Prince Charming

Do you remember the times you watched those fairytales? The tower, the dragon, the princess and with a little pinch of magic.
And then there were the bedtime stories that were read out loud to lull you to sleep. The kings, the queens, the witches and  sorcerers fall to the fairies and Prince Charming. Prince Charming…. That idiot Prince Charming.

When you were learning from the beautiful princesses I was there too. While you were wisked away from the tower to live happily ever after. I was there.

As you shaped role models of sweet, slim, smart ladies. You learned to be kind, to smile, that a village could love their
fair princess, to choose who you want to be with, to sing when the music played…
Okay, maybe that singing part was only in Disney but,,, yeah. You almost forgot that little boy in the room.
Who did I learn from?… Thats right! Prince Charming. So here is what I learned.

He taught me that I had to own a horse. Of course I couldn’t get the horse so I got into cars. To the point of obsession. He did not teach me  that the noble steed can sometimes take the place of the princess in my heart.
He taught me that I had to own a shining set of armour and a matching shield. All polished so I looked cool when I reflected the light of  the rising sun when I defeated the dragon. Seeing as it is hard to find shining armour these days (short of robbing a museum) I found armour of my own.
My pride deflects any thought that I could be wrong. My stories make sure to dazzle. My muscles make sure to intimidate. He never taught me that armour is very heavy to wear, especially when going up a tower. That in trying to defend myself I would feel nothing, that the princess would want to take it off to see me.
He taught me to carry a sword to slay ghouls, to defeat dragons. To swing it at anything that was a threat. But just my luck, I could find no swords on sale. So out came my anger, my temper, my jealousy and the ultimate weapon “coz I said so”. He never taught me that the princess could be hurt by the very same sword I had made to rescue her, protect her. He never taught me to use it with skill, just to wave it around and get rid of the
problem. Maybe compare sizes with other princes.

Speaking of which. Prince Charming never told me that I might actually meet other princes, trying to win the same princess. And so sometimes it becomes more like a sport and once we get to the top of the tower we kind of forget that the princess did not think this was a sport to begin with. But here we go, on to the next tower to conquer. Tower after tower leaving the princesses abandoned.

And that dragon. I was taught that if I defeat the dragon, the princess was as good as mine. I wasnt taught that the princess does not need the dragon to be killed right away, that she would rather have someone just be there to tell her that the dragon was just full of smoke.
So sometimes I try to solve the problem forgetting who’s hand I am supposed to hold.
He taught me that I had to be tall, square jawed, smooth handed, kissable, and have blue eyes (green at the least). Where in the world of black Africa?!?……Ahhh. But I was smart. I just put on more armour.

He taught me how to use muscle and maybe my head occasionally. He never taught me to ask for help.
He taught me how to smooth talk my way to the heart. He never taught me how to hold on to that heart once I got in.
I was taught that the princess does not say no. If she says no, there is something wrong with me. So sometimes I
would rather not commit to anything and avoid the rejection. Maybe climb a smaller tower. Like friends with benefits.
That a princess worth the effort takes time to save or even find, I had no idea.
Yes, he taught me that I should think she is worth fighting for but he never died in any of his endavours so he never taught me that I  should also know she is worth dying for. I only know one Prince who did that….. But that would mean having to open the Bible.
So why not just switch teachers, you ask? Well, why change teachers when Prince Charming is the one the princess is looking for?

This is not an excuse for why men behave the way we do. This is an appeal to understand why we all seem to be getting colder. What we teach the young ones from screen and fantasy has to go much deeper when the eyes come off the screens and the heads out of the pages.
In real life the characters became more real. The towers become emotional towers, the dragons  become life dilemmas, the princess took off her royal robes and crown and became more like you, even more valuable than any fictional princess.

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DandeLion

For the longest time

I don’t know why

I equaled ladies to dandelions.

This maybe why

They light, they fly

And when I stretch my hand they float by

….or in the hands of another guy.

So ladies equaled dandelions

Fly like butterflies

Deadly like drive bys

Light as feathers

Soft as sweaters

And in my arms, never

Notice, not never tried

But with these hands of mine

You try catch a dandelion

Plus,once bitten, twice shy

So I equaled 1 but two plus my pride

So 2+3 is five

3 for the cheesy pick up lines

Add another 4 that’s 9

But shawty was a 10, so bye bye

I never did add up.

Then I relised

I didn’t create the dandelion

So why’d I think His ladies were mine?

That’s when I realised why

Their worth is in His eye

Not this lie

Of being in the beholder’s eye

Behold how she cakes on

The make on

So she can make up

To this made up

Image that I laid up

So she reveals more skin

My attention she wins

But don’t care for her within

In His eyes they are diamonds made of gold

Beyond price that can be sold

Formed when the earth was six days old

Created so good Adam had to have his eyes closed

Dandelions.

Made so fly they had to float

Yet, if you weigh her worth on a boat

Bye bye Titanic, it would never float

Worth more than just meat in skin tights

Deeper than meets sight

Make a spotlight have stage fright

Coz their worth is in the Hands that made light.

And that is why

It was His hands I ran from this whole time

And she ran from Him to please me

But when she did I called her things obscene

You don’t get it

I was running from your Creator

Your real Caretaker

The One Who loved you first

The One in Whose hand is found your real worth

That is when I realised

You should go back to His side

Then its my role to decide

To stop trying to hide

If I want a dandelion of any worth

I have to face The Father of this earth

And present my hands clean first

Lest I leave one dandelion cursed

As much as I act like your worth, I own

He already paid your price in full, when He lived, died and rose

Stop floating out here, on the wind, all alone

Dandelion, just go home.

Sing

So she took him to bed that night

But not like a child

Some would say she made a man out of him

And in the morning she didn’t feel like any less of a woman

Coz he was singing her praises

More whispering to be honest

And he whispered in the morning again

And again

And again

And again

And then

the song changed

He stopped whispering and started talking

Then he started demanding

Maybe he was a man now so he needed more

And she gave more of herself

And he took more

Again

And again

And again

The signing had stopped

Maybe she was no longer the woman he needed

But she had made him a man

But she gave more hoping that it was enough

Afterall, if she was any less of a woman it was because she had given it to him

And he was still here

As long as she kept giving

Maybe she didn’t need the song as long as he was there. She kept giving….

Then she heard the song

He whispered again

And again

And again

Oh so familiar, so sweet

But why was it coming from behind the wall?

He was not in here

He was next door, being a man.

But she had made him a man

That was her song

But it was now being whispered to someone else

She had given him all she had all she was

What was she now

‘Coz to everyone else he was now a man

Didn’t they see that he had to take from somewhere to be the man they called him?

That he had to take from someone?

That that someone or now something….. was her.

That was her song

She gave him that song, he took it from her.

It was her praises.

Why was it coming from behind the wall?

And the other wall?

And from downstairs?

And from everywhere but where it belonged?

With her.

*Where has our song gone? God made us who we are. But is our song heard behind the wall. Is it heard at all. Even after all He has given us? Have we taken Him for granted and even worse praised others instead.*

Mad at God? That’s Okay….

If a child is mad at a parent this is usually a bad thing.

“You were supposed to be there for my….”
Or probably even worse is the deafening silence of a child in the back seat.
Fuming and wondering how they forgot to pick up their own child.

“Am I that invisible to them?”
Or the child in an empty house who learned how to fend for themselves because mum and dad just were not around to
show how life is done the right way.

While these scenes are not comfortable to ponder upon, these are realities.

Reality is the innocent girl who has been raped time and time again. The innocence stolen from her.
Reality is the man who should be dead looking down at the boy who got killed in the drive-by and trying to keep
the smile off his face. Not that he does not hear the cries of the mother but because he can live another day…. to plot the murder of another, even others.
Reality is an earthquake shattering a family home.
Reality is a tsunami sweeping away the future.
Reality is a grandfather burying his grandson.

Why would God allow this?

I like people who ask that question. I may not like the question itself, because the situation someone asks you that question in is usually very traumatic and is a wound on the soul. (that can’t be healed by slapping on humor and salt, heck even drowning it in alcohol won’t heal a wounded soul)

So why do I like the people who ask that question?
If I get stabbed in the back, I turn around and see a face I don’t know, my first reaction will be to survive that situation. My mind will focus on making sure I get out of that situation alive.
But now all ow me to put you in my shoes.
You get stabbed in the back and you turn around to see a very familiar face, actually that is a face that has been a refreshing sight in a dreary day. Hands that have picked you up from rock bottom. Eyes that used to make contact with yours and stay loyal, steady and true now look at you with murderous intent. (It may be hard to imagine such a person in your life because they are rare but think on it)

Whatever other reactions may come, one thing that will ring through either in the struggle for your life or afterward will be the question “WHY”.
And that is because the relationship makes you have expectations of that person.
We expect more form our loved ones. From those we love.

For it was not an enemy that reproached me; then could have borne it: neither was it he that hated me that did magnify himself against me; then I would have hid myself from him: But it was you…. -Psalms 55:12

What I like about people who ask “why God” is that they expect from God. They want Him to be there. Though they sometimes expect things of God that God never promised, they still expect more from God than Christians do.
They call out to God to surpass their expectations, like the way a child never expects their father to  lose whether it be in battle with a rat to a bully.
Christians who know that God can do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine (and I don’t mean in luxuries or material things alone, actually that is usually the least of their worries) don’t ask God. A lot of the time they try fix the problem themselves and then ask God to bless.

But this is what I like about people who scream “why God!?”
It is that behind all that anger. There is someone who expects more from God.
A child who was picked up late.
A lady who was raped over and over.
They all expect more from a Father in Heaven.

I should clearly state that God never said that their won’t be trials in this life. I should also say that the pain in all these situations is real. Do not be too quick to think that this is just as a result of pure disregard for God and this is the opportunity for debate but that this could actually be a heart cry from someone who just wants to seek God.

Though the child may be fuming in the backseat, they are still the driver’s child. If we are mad at God that is okay. But it never did any good for the child to disown the driver as their parent.

And that child needs to see that love not an empty argument.