Have you ever felt what it’s like to be lonely and unloved ?
I bet you have,
I bet you did while you watched humans Rosa you around from one hand to another ,
One box to another,
Until you got to the shelf at ‘House of Leather ‘ where I found you.

See when I was a little girl ,
I used to open my bedroom window in the cold nights of July.
I’d lay on top of my bed cover naked hoping to know what it feels like to be hopeless.
I’d get so cold I would have to wear my pajamas and get into bed.
No matter how numb I would feel,
I did it night after night after night
Until the weather would change.
No ,
I never really got to feel hopeless.
Every morning I would wake up with hope .
Today , maybe , hopefully ,
Someone would see me behind the shadows of captivating and intelligent bestfriends.
My mother would stop wishing I was as Wise and simple as my brother .
Today ,
My father would think of me as beautiful as my sister.

I no longer expose myself to the cruelty of cold July nights.
I learnt to touch myself where many didn’t ,
To sooth myself,
To remind myself ,

“you are mine, settle down love.”

I learnt to pour my hurricane into pages of the countless journals piled up in my room .
I learnt to cry myself to sleep at night,
Whispering to my pillow,
To my bed,
To the ceiling ,
To the universe,
To God, 

“ slowly, let me break but only slowly.”

When the weight gets heavy ,
I climb up to the shrine at koma hill
And scream my storm.
I scream so loud that time stops,
It stops to watch my pain descend like breaking , shattering glasses.
I scream so loud the world stops ,
And for a moment ,
Just for a moment ,
I am no longer invisible ,
I an no longer ugly , unloved , unwanted.

For a moment I am the witty writer ,
I am the beautiful daughter ,
The breathtaking girlfriend,
The irreplaceable friend .
At that moment I learn that maybe ,
Just maybe ,
I have suffered so my writing wouldn’t.

I am learning journal,
I am learning to be my own lover ,
To be my own friend .
I am learning to take in my scars like they were calming scents of roses.
Learning to bath myself in jasmine,
To drown myself in the serenity of scentless daisies.
And when I can’t learn anymore ,
Maybe then someone will have learnt how to love me.
And when they do ,
I will embrace then with the avalanche of love I have been storing up .


Picture by @celestie_art on Instagram 😍 

4 thoughts to “Dear dear journal

  • Muteshi

    I love love this
    maybe one day you’ll get your work published yes?
    More people need to enjoy your work

    • Cleona Mwangi

      Am working on my first book actually and thank you love

  • wanjiru

    Good work, awesome piece

    • Cleona Mwangi

      Thank you


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