catch me if you can, cruising down slow a fast lane, getting a grip of my f*cked brain, twisting and turning 'cause you brought the pain, 'cause Mama didn't tell that it's called "game"

Sorry, Blogger.
I'm so sorry for abandoning you.
I'm sorry my books made love to me and tricked me into falling for them.
I'm sorry I get time for music, food, sweets, singing, turning my swag up a notch and taking care of me.
I'm sorry that the only thing I think of when I'm at school is my WARM bed, instead of you.
I'm sorry that my fingers have given up on having a chat with you.
They don't set aside some time for you. Precious you.
I'm deeply sorry, Blogger.
Sorry for the fact that we haven't spoken for weeks, days, hours and seconds.
Sorry that you feel empty and outdated.

And I have missed you. For real (*word*)
I've missed the fact that I have "someone" to talk to. Ops, type to.
I miss the fact that you don't jugde me.
I miss the fact that you indulge of my cr*p.
I miss the fact that you listen.
Alot has happened these past weeks, but unfortunetly I can't remember it all.
But I recall the feeling of loneliness, betrayal, vertigo and cowardness.
I feel sick to my bones.
I get sick of looking at pretty people around me.
I always feel like an exception.
I get sick of looking at happy couples.
I get sick of looking at myself in the mirror.
I get sick of looking at my smile.
I get sick of daydreaming about the perfect guy.
I get sick of thinking of getting sick of thinking of getting sick.
I get sick of wishing.
Hoping.
Dreaming.
Looking forward.
I get sick of telling myself that I like being single.
I get sick of of me.
I get skin of my skin.
Sometimes I think my skin colour is a curse.
Everytime someone looks at me, I always think that they do because I'm black.
Different.
Unpleasent.
Frigile.
I need to start loving myself, Blogger. Loving my skin, my smile, my African behind, my nose, my kinky hair, my lips, my thighs, my waist and me, myself & I.

But the fact that I have little faith in me doesn't make it any easier.
The fact that I'm homesick doesn't make it any easier.
The fact that I feel useless doesn't make it any easier.
The fact that everything seems surreal to me doesn't make it any easier.

I miss those days back home in UG.
Those days when girls would be girls, where noone was oblivious about beauty etc.
No one would think about boyfriends and stuff.
Those days where I would jump rope with my girls, I would get in fights with boys and always win.
Those days I woul wake up 5 AM and walk to school for an hour and a half.
Those days lunch was the highlight of the day. Kaalo and beans. Where we used to stand in queus and everytime they would be a fight.
Those days Mom would come for summer and I would try on her red lipstick, go the beach, get ice cream from Nandoo's and have my hair did with beads.

But I'm 19 now and lonely.
Empty.
I guess I'll die a virgin.

Thanx Blogger for listening.
And talk soon.
Love and God Bless.
Only God and CeeLo can cheer me up.





black panther