Pieces left behind

I marvel at the pieces of me left behind.

With people I met shortly or for years

Like a cake I let them taste the sweetness perhaps make lemonade with the sour

Some I may not recall much but they felt home with me

Or felt lost with different versions of me

I walked backwards recollecting my prints

They’re beautiful

To some I was their glasses so they could see a distance

To some I was a bridge they stepped to cross

To others I was this great iconic gal they wanna look up to.

With a great voice that can sing and anchor.

To the few who know me out of work, I can be your comedian. And make us laugh.

To one guy I’m this girl who should be wifed up real quick. One he wants to keep. She fits that wife material description

Yet to another I was a nuisance lady not fitting in his standards One he won’t want

To others I come as this lover of life, with lots of energy

To Some I came as this girl with no confidence to see tomorrow or face toughness

To others I’m the sister and loyal friend you can count on year in year out.

I still marvel at pieces of me left behind

In all the phases described, I have been felt deeply and greatly

In good and in not good, both in measures satisfactory

But those are parts of me that form my print.

Prints can never be uniform

They’re rugged scribbled, torn and repaired, with a stiche here and there

With beautiful patterns and ugly ones

Good thing we print daily.

And those are parts of me I’ve left behind

Storiesitelldiary. NyamburaNdungu