Maybe I will learn to make a decent stew and you can stop burning Ugali
Maybe then we will stay seated at the dinner table listening to the awkward silence that has plagued our home

Maybe I will stop ordering take out and eating cake and coffee at midnight

Maybe you will stop lying awake texting things you know I need you to say to me

and we can conjure up the ghost of our relentlessly passionate past

I still hoard memories of us; but you left when you heard we were going to be a family
A real one- not this shack up mess you like to call a test

Maybe you will stop saying you love me and calling me dramatic when I call you out on your drama

Maybe we need to have a sit down,
Make  food,
I will let you put blueband in our ugali and you can let me call Royco a spice

We will stop the lies from dressing up for dinner and let the truth show up in roasts and you telling me if you are ready to be a Dad

But this is a pocket full of maybes

Maybe you can let me be a real drama queen this time
Call you out on shacking up and being hypocritical about my fornication
Maybe I will let you ask me if “it” is really yours
As if we made a thing, just like the one we have had for the past two years

But he is not a thing

He is my little fire
Burning so bright inside me that I have to gobble on antacids
Grams says it is because he will have a fro like mine
But I know for a fact it is because this Little Fire is my sign

He burns bright, my little fire

And maybe this house has become too small for the man that he is
I sure will not let him know rejection the way you serve it
Like your ugali; cold, bland and out of place

And he will not learn not to love himself from his mother

So I am throwing out this pocketful of maybes
I am packing my clothes and Royco
and I am choosing my little fire

1 Comment

missmwiti · April 15, 2020 at 5:31 pm

πŸ‘πŸ‘πŸ‘Great piece

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