Waruguru kiai

But being a girl yawa …

There are days, like today
when I walk on my toes, creeping like a worn out thief
tired of running, legs apart, afraid of rubbing my thighs together.
On such days, I do not wear my sexy panties that praise my pear shaped buttocks,
My breasts run east and west itching from weeks of being locked up
neither do I squeeze into my faded blue jeans that plaster my thighs together
If I have to hid my rogue ‘pipi’ I will only contend to a pair of white mother’s union diaper, nothing else!

On days like today,
I am a not so willing hostage
held at gun point by a desperate pair of ovaries
a congregation of hormones that truly need therapy and witchcraft
eager to bless my uterus with nine months worth of full time business,
and a willing ‘bad manners’ eager to welcome a sperm filled guest of honor.

Today, the ovaries have once again in a persistent attempt
sent out one of their finest soldiers
down the all too familiar fallopian tube highway
the mission; to meet a sperm eager to spark pregnancy.
the voyage is not without excitement
with every step, I can feel my tubes throbbing with anger
counting all the years of disappointment I have subjected my uterus to,
since puberty and nothing to show for it – they seem to say.

My vagina is deeply weaved in the plot
a furnace burning me alive
beeping louder than your Governor’s Motorcade
at the sight of every man with testicles
urging me on – to take a chance, to risk it
to mess around and have his third leg crush my cervix
if need be.

This thing has lost all morals,
no decorum whatsoever!
I could be in the supermarket
fighting with my mind on which soap to buy
then suddenly, ‘She’ starts wailing, pointing at Ndung’u
the Mathai Supermarket Stall Attendant,
plotting all sorts of evil concoctions
urging me to march to the young man with my breasts pointed north
and demand that He takes immediate responsibility of my Uterus
and yet He is a stranger…
I cannot recount of the days I have been prodded by this evil bean between my thighs
to waylay innocent ‘bodaboda’ men on my way home
I cannot say,
neither will I bother you with tales
of how many times I have rushed to the toilet to pray in tongues
urging for calm to befall my manicured enchanted forest,
let me not.

I try, really I do
gulping down bars of chocolate to appease the hormone gods
and it always works, until today.
I swear, I could have kept calm
had he not broken the news to me a million times
I know, He is getting married
and I am not the bride.

This damned man had the nerve to remind me
on a day such as such
of a past I remember only at three in the morning
a past riddled with hot flushes, bare chest, rock hard nipples
and worn lips,
on a day such as this
when I walk on my toes, creeping like a worn out thief
tired of running, legs apart, afraid of rubbing my thighs together.

Comments

comments



There are 4 comments

Add yours

Post a new comment

%d bloggers like this: