Losing Joy

I am forgetting how to smile
Twice thrice now
Random people have stopped me
And asked me to smile
And it's taken a few seconds ...
To understand what they mean
I am so wrapped up
In my troubles and travails
I am forgetting how to smile.

I am forgetting how to laugh
My never ending peals of laughter
Now become a long distant memory
For my friends and family
And people around me.
I fail at jokes
At the understanding and the telling
The little things that used to
Drive tears of merriment in droves
Make my jaw ache
Leave me struggling for breath ...
Are failing to have an impact
I'm forgetting I used to laugh

I am forgetting how to love
Romantic movies hold no resonance with me
Tragedies seem overwrought 
They stir no feelings
Jaded cynicism weilds a tight leash on my emotions
The news has stopped being depressing
It is now just boring
I'm losing all sense of empathy
I'm forgetting how to love
Have I ever loved?

Special

This kept running through my head one night till I decided to write it down. 

Special

I used to be special ...

Special was born knowing.
She came out fully cooked.
No one quite understood what made her special
Not even Special herself.
She wasn't the prettiest,
The smartest,
The loudest,
The richest ...
She was just ... special.

Everyone flocked to her
All the girls wanted to be her
Wanted to be friend
All the boys wanted to be with her
Just be around her.

Special wasn't the best at anything
But she was good at everything
She was always picked first
She got all the solos
Got all the major parts
Was always the team leader or the captain
She gave the big speeches
Was always the representative
Did the presentations.

Special was never demanding or arrogant
People just did things for her 
Got things for her.
If she was late anywhere,
Someone would always make space 
Grab her a chair.
Whenever she was hot or started to perspire
Someone would share their fan
Make space by the airconditioner
Grab her a drink.
People would often bring her her plates of food
Just a little snack
Because they were getting one themselves
Special never wondered why
Or thought too much about it.
It just was.
Sure it was a little embarrassing sometimes
And disturbing when she caught the angry looks or jealous stares
But saying no or trying to step back
Only seemed to make things worse.

Special got everything, did everything
Even the things she didn't have, or do.
She was always watched avidly
Everyone wanted to know what she did
How she did it
The way she walked
Where she went
The way she talked
Who she spoke to
What she said.
Even much older people
Who had no business being interested
In a girl like Special.

Special was the one who couldn't have her first kiss
Because people kept walking by 
Peering from bushes and branches
Hoping to get a good vantage point.
Special was the one who couldn't whisper to her best friend
That Chuka and Tope were the cutest guys in the group
Before Senior Dayo marched her out
In front of everyone to make a choice.
Special was the one who had the Kamals
Pulling chairs and boxes to the window
So they could spy on her as she showered.
She was also the one who had to stop
Staying over at Mayo's house
Because her father kept wanting to stroke her
As he tucked them into bed.
Nor could she go to the Jacksons anymore
Because the last time she was there
Mr Jax woke her up in the middle of the night 
As she slept between his children
To invite her to his bedroom.

Special was born knowing
But started to realise she didn't know everything.
She knew that pretending to have a stomach ache
Was the best way to extricate herself
When daddy put his hand down her top
To fondle her breast
But she didn't know that her bestfriend 
Ada was the one stealing from her.
She knew that Peter was only interested in her
Because she had a nice body
But didn't know his friend Jimi 
Had made up stories about things he'd done with her.
Special was the one who cried herself to sleep
Because Bayode didn't believe it was her first time
And because Kara went and told everyone about it
Even though she swore to keep it a secret.
Special was the one who had to explain 
She didnt have a secret baby
When her mothers friends came asking
Because someone had seen her 
Feeding one a party.

Special decided to stop being special
If she stopped knowing
Stopped believing she was special
Then maybe everybody would stop 
Maybe they wouldnt know she was special.

I am no longer special.
I have the same issues and struggles as everyone else.
I know I don't know everything
So I am more reserved
More guarded, less willing to be vulnerable
I sometimes feel special with my loved ones
Maybe one day I will meet someone
Who is truly special to me
But I know I'm not special 
I cant be Special anymore.

~ Noni.Moss

Hello 2016!

So ... it’s been a while. New Year new start. Rather than make up some story I’m just going to dive right in. Thanks to my friend Oreka Godis, I have made a plan to write a poem every week. I don’t promise I will post every week but I will definitely write every week (for at least 50 weeks) no matter how shitty it is. Hopefully I will get back to some semblance of feeling like a writer.

It being week 4 - I've written 4 poems already but some of them are really shit. Like super shit. I look back to some of the stuff I wrote and I'm like I wrote that? Where did my mojo go? I'm hoping forcing myself to write every week will bring back some kind of muscle memory (if it works that way). Some of the stuff I post up right now will be some of stuff I've written recently (well since I stopped blogging) but haven’t published.

So ... enjoy! Please feel free to subscribe share and follow me on twitter and Instagram.

~ Noni.Moss