Finally I Can See You Crystal Clear|| Wedding Day|| Daily Prompt

Daily Prompt: Can’t Drive 55

She smiled as she took in her reflection. Her white dress hugged her body in the right places, showing off her statuesque figure. She smiled. She looked stunning and she knew it. She sighed with relief as she sat down. She needed to rest – it was the only time she was going to get a chance to rest for the entire day. She chuckled. A bride’s wedding day was one of the best days of her life but it was also one of the most active. She shuddered as she thought of all of the events planned for the day. A sense of peace followed right after the shudder. It was here. Her wedding day was finally here. She sighed as she took a bit of time to think of all of the heartbreaks she’d cried over. She laughed. To think that she’d cried over guys who would have had her feeling very uncertain if she were to wed anyone of them. She shook her head. The pains of adolescence and young adulthood were many but she’d endured. She’d made it. She thought of the very first day she met him.

She was in the midst of contemplating the emotionally draining relationship she’d found herself in. Then along came this guy with a wonderful smile and a sense of humour to match. She’d given him the label – Best Friend. But for a long time her heart had said otherwise. It took one fateful day – months after she’d ditched the last douche bag. She smiled as she remembered how he simply told her that he liked her and he was tired of sitting in the shadow of being a mere “Best Friend”.
She remembered how confused she’d felt. In the months that they’d become best friends, they’d shared everything with each other. Everything. The good. The bad. The ugly. The really ugly. She didn’t know if she could allow him to love her with all the baggage she had. Life was quite a blur for her as their friendship went on one heck of a rollercoaster ride.
They stopped talking due to her uncertainties and insecurities.

Her favourite part began to play in her mind. A mutual friend of theirs was getting married and they were both part of the bridal party. It had been so awkward considering the fact that the last time they’d seen each other, they’d been yelling at each other at the top of their lungs. Now there they were, partners in the bridal party. She remembered the taut smiles. The sad feeling eating away at her heart. Her heart lifted as she remembered how he came outside and found her whilst she had a little cry. The bride and groom had already left and the bridal party was free to do as they please. She’d become overwhelmed at the thought of “what could be” she had to leave. She remembered feeling someone grab her arm and pull her close to them. She’d already recognized his cologne. She tried to protest but he refused.

“I let you go once,” he’d said. “I refuse to let you go again. I love you – baggage and all. All I ask is that you see through your haze and realize that you deserve to be loved.”

She smiled as she remembered how it felt for the blur of confusion to leave her sight. She remembered looking up at him.

“I see you clearly now,” she’d said. “I see us clearly now.” Her thoughts were interrupted by the harried wedding planner barging through the door. “It’s time!” she said, gasping for breath. She took a deep breath and rose from her seat. It was time.

Walking down the aisle, the priest’s words, the congregation around her were all a blur. All she could see was the love of her life in front of her. It was time for the vows. She smiled up at him as she prepared to say her vows.

“Finally, we are here.
Expressing our great love we share.
Finally, all can see
The amazing future that is you and me. Finally, we are here, my love
Where all can see that this was made by God above.
Time has had its challenges.
Time has had its pain.
But though we’ve fallen a couple of times, we’ve risen time and time again.
I promise to love you through it all.
Through every problem, every celebration – big and small.
Finally, my love, we are here.
Through all of the blurs of my life, my eyes are clear.
Finally, I can see you crystal clear.
I see you clearly.
I love you dearly.
I see us, baby.
You and I is all I see.”

If you love them, hold on to them. If you know that they are worth it then hold on. Love cannot survive without faith and effort. Forget what the world will say. If you know that he/she is the one..then keep them!!!

Title from 3rd line of Rolling in The Deep – Adele


Victory: A Dedication to All The Survivors

Beat down. Beat up.
You rose from the pain.
Torn down. Ripped apart.
They beat your body. But you still have
Your heart.

Words like knives cut through your
Their laughter kept you down.
Smile, dear.
You’re standing tall. Let them see your Crown.

Gagged by oppression.
Bound by their deceit.
They locked you in with their misery.
They took joy in yours.
Look at you now, fighter. Six feet high
And flying through those doors.

They tried to make you lose.
They celebrated your demise.
Oh how they ran when you broke free
And began to rise.

Smile, you survivor.
Laugh. You’re stronger now.
The worst is over. Your battle’s won.
Don’t you ever let someone take your
You’re too loaded to fail.

Smile, you survivor.
Raise your hands up high.
Victory is yours forever.
Don’t you ever let anyone
Tell you

To every single one of you who has been subject any kind of oppression…smile. You are strong. You are beautiful. You are a survivor. Victory will always be yours.

If you have a story of victory you’d like to share please send it to or catch me on Facebook: Chipo Faith Biti.

I’d love to read your stories and maybe share them too.

Her Funny Man || Short Fiction

She sat at the coffee table. She watched her hand stir her coffee on…and on…and on….

She was pretty sure that she’d dissolved every single sugar particle but she kept stirring. She wasn’t even in the mood for coffee. She’d needed to leave the house and well…the cafe down the road seemed the best place to escape to. She had, after all, spent the last five months in her house. The joys of being a writer, she smiled bitterly. No one forced her to leave her house. Her friends had tried and failed. She couldn’t face them. Not yet. She was still stinging from that day…

“Woah there, pretty lady! You’re about to stir that coffee off of the table!”

She snapped out of her thoughts and looked up at the person. She managed to stifle a gasp. A fine looking man was standing in front of her, a heart-warming smile on his fa. She gulped.

“Sorry,” she spoke quietly.

“Mind if I sit down?” He asked. She wanted to say no but was surprised to find herself nodding. What are you doing?   she asked herself. He sat down and smiled at her. She suddenly felt self-conscious of her attire – a plain summer dress that was in serious need of bright colours.

“Who was he and what did he do?” He asked all of a sudden . Her eyes widened. He smirked.

“I have five sisters,” he explained. “I know the drill.”

She shifted in her seat uncomfortably.

“Besides, I was their personal punching bag,” he pulled a face. She giggled. The laugh sounded so foreign to her.

“You have such a beautiful smile,” he complimented her. “One wouldn’t guess that you’re a serial killer.”

“A serial killer?” She asked, stunned.

Cereal. You know, Cheerios, Froot Loops? I saw the way you were stirring that coffee. Lord knows what you can do to poor innocent bits of honey-coated grains!”

She giggled again.

“You’re crazy!” She couldn’t stop laughing.

“And you’re too beautiful to be sad!” He countered. She calmed down and looked at the good-looking man with the chocolate brown eyes.

“My fiancè left me at the altar five months ago,” she sniffed. “Cold feet of note.”

She sighed with relief. It was the first time she’d  mentioned the drama without bursting into tears. She looked at the table. She felt his hand tilt her chin up.

“Please go out with me,” he spoke quietly.

“You don’t know me,” she replied, stunned.

“So I’ll get to know you,” he replied.

“I-I’m not ready to date,” she stuttered.

“I-I don’t talk to cereal killing women but here I am talking to you,” he smirked. She smiled.

“But I don’t even know you,” she tried to enforce that with conviction but it wasn’t there.

He put his hand on hers.

“I’m Tim,” he replied. “And I want to make you smile. I want to make you laugh. I want to make you believe that you do deserve to be happy.”

She didn’t know what to say.

“Think of me as your personal funny man,” he flashed a cheesy grin. She chuckled. She was amazed. She hadn’t smiled let alone laughed in months yet this random guy had managed to make her laugh at least four times in the space of fifteen minutes.

She smiled.

“I’m Anna,” she replied. “Friday at 8. That’s when I’ll be free.”

Walking. Walking With You.

a dedication. Kudzi…thanks for kicking my butt and having my back 🙂

Come take my hand and walk with me.
Walk with me and sing me a song
Tell me tales of what makes you
Come take my hand and walk with me.

Come take my hand and walk with me.
Forget about the noise around and focus on the
Peace that sets you free.
Hold my hand. Don’t let go.
Hold my hand and walk with me.

Come take my hand and walk with me.
Our steps matching as we create this journey.
Admire the stars. Bask in the sun.
Forget about your worries. Your battles Have been won.
Smile child and walk with me.

I’m here to walk with you. To guide you as you go.
You may trip. You may fall.
I’m here to pick you up. To push you forward when you look back.
Come take my hand and walk with me.

I’ll never let you go.

I Don’t Have An Eating Disorder||The Bulimic Saga||Finale

And here we are at the end of the Bulimic Saga. Thank you for reading! If you’re new, I’d advise you to start this short story. Here’s the link:


She tapped her foot nervously on the restaurant’s marble floor. She couldn’t stop checking her watch.

Where is she? She thought. She looked at the restaurant’s entrance. People were streaming in and out but none of them interested her. Suddenly, her eyes spotted a bright red, designer coat that looked very familiar. She looked at the rest of the outfit – nude black Jimmy Choo boots, a knee-length crème dress – it appeared to be cashmere – and a red scarf to top it off. The woman looked glamorous. She stood up and waved at the fashionista. The woman, who didn’t look a day over forty, smiled and made her way towards the table.

She gulped and mentally prepared herself. She stood up. The fashionista stopped as she stared at her daughter in shock.

“Hi Mum,” she smiled, a little sadly. “It’s so good to see you.”

They hugged. Her mother still looked shocked when they sat down.

“You look so different!” she gasped. “You’ve lost so much weight!”

“Yes, so I’ve heard,” she replied. “You should be happy now.”

“I am!” her mother replied happily. “You look great! You could do with gaining one or two more kilos but you look great! How do you feel?”

She clasped her hands at she looked at her mother. The years of arguments about her weight flashed through her mind. The tears she shed after being called “Fat”. The number of times she’d contemplated cutting herself.

“Baby?” her mum put her hand on her daughter’s tense hands. She came back to earth. She smiled at her mum.

“It’s so good to see you, Ma,” she said. Meanwhile, a battle between bitterness and forgiveness raged in her heart. She was looking at the main reason for her insecurities. The source of her pain, she’d always said. She felt her heart harden.

“It’s good to see you too, baby,” her mother said. She could see that she meant it. She took a deep breath.

“I’ve been suffering from an eating disorder for the past year and a half,” she spoke. She looked at her hands. She didn’t want to look at her mother. She couldn’t. “I’ve been in hospital more times in the past six months than I have throughout my entire childhood. I wake up without a voice on some days and my throat burns every now and then. I’m still struggling to keep a meal down without wanting to rush to the bathroom and throw it up. I haven’t thrown up in three months. It’s been hard, so hard. But I’m getting better each day. The depression dies a little after every day but I knew that I couldn’t recover fully without seeing you. I had to see you to settle the years of battles we’ve had because of my weight. I-”

She hadn’t noticed her mother’s hand squeezing hers until then. She looked up and felt a wave of emotion as she saw her mother’s tear-stained face.


Her mother shushed her. The tears on her mother’s face were flowing uncontrollably. She didn’t know what to do; she wasn’t used to seeing her mother cry.

“I knew I shouldn’t have put it off,” her mother wept. “I knew I shouldn’t have.”

She was confused.

“Put off what, Ma?” she asked.

“I’ve been meaning to have this talk with you,” her mother explained. “Baby, I owe you an apology. All these years…I’m so sorry. I was going to speak to you about it but the last time we met, you looked so happy. You looked so comfortable in your body. Then we had a stupid row and this is the first time I’ve seen you in two years and…I’m so sorry. Damn me and my foolish pride. If you hadn’t called to see me, we’d probably still be rowing.”

“Mum, it’s okay –

“No it’s not okay, baby,” her mother covered her mouth. “I let you down. I drove you to this edge. I was only trying to give you a little push. I never meant for this to happen.”

“I forgive you, Mum,” she said quietly. It didn’t seem like her mother had heard her. She was still trying to apologize.

“Mum, I forgive you,” she spoke loudly. “I forgave you the day I realized that I was responsible for this disorder. You may have pushed me but I was the one who shoved my fingers down my throat and threw up everything I ate.”

Her mother winced.

“Sorry,” she apologized. “I was a little raw. What I’m trying to say is I didn’t ask you here to make you beg for forgiveness. I came here to ask for your help. I came to ask for a new start. The same way I’ve decided to start anew with my health. I’ve been seeing a therapist and I had a minor spell at rehab and one thing I learned there is that I needed to have my mother by my side again.”

She was crying too.

“So can we start afresh?” she asked. “Can we put the years of strife behind us and look ahead? I don’t want us to fight. I want us to be friends.”

“I want that too, baby,” her mother cried as they reached for each other. They didn’t notice the people around them who’d heard the entire conversation. Some of the ladies were crying too. A couple of men looked like they were about to become emotional. Others reached for their phones, starting roads of reconciliation with their own friends and family.

The two women broke the embrace and smiled tearfully at each other.

“I love you, baby,” her mother said. “I’m proud of you and I’m here for you. We’re probably going to fight every now and then but I refuse to let any of that come between us. I’m here by your side for life.”

“I love you too, Mum,” she smiled.

The battle was over. She’d forgiven her mother and she’d finally forgiven herself. She still had a long way ahead of her but she knew that she was not going to fall into any ditch any time soon. And even if she did, she had enough the people around her to cheer her on when she climbed out.

For the first time in a very long time, she felt good. And it had absolutely nothing to do with weight.


*The End*




The world is full of women – young and old – who are not comfortable with their bodies. Plagued by insecurity and a feeling of inadequacy, many of these women resort to harmful habits all in the name of “looking good”. Most of the time, all these women need is a helping hand, a listening ear, and a supportive individual. If you’re suffering from an eating disorder, find someone to speak to. What you are doing is not healthy. Seek help. If you know of someone who is or possibly could be suffering from an eating disorder, I urge you now – forget “It’s not my business” – interfere and save that person’s life! If you won’t, who will?

I Do Not Have An Eating Disorder||The Bulimic Saga|| Part 3

For part 1 and 2 click this link! 🙂

Part 3: Decision

The burning sensation in her throat was unbearable. She got up from her bed and dragged herself to the bathroom. She’d adjusted to the dizziness she experienced throughout the day. She smiled sadly. It was like a devoted pet – it followed her everywhere. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her face was narrower. Her cheekbones were more defined – a bit too defined. Her eyes looked tired and her lips looked like they were in serious need of petroleum jelly – lipstick was not going to fix this mess. She put her hand on her neck and was not surprised to feel heat radiating from it. Her throat felt raw and it was killing her. The dizziness was killing her. She looked at herself in the mirror.

“I’m killing myself,” she croaked. The throwing up. It had done wonders for her weight but it was destroying her wellbeing. Depression had become a standard element in her life. She was never happy. She was always stressed. Always jumpy. She’d lost her strength. Lifting her handbag was becoming a mission and that was far from good. She ran a shaking hand through her hair. For the first time in months, she’d finally seen her true reflection. She was tired. Her face looked tormented. This wasn’t the beauty she’d had in mind when she started throwing up. Was this even beauty? She wondered.

She sighed.

“I have to fix this,” she croaked. She winced.


I Do Not Have An Eating Disorder|| The Bulimic Saga|| Part Two

Please read part 1 before you proceed with part 2 🙂 Your readership is much appreciated!!



Part 2: Depression




Another tear escaped from her eye as hot flames burned in her stomach. A wave of nausea pummelled her senses as she closed her eyes. She felt weak. She felt tired. She felt sick in every way possible – mentally, emotionally, physically and spiritually.

She couldn’t even pray for the pain to go away because she felt and knew that she’d brought it upon herself. Several months of binge-eating and throwing up had rendered her dehydrated and suffering from severe hypotension. The slightest sudden move sent her mind into crash mode. She’d fainted enough the times at home. The safest places for her were the bed and the couch. A work colleague had dropped her off at home after she’d retched and passed out in the corridor. The doctor had diagnosed her with severe dehydration.

“You’ve always been healthy at your check-ups,” the doctor had said. “And you aren’t pregnant. I don’t understand why your dehydration is so severe.”

She knew why but she wasn’t about to tell the doctor about her dietary activities.

She’d been reduced to drinking water and small sips of soup. Any other food caused the burning fire in her stomach to rage fiercely. A number of her friends would come and check on her. They were shocked to see her in such a state. She was Ms Put-Together. She was never stressed and she was never sick.

“Well, to hell with that,” she croaked. The apartment was empty and it wasn’t helping her sinking depression. She’d lost another four kg’s but it was starting to become meaningless. Her health was deteriorating but she just couldn’t stop. If she stopped throwing up, then the weight would come back. She didn’t want the weight to come back.

Tears were flowing freely. She’d tried to stop after having a heart-to-heart with one of her friends, Tamara, who was struggling with her own demons regarding weight loss. She was struggling to let go of starving herself for days on end then binge-eating after.

“Girl, you have been throwing up your food for over two months,” Tamara said firmly. “You have an eating disorder. Sort it out now before it becomes a real problem.”

But she hadn’t sorted it out and now she was really suffering. She struggled to stand up and stagger to the kitchen. She searched for pain killers and a sleeping tablets. She gulped them down before she could think of her carelessness. She knew she wasn’t going to die. She just wanted to sleep.

She staggered back to the couch and allowed sleep to take over.


I Don’t Have An Eating Disorder! || The Bulimic Saga|| Part 1

The Bulimic Saga

A tale about a young woman who recently entered the world of bulimia. To her, it’s just “Aiding her weight loss plan”. “I don’t have an eating disorder. I’ve got this under control.”

A tale about a woman’s journey through pain, acceptance, and revival.

WordPress Weekly Writing Challenge

For this week’s creative writing challenge, tell us about what health means to you. Have you struggled with an illness, physical or emotional? 

Part 1: The Usual

She leaned over the toilet seat as she gasped for breath. The smell of her own puke, however, was aggravating her initially self-induced nausea. She stood up carefully and flushed what was once her dinner down the toilet bowl. She could feel tears streaming down her cheeks – standard after-effect of throwing up. She moved to the sink and washed her han


ds, avoiding her reflection in the mirror. She bent down to rinse her mouth out – removing any reminders of what she’d just done. She took a deep breath and stood up straight. Her reflection didn’t shock her anymore. Her eyes were slightly red due to the tears. She looked tired. Throwing up made her feel tired.

It also made her lose ten kilograms in six weeks so she couldn’t complain. She wiped the tears away and forced a smile on her face. Her teeth were still white, which was a relief to her. She’d read enough of the horror stories that came with “bulimia”. She, however, was not bulimic. She didn’t have an eating disorder. Well, that’s what she kept telling herself.

“If I had an eating disorder then I’d know,” she’d always tell herself. “Besides, I’ve only been doing this for a couple of weeks.”

She patted her shirt down, made sure she looked alright, and left the bathroom. She forced a bright smile onto her face as she returned to her table of friends. Someone had ordered wine and it looks like the girls were on their second glass. Her glass was already full. Her mind flashed. Alcohol on an empty stomach? She decided to sip it slowly.

“Sorry about the delay ladies,” she smiled. “Had a minor make-up situation.”

She casually searched her friends’ faces for any hint of suspicion. She found nothing. She was relieved. She was proud of herself. She was always discrete with her after-meal activity. If she was at home, she’d wait until everyone had gone to their rooms. She’d down a litre of water and expel all of it – and her meal – into the toilet bowl. No one had suspected a thing. Why would they? She was Ms Sunshine. The woman without a problem. The woman who looked good with curves. She hated her curves. Lord knows that she hated them with a burning passion – but no one knew that. There was only one person who’d become suspicious.

Her best friend, Yazmin. Yazmin had come to visit after months of travelling. She took one look at her and fired a series of questions.

“Why’ve you lost so much weight?”

“Are you starving yourself?”

“When was the last time you ate?”

She’d managed to fend off the questions with an incredulous laugh and a load of reassurance. She took a sip of her wine as she remembered her words.

“Me? Starve myself? Never. Yazmin, you haven’t seen me in so long that’s all,” she’d reassured her friend. “I’ve only lost a couple of kilos.”

Technically, she hadn’t been lying. She wasn’t starving herself. She’d eat normally and calmly proceed to upchuck everything she’d ingested. Her conscious prickled.

What? She contested it. I wasn’t lying. I just left out a little information.

She wasn’t fazed by her “habit”. She had it under control. She’d stop when she was ready to stop.

That’s all.

From the Estetica Institute of Palm Beaches

Dreams Money Can Buy?

**My Take…On Dreams**


Dreams Money Can Buy

“I want it all!”

Luxuries. Luxuries everywhere.

“I want it all so I won’t have to care

About the worries of the world because my cares would’ve been met.

Substantially. Excessively. Completely. Wholly.”


Hands everywhere. Hands grabbing. Hands flailing.

Madness crying from all pores of the materialistic as they

Pine for the lavish. As they crave the luxurious.

As they hunger for the shiny gold at the end of their

Dream-chasing, back-breaking rainbow.


Dollar, dollar, dollar. They all want the dollar.

The dollar that comes with no stress.

The dollar that’ll buy that Vera Wang dress

Today, tomorrow, and forever.

The dollar bill that’ll drive a human mad enough to kill.


They want the worries of the world, washed down by the riches.

They want the pain to be healed by the sudden fame.

The accolades and the Escalades will suddenly cascade into their lives

Bringing back their wives and settling their husbands.

They crave for riches – their “Promise Land”.


Dreams money can buy. That’s all they see.

Dreams money can buy…does not seem like a reality.

More like a futile fantasy in the minds of the trapped.

An empty promise seeded in their heads as they slave away

In that little boxed office until they’re dead.


Money won’t give you your dreams.

Fame won’t fix what’s broken.

Gold is no painkiller. Diamonds are no healing pill.

Dig deeper than that. Travel the path less taken.

Dreams money can buy? Don’t be mistaken.