Tuesday, 27 January 2015

Letter To Juliet

Dear Juliet,

With your sheer bravado and breeding grounds for broken hearts. I thought it wise for you to give me closure for the brouhaha I am trying to bathe myself off.

Long story short:

I am trapped in Davy Jone’s locker, I do not know if I am still alive but I but I am still breathing.

Come to think of it,

It would have been nicer had someone written a tell-all book about simple hellos ending in complicated goodbyes.
First time’s a drag.
It’s a bite in the ass knowing that all the promises I made were in vain, knowing that I let you break down a little piece of my wall because you ensured me that you will stay.

Juliet, may I please have my heart back? Since you ripped it out of my chest and placed it in between your breasts as you pretended to caress it, pretending to love it.

Let us strip our clothes off and compare our scars and see whose flesh bleeds drops of hurt more.
I guess I share the fault with the world having to have ever thought that with these bruises I would ever be wanted.
Making me love my bruise marks like they were love bites from passion back when you wanted me
“Please, still want me”

Juliet, have you ever stood idle and wondered where the time went when it was done with us?

I ate my words today, the same words I blew to you through Hade’s breath
They tasted of bitter regret
Was it my smile that encouraged it all?
I would rather smile and continuously get hurt than stay around and await the bitch of whose heart you possess or the demon you puppet.

Every word, every letter, and every ounce of “I Love You” that escaped the tip of the tongue of your wicked mouth I will pass to oblivion for the little piece of myself I never gave you is all I have left and it is all I will ever have.

Tuesday, 20 January 2015

"Hi, Goodbye & Farewell" Said Lunar.



Could you be any clearer?
She who lusts love, who lusts ink,
Who lusts lust.
You want me to stay and lay at your feet and kiss your toes while your leg hair play circles around me
Desiring to metaphor my panties to my knees and semaphore them to my ankles as your breath sways them off my feet.
She, whose neck smells of a scent I have always known but have neither known while I find myself falling out with lovers with the idea of finding love


The bags under my eyes tell stories, racing across a page to tell the story,
How the perfection that was you, astounded me.
How our cursive bodies intertwined.
Leaving a crater gaping in my chest, as my ribs go back into sinking suspicion in order to protect my heart.
For nights on end I have been embarking on a scavenger hunt within my mind replaying the whispering of sweet nothings in my ear.
Deep down apologising times without number for not being the woman you wanted,
Why should I apologise? Why am I apologising?


Our time is drawing to a close
Asking, “Lunar can you stay a little longer?”
Lunar is shedding skin, the same old skin you used to kiss
Lunar is bliss

Lunar is gone and consigns you into oblivion.

Thursday, 1 January 2015

The Revolution Is Now

Remember that we are the roots
And as humans we aim to live for now, head forward and never ever backwards.
Find a place that eases hurt and forms a laboratory of self reliance
Because people, the revolution is now.

The Revolution is now and it will not wait for you as you write endless poems about how haters be hating,
Boats you do not sail or kites you do not fly.
The truth is an offence and will never be a sin and for that you always have a reason to cry
Trapped in a crowd full of people who think not yet utter tom-foolery.
Because Honey, The Revolution is now

The Revolution will rarely be found In a place the eye does not see.
Or an echo the ear does not hear
It does not give a wits end if you are straight or gay because the difference is narrow.
It is not a saint nor a sinner it is the revolution within you and it begins now.

It does not tolerate the response of a slave and commands of a slave master because its the 21 century and shit like that just don't work no more.
It sits on the side lines and watches you and laughs at you as you metamorphosis into a being you were never meant to be
Because you keep playing it in your mind, time after time on how DREAMS are ILLEGAL in the GHETTO
And how times are just too damn hard for a "NEGRO"

The Revolution is now and it teaches you that Love loves, sacrifices, forgives and how love  tolerates
Facts on how Vexation of spirit is a waste of time
Negative thinking, a waste of thoughts
Verbal conflict, a waste of words 

Physical violence, a waste of flesh

The Revolution that was not televised was then,
The Revolution  that had no re-runs was there,
The Revolution that will be live is here,
The Revolution is now.

Wednesday, 5 November 2014

Alter Ego

Within the isolated mirrored cul-de-sac
Is a girl I occasionally see

Behind my shadow she sits, talking to herself, murmuring and whispering.
The sound of her diminuendo envelopes me. She envelopes  me.

Craving and fighting to stray beyond my shadow.
Wreaking colossal havoc upon my mind.

She told me to let her out without talking so much.
How her newness wants to show me how much my nothingness mean.

She wrote about how my life and body were on pause and mind on fast forward.
Her writing brought me solace.

She spoke about how superior her interior is
and how inferior my exterior feels.

Awakening  me at 4 am, trying to un-riddle my riddled wake
"unlike your lover, I will kiss your imperfections" she said.

Like these nights there has been better weather
"To give you empty agitation is not my wish" she fraternized with me some more.

The more in tune we were the more the art of prestidigitation came to be
Realising that I should rid myself off of her.
Who is me.

Before I do away with my inner being.

Friday, 31 October 2014

Woman In The Color Purple

I, for one used to wonder, if there are plenty of fishes in the sea, why choose the one choking on air and illusion?
One who asks
"would you still love me, when, I am no longer young and beautiful?"

She, who searched for sweetness in the most wrong places.
It made her sick, yet she gobbled it down with what made her sicker..
She sat quietly with her mole like behaviour, while, kissing underdogs..

Paralysed with unhappiness, she faulted to an extreme by looking for dead bodies in the lost and found.


The same dead bodies that utter
"You'll never amount to anything, Where are you going when you are of no value at an open market?"

You never ask a lover if you need to be loved.
It is an incentive-caused bias
Yet tragically in love with the idea of it.

Wondering why it is that,
One, is the loneliest number..
Like Snow White,
Contemplating whether to take a huge bite of the apple, or swallow the core.

That, Halloween late night feeling,
There was plenty of life wrapped up in your voice.
Emancipating the ghost within you, the ghost of the other woman,
A figure had emerged while
Minutes mocked the giver of oblivion.

"The jail you plot for me is the one you will rot in.."

You are saying a lot but you are saying nothing at all..

Never bother insisting yourself to someone who continuously overlooks your worth because
It is only when the tide goes down that you realise who has been swimming naked.

Tuesday, 9 September 2014

The Beginning &. . .

I do not think I have ever told her how I felt when we first conversed and first met.

Our friendship was cyber
And although it was, it was an adage that I believed to be true,

Clearly the future was not something I knew nor bothered caring about, it had occurred to me that neither did she, but for some reason,
She always kept her window open,

I was energized by being alone,
My energy appeared to be drained by thinking of feelings and temptations of the heart which were things I rarely took time for.
I would sabotage any chance I had to tell her that the feeling was in fact mutual.
I was more concerned with the inner world of my mind than reaching out to her. She had found me  at a point where I was simply trying to keep sane,

But she kept her window open,

I would stand outside her window, with my hands pressed against the glass, my fears fighting against the raindrops on the pane.

 I knew what I felt and was still feeling,
Sparks fly, sparks flew,

But she was a flame I did not have the strength to keep alive.
A  loving winter walking distance..

We finally met, she was beyond my mortal sight, her face alone enchanted my world-weary eyes

I stood outside her window once more, upon the glass laid previous marks of my hands.
I fell short of what I intended to do,
My expectations, set in stone.

I had started writing endlessly about her,
I was in a pile of
"should I?"
And in a pool of
"maybe not"
Everyday my guard would go down and I would let a piece of her into my mind.

I was
I was?
I. . . Was getting good at loving her.

I had found a resting point upon her cheek.
My tongue would whimsically dance to the sound of the letters of her name,
I was still not done chewing on thoughts of her

I would have never thought we would be saying "I Love You" to each other.
All the other shitty love books I had written before will be rewritten over, with new chapters, new beginnings, in new handwriting
Because of my basic
"I-am-happy-with-you & will-never-let-you-go" feeling,

All that being possible because, she kept her window open,
Open, for me :)

Wednesday, 27 August 2014

How Is It Not Night?

How is it not night, when,
The moon refuses to go away and accept I do not love it anymore..
Its light usually beams on my face, and my eyes would get bigger,

Looks as though there has been an accident in the sky cause usually raindrops would fall.

It is most probably night when
 I sit near the window, gazing at the same moon I claim to hate while scribbling sex thoughts with tiny crayons in my mind,
My words under pressure begin to bleed original sense.
Wouldn't she be proud.

It is likely to be night when
I find myself missing her and the shadows kick off their shoes and join me for a little tap dance, whispering "its only 3 months she'll be home soon"
It has not even been 3 minutes and I am quite losing it as it is.

I would like to think it is night when dawn turns into a feeling and the only challenge I face is not sleep paralysis but sleeping with thoughts, wishing my ideal body weight is hers on mine.
My thoughts under pressure begin to bleed less sense,
Without the sight of her who carries it,
They bleed less sense.

It is night isn't it, and
I would like to think there is nothing wrong with loving her
And logic be said, that the greatest drug that exists for a human is another human.
My human
Who seems to keep invading my thoughts, much more at night..