Prose Poetry

“The Other Side of My Skin” — Prose Poetry by Nice Mwaura

When asked to choose between being out of integrity and out of the closet, I always chose the latter because that was the side of the skin you knew. The flawless side with inches of foundation stronger than the foundation my future holds. The side that has sparkles of smiles enough to cover my flaws. From the side of the skin you see, you listen to my heartbeat while from the other, I listen to pulses resounding like drum beats. But self love doesn’t come first. Neither second. Not ever. So before I offer my heart for you to love, here are life concoctions and listen to the string of questions.

There are poems that drown along with my tears every night under my pillow, wanting to be scripted down. Of course, like any poor poet, I simply hit the ignore button and instead scribble you lines with rhymes. So what if you learnt that those are the words I uproot from my bones? That sometimes I want to boil them and smear them to our hearts which will be our new homes? That other times I want you to focus on my dark side but you still want to watch from far with drones? There are scratches of punchlines I scribble with blades at night beneath my skin. And what if I let you read word by word just to let you hang in the hooks of brokenness and toxity; would you crumble the pages, burn them to ash and watch them blow away?

Tonight I hold on my message box writing and hoping this would be enough to fix our gaps. And they tell me beauty is just skin deep which is the cloak of worry and anxiety for me. Your fears are my wars and my wars are your unlucky charms. So what if you learnt that I don’t swallow make up just to look pretty on the inside? That I could have this or that jewelry and still be cheap? That my eyes are beautiful, yes, but the mascara I wore today was enough to mask fragments of tears from last night’s nightmare? What if you learnt that as much as beauty is dangerous and intelligence is lethal, sometimes the real danger is how you get on your knee to ask me to marry you and I stand still looking like a girl asking a boy to love her? I am blinded by the kisses I stitched on my diary just to have your name as the title. But what if I savoured your trust and showed you my cracks, would you still move on even if the strings that attach us are invisible yet strong?

I am obsessed with stars and galaxies but it depresses me to know that they will be swallowed by a selfishly hungry blackhole. Yet that is not what I love to stare at. It is how they explode and die in supernova the same way thinking about me ends in whatever. I have lost count on the number of ceilings I have stared before to have someone get to my heart through my legs in the name of love. And what if I learnt that you are obsessed with thighs and breasts, would it be enough if I took you to KFC to watch you eat and breath in what you love? Though Geography is my forte and I would love to let you drown in my valleys. The way your fires would extinguish my glaciers. But History is a subject too that holds so much of my mystery. What part of me do you want to marry? Is it the entire syllabus of my skin or is it just the part between my waistline and my knees? Or I am tired to get to my knees when it is not hard while this entire time I want to stand taller because I have looked down for long.

On the outside I am made of steel but on this other side of my skin, I am soft. Though the tongue has no bones but trust me enough to let you discover that words rip me apart and it gets brutal when they penetrate deep in this other part of my skin. That I am never deep, I am just bold. So sometimes you would let anger control your elbow and when you raise your hand to hit me, it is not the bruises that damage me but the words you let out when your lips part. And my tears turn to a storm when those words cut loose my vocal cords; so given a chance to hurt you back, I never do it. Do you get it? That I am obsessed with things. So sometimes I demand everything and you give me nothing; and both are things. What if you learnt that I do not know what a healthy relationship looks like because I am love malnourished, would you take all this love I don’t give myself and put it in good use?
I am all-or-nothing person so if I fall in love I am all in for you. And I don’t want to be limited to loving just you because I want to be head over heals for all of you. But I am too complex and complicated for it to be so simple. All I ask is that you fall for all my infinite complexities too and with inches of both sides of my skin.


Read Also==>“The Love Agenda” — An Erotic Prose Poetry by Nice Mwaura and Allyna Kemmy.

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