Stolen/Missing Intangibles

In my formative years I would often hear the phrase “I need to go find myself” or “I feel lost” whether in movies, music or in reality. It would leave me perplexed and curious as to how one gets lost or feel as though parts of them were missing until I grew up and had my way in this big world. These two phrases are pretty vague, not precise and quite dramatic but they often get the point across that one needs a change in some capacity. A change that will somehow fill a void that you had no idea it was even there. A void is often a result of a stolen intangible or a missing one, one that was never there but you somehow feel the need to have it.

Void. @Pinterest

Dating back to my blog post titled “Written in Joy”. I mentioned that the thing about a stolen or missing intangible is that you don’t realize it has been stolen until you need to use it. You don’t realize its missing until you feel a void. This often sparks the emotion that comes with the thought of having to find yourself in pursuit of filling the void. A comment(which I’m thankful for) by one of the bloggers states that intangible things are easily stolen and we don’t realize when someone or certain things steal our peace, our individuality, our wellbeing…to add on to that, our voice, our balance, our esteem and so on.

There are a lot of instances that could leave you with a void, feeling like you’re floating in space with no balance or a loss of sense of self which could result to anger, resentment, being voiceless, anxiety, depression, low self-esteem and a lot of other things that could be you holding under water. Finding yourself is a journey, one of the most wearingly beautiful you’ll ever endure because once you find yourself it’s a wrap. The pieces in your puzzle (which is your sense of self) just fall into place. Whatever that comes after that will not phase or tip off your balance.

There is absolutely nothing wrong with feeling lost, it makes you human but there is everything wrong with being okay with feeling lost or not trying everything your power to search for your breakthrough or whatever that could fill your void. There is no manual, do it your own way (seeking help where needed) and at your own pace. There is peace and balance in fulfillment and contentment.

Until next time, keep well.

Skating On Thin Ice

I fastened my ice skates so tight my feet were getting bruised.
I spent too much time nursing my feet to even notice the ice was thinning.
Thinning, ready to break open and bury me deep into the coldest pit.
I skated so smoothly the only thing that mattered was the chanting.
I spent too much time idolizing the sound of chanting to even make sense of what it really was about.
It must’ve been a warning of some sort, one to hold on to the sides before I get swallowed by the ice.
Skating had become part of me that I found pleasure in dodging the danger in form of broken ice ready to take me out.
“Crack!” I slowed down. Took a few steps back.
“Crack”! The chants died, silence fell and the ice broke open.
My body stiffened, ice penetrated my bones and my limbs couldn’t carry me any longer.
I heard echoing voices from a distance dying out.
It was over.



There’s a water-filled bottle on her bedside.
Every morning she rolls over and slightly tilts it just to see glittery tiny things dancing gracefully as the water splashes sideways and all over the glass walls.
She looks at this through the eyes of a child.
It’s a beautiful sight, it entangles her knotted chest.
She walks around picking more objects that could adorn this water.
From this I’ve learnt that happiness is created.
I’ve been home since then.

A song for you.


Phase 1
The very first thing I drew on your skin was an anchor.
Seated by the basketball court in our early days of opening up to each other.
You asked about the scars on my wrists, I said it was nothing.
You asked again, looking dead straight into my eyes, I told you my story.
I uttered my very first “I love you” from the back of your ear whilst you had your head on my laps.
You said it back and I softly kissed the back of your ear.
I still remember how I thought my breats weren’t perfect because of the scars.
You said you wanted to see them, I let you.
You cupped them with both your hands and told me they were beautiful.
Not only did you say it, you kissed them so softly while caressing my nipples I started to believe they really were beautiful.
Not only did I let you know that you have the most beautiful skin.
It was in the way I would kiss your face and your back, lie on it there after.

Phase 2
I see you
I love you
I care for you
I pray for you
I wish well of you
I carry you in my heart
I take you wholly with you flaws
I embrace your perfect imperfections

Phase 3
“You will never fully understand
How Deeply my Heart Feels for you
I worry that we’ll grow apart
And I’ll end up losing you
You bring me to climax without sex
And u do it all with regal grace
You are my heart in Human Form
A Friend I could never replace”

Phase 4
Teach me how to be affectionate again bacause I could be doing it wrong.
Let me to be loud again and that you’ll have my back when somebody tries to shut me up.
Ask me out late at night again so I know it’s real.
Lemme see your heart again, let me touch it and let me keep it safe.
Let me know I’m far from being perfect but you love me anyway.

Phase 5
Light up my phone and tell me I’m for keeps.


I’ve been feeling so uninspired lately, to the point of not trusting my words enough to put them down. I got to learn that writing is not as easy. You do not just wake up one morning and decide to put words down, no matter how much they replay in your head.

You need inspiration, motivation and to some extent you need a muse. It actually takes a lot, or say everything in you to write something sensible/beautiful etc. Content that will not only move the next person but yourself too.

P.S: Even when you don’t feel good, you’re still good.

Review: The Secret Life Of Bees

All my reading life I hardly ever go back to a book twice. But when it comes to The Secret Life Of Bees by Sue Monk, I’ve gone back to each and every page of this work of art 3 times.

Having flipped the last page of this book on my first read, I went to one of my search engines and typed “Sue Monk”. I needed to see her face, read about her and check out other book she has written.
She’s a marvel.

I will not dive into the details about this book but I’ll state a number of significant things that kept on drawing me back to it. More or less like lessons, must-knows and things to live by.

• Trusting in the process/journey even when you don’t trust yourself.
• Strangers can turn into family.
• Intuition.
• Fate
• Love
• Kindness
• Warmth

I really do urge you to dive in. It’s a sad, crazy story with a beautiful and fulfilling ending.

Side note: Given a chance to choose my fighters in this life, I’m taking Lily and Rosaleen.

Favourite quote: Actually, you can be bad at something…but if you love doing it, that will be enough.

These all, are my days.

Days aren’t the same but they do not have to be so different.
So different they me have feeling like I’m in the wrong body.
Some days I wanna run and never look back.
Other days I wanna stick around and seize the day.
Some days I wanna stay curled up in my bed till night falls.
Other days I jump out of bed as soon as the run rises and smell the coffee.
Some days I find refuge in a stone cold shower.
Other days my body aches with so much tiresome I end up soaking it up.
Some days I’m able to speak up.
Other days I get choked by my own words.
Some days I sing along to my favourite songs.
Some days I need no sound in my space, just silence.
Some days I wake up with a knotted chest.
Other days I wake up with a warm heart.
Some days I wanna bask in the sun.
Other days I need my curtains closed up.
Some days I celebrate the smallest wins.
Other days I cry over the smallest losses.
Some days I kneel down just to demand answers to my prayers.
And some days I kneel down and utter “but God”.
Other days I have the most fulfilling conversations with God.
These all are my days.
Beautifully wrapped and placed at my door step.
They are a gift and gifts are embraced.
All these days are a true definition of living, of life.
And life has got to be lived as it comes.

I’d still see you with my eyes closed.

“Do you see me standing in front of you?” she asked.
“Of course I do, you’re right in front of me” he said while poking her arm.
“Not with your eyes silly” she poked him back.
“Not again Jess, you promised you’d stop talking in circles” he said with slight frown while pulling her closer.
“Would you still see me with your eyes closed?” she questioned him with a soft expression in her face.

Written In Joy

I’ve been told to speak the way same way I write, go all out but that is nearly impossible because at my big age I’m still learning how to talk. My vocal chords are intact but the words I replay in my head and over again always get stuck on their way out or half spat.
Give me a pen and a paper, let me speak without holding back whilst learning how to use my actual voice. The long pauses after a full stop are way better to take in than the “uhmmm’s” in my speech while staring into space and wondering what I’m going to say next.
I met a Godsent human being who stares dead straight into my eyes and tells me to talk, to speak up while holding my face with both hands as a sign of letting me know that it’s a safe space, you need not to walk on eggshells.
Some would probably think it’s just low self-esteem or limping self confidence but no, not only the tangible things get stolen. Intangibles too, like voices.
The thing about a stolen intangible is that you don’t realise it has been stolen until you need to you use it. You don’t realise it’s missing until you feel a void. Now what!? The great search begins and chances are, it might be the greatest and most wearingly-beautiful search of your life because once you find it, it’s a wrap.

Note: Fast forward to date. After everything was said and done, I realized I had more than just one voice, more than two even.

The succession of certain journeys or searches come with a lot of omissions of pieces of yourself. Pieces that have stuck with you for too long you started to believe they probably belonged to you. Pieces of yourself that suffocate you do not belong to you, they’re taking up the space of something that has to be there, something great. A certain peice of yourself that you are dearly holding on to could be the only thing holding under water, you need to surface before it’s too late, before you drown.
Replace whatever that is holding you under water with something that could pull you out. It could be fear, doubt, hate, resentment, anger, voicelessness, regret, a void, a knotted chest and so on. Just find your balance and space then take it from there.

P.S Love & Light
Until next time, keep well.

Watering Dead Flowers

My grandmother has a flower garden.
Her second love after her late husband.
She keeps the soil as fertile as it can be with everything she has.
With all that she has, she keeps all the petals firm and colorful.
Keeps slacking stalks upright with sticks, robes and stones.
I’ve seen her nursing wilted flowers.
And I’ve helped her uproot dead ones.
Witnessed her face grow sour as she disposes dead flowers.
A glimpse of hope clouding her face as she tosses them on the soil.
“I could use some compost” she would say.
I’ve smiled with her over blossoming and growing ones.
Picked them for the water-filled glass jars in every corner of her hut.
We’ve taken some to flower shops and returned with pennies.
We’ve taken some to church, “blessings my baby” she would say.
I’ve given some to kids passing by; their chortles are music to my ears.
Old age was never on her favour, she grew weary and old.
Ready to turn into dust.
Her last words were emphasis on never to water dead flowers.
I learnt a life lesson from her 100 square feet garden.
Uproot and cast dead flowers.
Take care of growing and blossoming ones.
I still take white ones to her tomb, her favourite color.
May her soul rest in peace.

Bongiswa Sky.