since the first time he visited me in high school. I have nothing against it, by the way, and it actually keeps me going…he’s where all my inspiration comes from and I could never ask for more.

But now, back to my rather sad story

Living off campus has always been a nightmare, but I think the demons haunt me more on Wednesday mornings. I wake up at five thirty and I goofily drag to the shower, back to my room, and almost everyday, by the time I’m done it’s already six thirty and I am literally running to the gate while trying to practice a British accent, all thanks to my obsession with Lucifer, the guy and Guilt, the series. I am making progress by the way, but I don’t intend to use it on anyone or in any place haha.

Every KUSoLite who lives on main campus can give you a tale of the shenanigans they encounter every other day in order to get to class in time. You’ll stand there for about fifteen minutes, those blue buses from Thika, will somehow stop there, but high chances are, you won’t get a ride. A short conductor, they are always short, I don’t know why. So, they’ll give way to the two passengers alighting then will callously tell you, “hatubebi” πŸ˜‘, and then they shall take off like you do not deserve to get a ride to town while seated on either of the seats left empty. And then others will actually stop, a couple of passengers will get off then by the time you’re trying to board, the konda just says “imejaa“…what kind of mojo is that? Sob sob..

So the only option left is to go to Githurai join the queue of hopeful passengers…wait, wait and wait then eventually get on a bus, which shall not be driven on the highway until you get to Allsoaps because the driver us trying to hepa the jam. But at least you get there around eight forty or nine.

I digressed, I noticed.

So, since the semester began, I have managed to attend all my lectures but one, Constitutional Law. Something always happens on Wednesday mornings and I have to get late. And all his classes begin at eight sharp so if I get there at nine thirty, it wouldn’t be logical to get into class at that time. All the Wednesdays have come and gone with their miseries and I’m thinking that if the professor knew me then he’d take me as a serious truant, which is not actually true…I have tried to remain a good student, and I’ll try even harder.

That is why today, 18th I promised myself that I would do anything else but be late for the class. I would either get there earlier, get into class with him, or five minutes later, if I couldn’t then I don’t know what I’d do with myself. So in preparing to go to school, for this particular lecture, I stayed up all night, waiting for 4 a.m so that I go shower and leave as soon as possible. Jewa, I know you’ve always had your suspicions about me being an idiot and I think I proved you right πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚. I was up all night, like a kindergarten kid waiting for a school trip the next day…

I got to the gate, there was a bus that was approaching, on the other side, and I knew that this was going to be a lucky day for me. It’s been quite while since something made me so happy. So up the flyover I went, and by the time I was descending the stairs, the vehicle was taking off. Then they guy looks at me, I nod and the human just lets the bus go. He should have told the driver to stop 😭

Bloooody hell!!!

So I stood and stood and waited till 7:20 and I felt like it was another one of my losing battles with Wednesday mornings and my lecturer, whom I hadn’t even met. I took a mat to Githu and hoped that God would actually make a way for me. The place was muddy, way muddier than the other times I’ve been there on muddy days. And then, there was no bus in sight. The purple ones and the greenish ones…I’d expected to find a line of hopeful hustlers waiting patiently for a bus in that field, but there was no one. So I asked some guy there “Hakuna magari za town?” Personally, that was a nasty blow…on my own balls …mental balls, like who asks such questions, in a place like Githu, anyway, I just needed to get going and maybe this would help. He pointed towards my left, and didn’t even offer a word. So helpful of him. 😐

I walked to the even muddier place and looked at the buses packed there. The mud on my Vans was already getting into my nerves so I took two wet wipes and cleared the mess…they weren’t as white as they were when I left my room but at least they looked decent enough to carry me through my first day in a constitutional law class. All the people there were yelling, “Forty!! Forty!!” And in my head I was like, okay honestly, forty is too cheap for a morning, are these vehicles really going to town? So I stood there and waited. I don’t know what I was waiting for, a sign maybe…I really don’t know. But forty bob was too cheap, I expected fifty shillings or eighty at most, but not a hundred because that meant that I would miss lunch.

The bus standing before me was fast filling with passengers and I so badly needed to get to class. So, I boarded. Pulled out my current read, A Time to Kill and got lost in the pages. Minutes later the lady next to me gave me that slight push every Kenyan passenger gives a fellow seat mate when they’re preoccupied with something else and it’s time for them to pay fare. I looked at the driver and asked him how much the fare was, he said sixty, and moved on the the next seat, I knew he was still on my case. So I slid my hand into the side picket of my bag, the pocket harboring the last coins I had, and reached out for two twenty shillings coins. Wait. Two?

I was sure that I had seventy shillings when I was going to bed last night. That is the amount I had put inside the bag, kwani what happened? So I searched again, it was still twenty shillings. This was like trying to read a break up text upside down hoping it’d change a thing – futile and heartbreaking, all at once. He came back and I took a breath and gave him the forty shillings. The Lady next to me took this as an opportunity to nag him about the rugged fifty shillings note that he had handed her and with this the guy just walked away.

Had he forgotten, or had he not realized that I’d given him less money. What if he found out when I was getting off the bus? That I’d duped him? Or he’d actually find a better word for it. Was I ready for all that shame? I recalled the stupid ways I’d missed my classes

First one, the class was communicated too late, I knew it would be at eleven, then I’m told it’s starting at eight, yet it’s already seven twenty and leaving campus at that time would do me no good…I would never make it, even with an uber

Second Wednesday, I was in Kisumu for a conference, luckily, there wasn’t a class

Third Wednesday I was just late, traffic and all, I got here when he was leaving class

Fourth one, haha, I was dealing with a breakup, why am I so foolish though? πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚ I actually missed a class…for some reason, it looked like Thursday, still Okay

So this one that I had really purposed to attend was not going down so well, I wanted to attend that class, at least know how he looked, how he talks and maybe even participate in the class

Did I have to alight at Allsoaps? Then what happens to me? I walk? Because the only thing I had, which was close to money was some pieces of paper that we were given at the mess when those guys ran short of coins. That currency was only acceptable in KUSoL, not anywhere else, and the guy would think I’d lost it if I gave him an explanation of that kind. They were worth 34 bob, imagine, that was everything I owed the conductor and even an extra fourteen shillings !!

I was close to destiny, and I was sure my reputation was at stake. How I wished I could just skip to the part where I was in a Constitutional Law class and then come back to face these troubles later…the third guy on the same row as the lady and I alighted at Guru Nanak…so the lady moved away just enough to let me pass…I might as well just walk out like I’d paid the whole amount. So when I was about to get up, I happened to look down and I saw a shiny thingummy that resembled a coin. I stretched my hand to get it, and yes…it was a cold, shiny twenty shillings coin. I really didn’t bother to find out if it was really mine…I just walked to him, said “Ngara” and as I walked out I gave him the twenty bob and off I went.

So much for one morning but I am so glad I made it to class, by eight seventeen. I hope next Wednesday shall be easier for me…probably less dramatic…and I am never boarding a vehicle with less than a hundred shillings, never ever πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‘


KUSoL stands for Kenyatta University School of Law

KUSoLites are the people who study there, you know like, Israel- Israelites πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚…same applies


You called me a fallen angel, until I took you to where my demons hid, and showed you all the pieces that hurt and the ones that were healing, and you could barely stand any of it.

My storms are raging again, and I have no idea where to run, because you killed me, and instead of dying, I am living in the pain. I hung on to what I thought would save me but it only sunk my ship, and now I’m lost…

It’s okay because sometimes I actually go to bed, close my eyes and sleep, some other times I scream all is well, but there are a million things I cannot stop, let alone control, like telling my heart to stop feeling the way it does, or knowing that I cannot put a band aid over the broken pieces…

My mind wants to stay here, my soul only yearns to be free…I want to run and stay, all at once

The worst part about all of these is that I feel saddest when I recall the moments we were happiest. I’m trying to forget all of it and at the same time wait for you to come back…and it is draining and heart wrenching

I’ve lost myself trying to find you, and when I wanted you to find me…that time when it mattered the most, you barely tried. Somehow I hope that you’ll walk by, and when you do then please bring back all the shattered pieces you’ll pick along the way…. And maybe then, I’ll remember without pain. πŸ’”