Of A Letter To My Crush

Dear Heart

You wanted me to be your Valentine but what is a Valentine?

I hope you do not wish me to write you a farewell note and sign it from your Valentine then my head gets chopped off, for you see I am rather attached to my head; and that, according to some legends, is what happened to the first person to send a note signed from your Valentine.

History and legend have various martyrdom stories of people named Valentine killed rather violently on the 14th of February, so when you ask me to be your Valentine and I go silent, I really trying to figure out if you want me dead.

Dear Heart if you are asking me to count how many ways I love you I would need more than one day, I would need each morning of everyday; every sunset, every sunrise, each breath and every sigh……..

Dear Heart…. If you love flowers I would help you grow a lil garden or maybe gift you a pot plant or show you how to grow flowers in teabags. I find it a touch disturbing how people give each other flowers essentially demonstrating that I killed these beautiful flowers for you, now watch them fade and wilt because I love you

Dear Heart if you were a flower in my garden, I would never pick you, I would be the sun and in the warmth of my love you would bloom. ♥♥♥

Dear Heart, I find Valentine’s Day a commercialised scam and the only people who actually gain from it, are the people who sell love’s paraphernalia and I hope you dont think I am saying that but because I could not afford to get you something nice nor is it because the post office people would not let me dress in wrapping paper; tie a ribbon around myself and affix a postage stamp marked Special Delivery.

Image result for special delivery clip art

Dear Heart, did you know that way before Valentine’s Day came to be in honour of slain Saints, the period used to be a weird fertility festival involving the ritual sacrifice of goats and dogs and whippings

Dear Heart I hope you are not I mad at me for making you rethink what Valentine means but if you are, I would tie a cape around your neck and say “Now you are Super Mad“

Dear heart; I am not saying anything by it but have you noticed that

Cupid rhymes with Stupid

Love always

All I am saying is cupid rhymes with stupid …… you can come fight me pic.twitter.com/Hqb44jhrka
— ~B 🇿🇼 (@Beatonm5) February 14, 2019

Of Being Me

Hello my name is Beaton but by now you should know to call me just B. no other letters, and you don’t pronounce the just. Sometimes I like to tell people that my name is pronounced, you know how in French some letters are silent like the S in Paris is silent, well all the letters in my name are silent too except for the B……

I am ~B and this is day three of my blog everyday challenge

People are funny creatures, you tell someone to call you B. and next time they call you, they presume to know your name. I have been called Brighton, Brilliant, Beacon, even Brian. I mean Brian? How even? But if there is anything that grinds my gears more than my name being assumed wrong, it’s when I tell someone my name and they pronounce it badly, even when I repeat it…. And I eventually say please just call me B (and save me the drama of hearing my name being mangled) but that other part stays in my head…

Where I come from people tend to give babies names with meaning but I guess most people do to a fashion, like Tawanda (meaning we are many) Tafara (meaning we are happy) Shuvai (meaning Hope) Navelani (also meaning Hope). Most names used here, when you hear them, you understand them, you can define them, you can even find them in the dictionary.

My name is uncommon, I have only “met” one person with it, as a first name, we are Facebook friends… if you are reading this post Hi Beaton!!!!

Beaton

When I am asked what my name means sometimes I say, “I cannot be defined because my name is not in the dictionary.” But that’s not completely true I looked up my name it means:

“From the warrior’s estate”

From the warrior’s estate wow… do not mess with me. You see, I am a descendant from a line of warriors that leads back to Shaka The Zulu. Shaka reigned in Southern Africa and consolidated a formidable empire in the late 1700s to early 1800s.

I don’t think my parents had this in mind when they named me, it was in honour to an uncle…. (hmmmm maybe my grandaparents when they named my uncle….)

In Zimbabwe family kin identify each other by their totems, people of the same clan have the same totem (known as mutupo in Shona language) It’s a patron or spirit animal for your people, you respect it and you are not supposed to eat it. When you have done good, when someone is thanking you or beseeching you or down right flattering you, they can invoke your totem in a clan praise name…….

My mother’s totem is heart (moyo). My father’s totem is fire (moto, mlilo)

My totem is Fire. You become your father’s people…..

Again this is uncommon as most, if not all have animals or organic totems. Lion (shumba, murambwi), elephant(zhou ndlovu), monkey(shoko), zebra(dube) heart(moyo) and many other totems. The people who came up with this totem thing were clever not to pick animals like chicken, cow or pig because folk would have been in trouble. Eating your totem is said to cause a host of misfortune including droughts until you appease your ancestors.

My Totem is fire…..

There is nothing I don’t eat, my ancestors “discovered” fire and I pay homage to them in a barbecue.

Hello my name is Beaton and my spirit animal will barbecue your spirit animal…..

My totem is fire and I was born to be uncommon.

Mlilo, Chauke

PS You can read about my how my ancestors “discovered” fire HERE

Shaka Zulu Image credit Source

OF 54321 things about me

54321 Tag

I found this nifty tag in my drafts folder as a post already in progress, I don’t remember who tagged me, on account of well having been MIA from the internet….if it was you, do give us a shout… Where have I been? I keep getting asked…. Well I have been Being…….

Things You Can’t Live Without

i. My brain, obviously without it, I would not be really me now or think awesome thoughts now would I?
ii. My heart, not the one filled with blood and muscles and arteries but the one that fills me with the passion that rules my mind.
iii. Oxygen, I need it to breathe and stuff
iv. A muse.
v. Curiosity. It is weird right, kills cats, but good thing I am not a cat, otherwise the one thing, I would not be able to live without, is the one thing that would kill me.

Pet Peeves
I wouldn’t say I am fussy but a few things really grind my gears
i. People who use excessive shorthand in messages. It makes me want to gorge my eyes out with my thumbnails, to unsee; what do you guys do with all that free time you save by butchering words like a bull trying to knit with its own horns?
ii. Aspiring Writers. I mean why aspire to be something you already are, you are not an aspiring writer, you are a writer, just write something.
iii. People who rip,tear, shred, bend, fold, deface, disfigure, smudge or in anyway mistreat a book. Trees did not die for that.
iv. people who try to engage me in conversation when I am reading a novel with my earphones plugged in, that should be a universal symbol for DO NOT DISTURB

Things You Want To Do
i. Travel the world
ii. Write about it
iii. Not Die… at least not agonally

Unique Characteristics About
unique characteristics about me???? if you have been reading things you can easily tell
i. life is oh so much fun living in my head.

ii. I aint like anyone else I am unique just like everyone else.

The screen saver on your phone

PS If you found the 54321 tag amusing feel free consider yourself tagged, you could drop your response in the comment or on your blog and do paste the link or pingback so I can find yours, cool beans.

Of Girls Like You and Guys Like Me

I wrote you a very long letter on a midnight-blue themed writing pad sprinkled with stars using a scented gel ink pen I wrote my heart out and sealed it with a loving kiss….

It’s still in my dresser drawer I never posted it, because girls like you don’t do stuff like that you laugh and call it corny.

When girls like you laugh, everyone laughs, it’s so natural and cute how you are always in the center of the room regardless of where exactly you are standing and you don’t seem to notice the attention you draw, just like a butterfly unaware of its own beauty.

Girls like you date guys who are alpha males, who drive fancy cars who are always flush with cash to blow on you, your friends and your friends’s friends because you always roll as a clique. You say you like guys who are man enough to handle you because apparently you are a candle, too hot to be handled by just anybody.

Girls like you like Bad Boys Bad Boys Bad Boys. Boys who wear their arrogance like a T-shirt and treat people like dirt because they are the big dogs and have the muscles and tats to back to it up. Guys who blow smoke in your face and ask you if you have problem sport and when you try to walk away they grip your arm with a vice like grip until you apologise.

Girls like you only call guys like me when you need something, and then suddenly we are besties, for a second it feels good to be appreciated, the weakness in guys like us. Remember that time you accidentally deleted an important project from your laptop, the laptop that I helped you buy because you didn’t know much about computers… How about when you showed up on my doorstep drunk as a skunk because you had had a fight with Mr. Bad Boy and lost your home keys at the club, so you couldn’t go to your place, I held your hair back while you cried and threw up into my favourite bucket and in the morning I found you a locksmith for your door and painkillers for the hangover.

Girls like you take guys like me for granted.

I always say to myself this is the last time I do you a favour because all you do is take but I was raised a gentleman, a little too goody goody, a little too polite…. even if you asked for flowers……,

I would pluck out petals from my own heart and hand them to you and watch you hand them over to your Mr. Bad Boy because you needed a thank you gift for the obviously expensive gift he gave you to apologise for the way he has been behaving, I can change he says.

You don’t even see me stitching my chest back from where I ripped out my heart to give to you and you trampled all over it and didn’t even look back.

When you finally discover your Mr.Bad Boy is an ugly duck boy who won’t change into a graceful swan; of which I tried to tell but maybe girls like you are like a moth and you like to burn, you don’t notice me even as I hug you and tell you that maybe your next boo will be Mr. Right, you cry and keep repeating that all men are the same, and then go and find the exact same guy in a different body……

Nice guys finish last they say.

And if one day you wake up and you are missing me it’s because I grew tired of chasing after you when to girls like you I am just a wallflower, I see these things and I understand…

Of Special Delivery

Genre: Comedy

He walked with the pace of one who had absolutely no rush to get anywhere. He seemed deep in thought, shoulders hunched head bowed over his phone in a question mark posture. He was going through his pone checking if that crazy doctor had not done anything malicious to his phone.
The phone seemed to be fine, except for an unreasonable number of missed calls and unread messages. Didn’t people realise it, if your call was not answered after two call attempts calling every other minute would not yield any results,either who ever you were calling could not otherwise pickup the phone or they simply did not want to talk to you.

His phone had been held hostage in lieu of restaurant bill that had been paid for him by The Doctor and in return for getting it back, he had agreed, to distribute advertising flyers. It was a fair enough transaction except for the part where X would rather be caught dead than stand at the traffic intersection handing out flyers. His Father was one of the wealthiest people in this city after all and work of any sort was beneath him. Which is why he was currently broke, because his fool of a father had decided to cut him off from the family purse, so he could learn the value of money. But X already knew the value of money, what’s the point of having all the money in the world, if you had to work, well one day his fool of a father would be dust and all of this would be his.

His father was probably worried about him, he had not talked to him or gone back home since his credit card got stolen. He was currently crashing on the couch of a girl who worked at his dad’s bank, who was sweet on him. Lovely girl really, who was probably right now waiting for him, to show up for a Valentine’s day dinner. She had said she would pay, leap year, ladies treat, and he plum forgot, which is probably why she was trying to call him, he put the phone on silent and put it back in his pocket.

He would have to come up with a story to tell her for blowing her off, if he wanted a place to stay for the night but then The Doctor had said to him, if he needed anything all he had to do was but ask, maybe he would, except a part time of him, a voice he had long since stopped listening to, told him, that he should not be any more indebted to that guy than he already was. If X did not think that the his guardian angel had long since been fired then the voice came from the hole where his conscience was supposed to be.

On impulse he took the bundle of flyers he was suppose to distribute for the Doctor and posted it into the red post office drop box. “Let the mailman do his job for him” he though as he laughed to himself. “Xman would never hustle a street corner like some pimp.” Abruptly he stopped laughing as a feeling of being watched washed over him almost as if a bucket of icy cold water had been poured over him, goosebumps even popped up, but just as quickly the sensation passed and he was fine.

He looked up and noticed a florist with a bunch of Valentine’s accessories looking at him. “Good evening, Sir,” she greeted him with a smile “buy a rose for your Valentine and get a mystery gift.” If the florist was not cute he would have probably kept walking and not looked back. Instead X went through change, he found a few loose bills and coins, it did not add up to much, he might be a narcissist but he was not a fool. He needed to get home with a gift, hell hath no fury like a woman stood up. He really wanted to buy roses but his financial situation was complicated, he settled for a box of heart shaped lollipops instead.

He practised what he would say, “Roses are red, violets are blue, these hearts are sweet and so are you..” she would eat that up. It would workout, it always worked, he winked at the lady who sold him the flowers and blew her a kiss as he walked away, whistling.

~~The End

My entry this week for #BlogBattle: Themed lollipop.

Hope your Valentine’s day was a blast

Cheers

P.S. The story continues from here

Of when the music stops

Genre: Romance

We were dancers, trapped in a timeless ritual, the distance between us always constant; when she took a step towards me, I took a step back, when I moved towards her, she moved back the exact distance, choreographed symmetry.

And now the song was coming to an end, what happens when the music stopped, I wondered to myself. We had always maintained the cliched space between us, more than friends but less than, less than, what’s more than friends. See, even out loud I never thought of what came after, except when I was dreaming then the music never stopped, dancing always.

“We need to talk” we had said to each other at the same time, having come to the same inevitable conclusion.
“You go first” I said.
“Someone asked me out on a date.”
“I know.”
She looked at me, I could read the question in her eyes.
“He came to me, asked me, if I would mind terribly, if he asked you to dance and if I thought you would say yes, seeing as, you and I, we are like best of friends__”
I trailed off, she hadn’t said a word, she did not need to, I could read her like a book, so I went ahead and answered her next unspoken question.
“I told him that I would not be so presumptuous as to speak your mind……And yes, I would mind, terribly”
The last part I spoke barely above a whisper.
There was a moment of uneasy silence and then she answered,
“I wonder about that, sometimes, of all my talents mind reading is not one of them.”
“You are in luck, today I am wearing my heart on my sleeve. ” I said, as I rolled my shirt sleeve, to reveal a tattoo of a heart with her name in it.
“You got a tat?”
“Like it? It’s not really a tattoo I borrowed a marker from the studio and I guess those art lessons do come in handy. You are you know, in my heart. It will come off, when I bath, but if you want, I could never take another bath, ever.”
She laughed, I loved watching her laugh, I could get used to listening to her laughter, for the rest of my life, especially if I was the one who made her laugh.

“You are impossible”

“No if I was impossible, I would not exist, I am simply improbable”

She laughed again.

I moved towards her, she did not step back, I put my hand round her and she accepted, easily, she even laid her hand over mine as if to keep me there.
“Hang on, one question what did you say, when he asked you, for that dance?”
“If I had said anything else, I would not be still here, with you now, would I?”
She moved towards me, closing the gap between us.

The music stopped but everyone kept on dancing until another melody started.

~~~The end

This week’s entry #BlogBattle

Put on your dancing shoes and twirl the day away, I tried my hand at a little romance, it takes two to tango ^_^

PhotoCredit: salsa-licious

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Becoming The Muse

words on paper

Tag Archives: #heart