When you see her, tell her her daughter is tired but standing.Tell her the nights are long,and sometimes morning arrives without answers,but her child still wakes up hopeful. Tell her she is gratefulfor the hands that have held her through this season.She feels them every day,even when guilt dances on her faceand she doesn’t know… Continue reading Becoming
Tag: prose poem
Still
The walls refuse to utter a word.No space to argue.Nothing to interrupt my thoughts.Just the clock moving slowly,and the light staying loyal. The couch remembers my weight.Nothing here asks me to speak.I sit bothered by the words left hanging,their silence heavier than sound. I fold anger into my handsand sit on it so it doesn’t… Continue reading Still
Closure – The Poem
Finally, my heart exhaled.A long breath she had been holding since love first taught her how to wait.Last night she sat with memories,looked them straight in the eye without fear,and asked them to speak.For a long time, I kept my heart on a shelf,tucked away with questions that refused to sleep.She wondered if love was… Continue reading Closure – The Poem
The Load
This load.Sometimes it takes up all the space in the room.It sits next to you, follows you around,refusing to be left behinduntil you start believing you're the only onebarely holding it together.This load,It breaks you until pain feels important.It walks around the room like it owns the place.For a moment,You don’t think about the woman… Continue reading The Load
Backwards – A Prose Poem on Healing and Self-worth
I wrote this poem for her — the younger me who believed the voices saying she was too much. This is the rewrite. The assurance. The gentle reclaiming.
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
Nancy Atieno's Notes 