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Rebecca ​Mercy Nimusiima

A ugandan Girl Passionate about Poetry

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My pillow

11/21/2017

1 Comment

 
She used to be my heart to heart
The only person I told my deepest secrets
She was the umbrella that shielded me from the rain
She was the punch bag that I left all my fists of anger and pain
She was the ear to which I yelled all my nasty thoughts 
The only person who could stomach my rotten parts
She was the only one who saw me release my lonely tears when sad
She was my pillow.

She was my pillow
She held me to sleep
She held my head
And read my mind Listened to my silent fears
And left a shoulder for me to lean on
She saw right through me
And calmed my heart
She discerned the hurly-burly of my emotions
And she would put her arms around me
To me they were an angel’s wings
Wings that I felt fall off
They drifted away little by little Until it dawned me one day
That she was gone
She left my head hanging
She, my pillow could not hold me longer.

She was my pillow
And she was gone
She left me to the mercy of my emotions
My challenges and fears I learned to live the hardest way
I built a barricade and closed my heart therein
I learnt to depend on no one else but me
I drew strength from my inner man to carry on
I never shed a tear again
For I had no pillow to collect them
My heart got hard like an armored car
All I am left to give the world Is this innocent smile
But behind it layeth words unsaid
Words of anger, hate, pain and love
All rushing like a strong wind in my head
Hanging in their till I find her or yet another,
A pillow for me to vent.

Would you be my pillow?
To calm me right to sleep
To hold me when I sleep
To drain my tears in the night
To greet me when I wake
My pillow to help me dream dreams
And envision my future
Be the door to shut out my fears
The fountain that fills up the emptiness inside of me
I need someone to draw my strength from
Someone who will dare me to claim the sky
One that sees past my flaws,
Just because I come off strong doesn’t mean there’s nothing wrong
And just because you’ve never seen me shed a tear
It doesn’t mean my heart doesn’t cry
​I need someone
Someone, with whom we won’t just survive,
But one with whom we will thrive.

1 Comment

inspiration behind 'Should i be blamed?'

11/14/2017

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Question: What inspired you to write 'Should I Be Blamed?' How did you feel writing it?

Mercy: It is not really about me. Though some aspects could be from my experience. It is about my generation...I see fathers neglecting their roles and it breaks my heart. When I was at university, I would see young girls dating our fathers and I would wonder why...but listening to them, I understood it is a longing for a father figure in their life. 

When people listen to the first stanzas they may ask, "is Mercy encouraging cross generational sex?" But when you read further, you understand it is a call to action for fathers to uphold their duties. When they do not fulfill their responsibilities, their children are the ones blamed for going astray, yet it all goes back to them. 
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should  i be blamed?

11/14/2017

4 Comments

 
​Should I be blamed?
For finding aggravation in the arms of a stranger
Can you really blame me for being fascinated by someone?
Who shows interest in my existence?
A man who spares time to make a call
Say good morning, send me good night kisses
Which you never did
Embrace me with the tightest hug when am down
Buy me a piece of candy to make me smile
All these give me total satisfaction
Because he loves me the way you never did.
 
Should I be blamed?
For choosing a man my father’s age
A man whose consistence and persistence to make me smile
 Breaks my resistance
A man in whose eyes I see a ray of light
Each time he looks at me
The light you never ever brought to my life
That that you never fought to give me
Because your interest in my existence was non-existent.
 
So where are you today?
Where are these men, the fathers?
Those that bring us on earth
And leave us to toil in the mad
The men that have escaped their responsibility
Those afraid to fight for their children
Those that dwell in the presence of shisha instead of the spirit
They have sought solace on the bottle instead of the Bible
And while the churches are full of women,
The prisons are full of men.
 
Should I be blamed?
If am asking you to be a father not just a man to my children
To be the father who will purpose to instill character and discipline
The father who will live not just for a day rather for a generation
The father who will run the race till the end
The father who will be the beginning of something new
Something called fathership and sonship
Where the hearts of the fathers are unto the children
And those of the children unto their fathers.
4 Comments

​I  SPEAK FOR THE GIRL

10/27/2017

4 Comments

 

I speak for the girl
Who cannot speak for herself
The girl who is afraid to look in the mirror
For all she sees is an ugly face
The girl who goes unnoticed
The girl who struggles not to crave
For she desires a kardashian structure
The girl who spends an hour photo editing
For all she sees in her is imperfection.
 
I speak for that girl
The girl who struggles for 20 Facebook likes,
50 twitter followers just to feel loved
The girl who has to wear layers of makeup
Just to feel beautiful
The girl who has been told she is too short to be on the runway
Too fat to be on TV
And too dark to be on the cover page of a magazine
The girl who does not love herself enough to see the beauty in her
For she lets her hair fall into her face
To cover up the spots
Afraid of rejection, afraid of the world
I speak for that girl.
 
I speak to that Girl
I speak to her soul with a gentle whisper
You are unique. You are special.
You are a Child of God. You have an amazing body
 
I compliment you without wanting to be on top of you
 
I speak to that Girl
I remind you of the Princess that you are;
Irrespective of your skin intonation,
Irrespective of your Body Mass Index,
You are God's Masterpiece;
An Esther of your time,
A Ruth of your generation,
A Rebecca for the man who will come into your life.
 
I speak to that Girl,
And I let you know,
That irrespective of what they have said to you,
Irrespective of what they have done to you,
You are Beautiful
I speak to that Girl.
 
I Speak for that Girl
Because once upon a time,
I was that Girl.
 
 
 
4 Comments

    rebecca Mercy Nimusiima


    ​A Ugandan girl with a deep passion for poetry. When she was 10 years old she was quite a reserved young girl, and she could only express herself through writing. The pen and paper have always been her dear friend.
    ​
    Mercy's inspiration come  from her surroundings and experiences.  Today she writes poetry to inspire, to encourage, to be a voice for others and to change lives.

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