My body is a patchwork of all the times I’ve sewn myself back together.
You came along with a seam ripper, needles, and an old sewing machine.
I thought you would use them to gently return me to my original design.
I thought you would make me whole again, as a sort of seamstress savior.
But you didn’t have those supplies prepared to mend me or even yourself.
Even when I found out the truth, I trusted you to fix my tattered fabric.
You cinched and pinned me into a shape I didn’t recognize anymore.
You ripped out my stitches, and started sewing a new jacket for your size.
When I told you it hurt, you didn’t seem to care. You ignored my pleas.
When I’d finally had enough, I ran from your cruel redesign of my identity.
My new shape wasn’t designed to run, an intentional choice on your part.
You came and found me stumbling in the cold, and took me back home.
I escaped your carefully made sewing room again and again, only to return.
I took me months to cut the long trail of threads leading you straight to me.
With the last thread snipped, I escaped for the final time. I was finally free.
But I was not the same quilt as when I met you. I was a quilted jacket now.
I was only meant to keep someone warm. Only meant to keep you warm.
Now that I was on my own, I thought I needed to find another wearer.
I tried finding someone else to use the coat that you had turned me into.
But none of them fit right because you tailored me to your measurements.
Making a new me to suit you was never even more than a hobby to you.
The task of remaking my entire identity back into a quilt falls on me now.
I dated you to fix my mismatched patches only to learn I must fix myself.
All that pain. All that trauma and abuse. And I still don’t know how to sew.

I miss you,
I miss your good morning texts,
Your messages lighting up my phone,
The special ringtone I had for you,
Calling you mpenzi -
Because that’s what you are,
My darling.

I miss your voice,
Your laughter,
The warmth in your words.
I miss how we spoke of everything,
How we made each other feel alive.

I miss your kind heart, beautiful soul and spirit.
I miss your wild ambitions,
Your endless *** of kindness,
Your relentless singing of love ballads after your favourite drink,
And your desire to truly be a great person.

I miss Kivuli’s sweetest face,
The comfort you both brought me
Whenever I was lost in sadness.
I miss your smooth, dark skin,
Your handsome face,
Your gorgeous body in all its glory,
Your kindness and gentleness.
Your laughter.

I miss how natural we were together -
Effortlessly almost.
Perhaps that’s what went wrong,
Was it too easy, and is life not?

I miss the hope we shared,
The late-night conversations,
And the way your deep voice
Would echo through my heart.
What happens now?
I don’t know.
But I miss you with every fibre of my being.
I haven’t stopped loving you -
And I don’t know if I ever will.
Come back to me, mpenzi.
Come back to us.

Dreamt of you.
Seemed like yesterday,
There was a splash of color
Some laughter and the glint of blue
Of those sapphire orbs peering through.

The wind caught your hair,
It danced like tendrils reaching
Tickling my face.

Confusion causes caution.
La-dum-dum-La dum-la-dum
The heart raced-
Like Kenyan sprinters.
My legs tried to keep pace.
In love with the chase.

Your skin was creamy alabaster
Soft like the finest silks,
Our lips touched,
And then autumn came.

You flew as oak and maple leaves
My lips kissed ash and soot.
The color drained
The dead of silent pause.

I dreamt a memory
And woke in a nightmare
Why do I miss you?

I had to this
Or it would have been
My freedom at stake
As you are so controlling
You won’t even let me
Have any friends
To this I say
(U)p yours and
Good bye as I
Find you more toxic then
Sarin gas!
The pictures of you
Gaslighting me
You taking everything that isn’t my skin
I hope there is a place for you in the hell fire
Might I suggest not being in another relationship
Again!
(B)astard

I renamed him "Were You Sent by Someone Who Wanted Me Dead?"
because the damage didn’t feel accidental.
Now his name sits like a warning—
a lighthouse in reverse,
pulling me toward the rocks instead of away.

The boy who made me feel alive but ruined me
is "Can’t Go Back, I’m Haunted,"
because that’s what he was—
a shadow teaching me how to crave the dark.
Even now, I catch myself looking for him
in rooms I swear I’ve locked.

The one who left quietly got
"Stood on the Cliffside Screaming ‘Give Me a Reason,’"
because that’s what I told myself:
he wasn’t cruel, just lost,
just a plane circling the runway,
never meant to land.
I scroll past his name
and wonder if he’s still searching.

The fling that burned too fast
became "She’s Gone Too Far This Time,"
because I warned him—
I’m no one’s redemption arc.
He wanted fire to keep him warm,
but I only know how to burn.

The boy who was almost enough is
"I’ll Tell You the Truth but Never Goodbye."
His kindness felt like sunlight on bare skin,
but I couldn’t stop chasing shadows.
His name glows softly—
a reminder of the light I couldn’t hold.

Another became "Back When We Were Still Changing for the Better,"
because that’s all we were—potential,
the kind of almost that stays caught in your throat,
a song you never finish writing.
I left him there in my phone,
a name too soft for the edges we’ve grown into,
but sharp enough to remind me
how hope always dies in the details.

There’s comfort in cataloging heartbreaks this way—
turning them into lyrics instead of people,
letting songs hold what I can’t.
I swipe past "Forever is the Sweetest Con,"
"If a Man Talks ****, Then I Owe Him Nothing,"
and "Old Habits Die Screaming."
I laugh at my own theatrics
and wonder if they deserve immortality.

If one of them calls,
I’ll watch the name flicker on the screen,
smile at the poetry of it all,
and let it go unanswered.

Because some names
only deserve to live
in someone else’s song.

Them: How do you know that you've finally gotten over your ex?

Me: When the drunk version of me laughed at the idea of texting them
late at night!

Ignite within me the feeling of love –
a bulb warming up in its own radiance; I need that idea
behind me falling in love – peace of mind, yet we still
kiss behind the chaos of what we always had –
                                                a long time crush.

Don’t you dare crush my heart – swear to me, cross your
heart and hope not to die, or would you choose to double
cross me, transforming that sacred mark into a bitter X…

I suppose for me, this would be the third strike.

                                   ***

To throw away:

The hammer pants I wore
the day we met in person,
faded pattern and hole in knee
you said you would patch
for the memory

10 greeting cards signed by me
for Valentine's, birthday, anniversary.
21 post-it notes with "I ❤️ U"
once hidden around our bedroom
reminders from me, to you.

3 Greeting cards, scribbled by you
2 Given late, 1 on time
asking for *** on Valentine's

The set of knives and cutting block
to you for Christmas, rusted through
you soaked but never washed.
The owl mug, your first gift to me
that fell from my desk, handle broken
tossed instead of lost.

The practice leggings, now too loose,
stretched, and not your size
you "borrowed" and continued to wear
ignoring they were mine.

To wash, febreeze, rest and reset:

The jacket I bought for me,
that became yours when you arrived,
sans winter clothes,
donated, now. Surprise!

The mattress we bought together,
After I cried and begged for hours,
The box spring my then-bestie donated
to me, but you claimed was "ours"

The soft, memorable fabric, on which
I wanted no one else to sit,
my Poppy's Lay-Z-boy,
about which you threw a fit.

The car I gained when I kicked you out,
that I keep cleaner than you would.
My space, my heart, my dignity,
my house and personhood.

the stars dance
behind her mask
holding her together
both helpless and unremarkably dull.

she did not ask for this,
but was made that way,
with sorrow unravelling,
complimenting her
like poets do the night sky.