In my next lifeI want to marry rich. I want love to come with chandeliers.I want my bathtub filled with rose petalsbecause he’s sorry he didn’t make it to my reading. I am done with plastic basins.Buckets that crack every time I mop the floor.I’m done. In my next life,I will cry in a Range… Continue reading In My Next Life
Behind the Poem: I’m Still Broken
I wrote this poem after a conversation I had with someone close to my heart.A moment that could’ve ended everything — not because he did something wrong,but because my wounds were louder than his love. That’s the thing about healing… it’s not linear.Sometimes your heart still hears footsteps from the past,even when someone new is… Continue reading Behind the Poem: I’m Still Broken
The World Listens
Date: 12th April I'm standing where silence has more answers than people ever do.The kind of silence that doesn't ask for explanations—the kind that doesn't need me to be okay,just to be.This view looks like a story I'm yet to write,or maybe, yet to read.The hills don't pity me.They aren’t trying to fix me.They just… Continue reading The World Listens
When That Day Finally Comes
When the day comes that you finally don’t need me... Please— let me go. Set me free. With my dignity intact. Don’t shout it to the world— no. Don’t sit me down and remind me of my imperfections. No. I won’t take that. When the day comes that you finally don’t need me... Please— just walk away. And don’t look back. Don’t let my tears give you any second thoughts. Don’t mind about my heart that… Continue reading When That Day Finally Comes
The Visitor at the Window
Pain peeped through the window, holding time in its hand. Refusing to leave. I sat by the corner, hoping someone would come— take the time from its grip, and place it gently back in mine. I watched. I waited. But so did it. It waited for someone, anyone. And so did I. It was hard to let go. Pain knew. It lingered, ready to be let… Continue reading The Visitor at the Window
The Pen That Waits
The pen waits for me—patient. Unsure of what story it will keep. Unsure whether the heart is wounded or healing. But it waits, for a word—any word. Anytime now, its ink might bleed. It may bleed to the last drop. But it doesn’t care. It will wait for the words, upon command, to draft a… Continue reading The Pen That Waits
To the Man Who Came During My Healing Journey
Thank you for standing by me when my heart was still learning to trust again. When my soul was mending itself, thread by fragile thread. You walked into my life at a time when love felt foreign, when my past had left a silence too loud to ignore. I won’t lie to you—I was hesitant.… Continue reading To the Man Who Came During My Healing Journey
How to Read and Appreciate Poetry Like a Poet
Let’s be honest—poetry can feel intimidating. You read a poem, and instead of feeling enlightened, you’re sitting there thinking, What did I just read? Been there. Done that. Even as a poet, some poems still make me pause, re-read, and sometimes Google their meaning. But here’s the thing: poetry isn’t meant to be “figured out”… Continue reading How to Read and Appreciate Poetry Like a Poet
To the Love That Never Was
You were almost. A reminder of something that could have been, a hope I mistook for a flame, a story that never made it past the first few chapters. You were the pause between hello and goodbye, the space between fingers that never fully intertwined, the dream that faded before morning had the chance to arrive. I thought you were… Continue reading To the Love That Never Was
If My Memories Could Speak
If my memories could speak, They would tell you of this little girl— This broke little girl who sat alone in quite corners,Hiding her pain behind polite smiles,Struggling to collect pieces of herself in trembling hands. They would tell you of the nights she cried,Soft sobs swallowed by silence,Of the mornings she woke up despite… Continue reading If My Memories Could Speak
Nancy Atieno's Notes 