Tides & Currents

Ripened Desire. His love ran down my chin like juice from the pomegranate. I savoured every seed, looked up to see his ecstasy, syrupy sweet. When we locked eyes, we threw away all keys. I swear his gaze alone could bring me to my knees. A graze of my hand along the side of his neck, that was pretty much all it took to set his soul at ease. That kind of power is deadly, dangerous. When the pull is so strong that all resistance becomes weak. I would run to him now, but I’m not prepared to bleed. I only have a few more lives left in me. I’d be damned if I stay, damned if leave. So leave me right where I stand, don’t call out to me. All the memories I hold on to, where do I put them down? The bass of his voice, can I rid myself of the sound? The mischief of his smile and the furrow of his brow. Shit, I even romanticised the downward curl of his frown. The tides and currents we made. Happy to be a drop in his ocean. It’s my greatest strength and my worse vice. The way I studied him. To replay every conversation like a never ending melody. To still feel the warmth of his skin on bed sheets. Sights and Sounds, I can never forget. The Taste, Touch , Smell of someone I swore saw the human in my being. Martyrdom in the name of potential love, the only sacrifice both binding and freeing. Teach me to let it all go. Sweep it all away.

Do You Believe In Second Chances?

You don’t like being controlled.

I don’t like being lonely   

Even when I’m not alone.

Desires for intimacy

But your hands too shaky to hold

Not trying to force you to fit the mould,

You know I struggle with control.

I looked inward to find the source of my inhibitions

That floated up to the surface  to a synagogue  of witnesses.

A sea of faces, and they all have your eyes,

When there’s nowhere to run or hide 

You gotta enter the chamber

Slay the dragon, kill the Pride.

Disarmed you with the truth

And a conversation you weren’t ready for

Corrupted soil bore the fruit of the land you consumed 

Now you’re dazed and confused

Wondering why your mental strings are out of tune. 

It’s a parasitic cycle we live in 

Acting like we don’t care,

Closed mouths don’t get fed

Pleading the fifth gets you nowhere.

Miscommunication patented the seed

For the roots of deception

Descent into the land where entropy reigns supreme.  

Energy of entitlement got you all fucked up 

it seems.

I want to understand

First you need to throw me a bone.

These virtual realities of failed systems 

Could crumble at the foot of our

Ignited soles.

When your vision meets my minds eye 

What a sight to behold.

We could get a taste of how it feels to be whole 

To see today’s genesis 

In light of the old. 

Reflections

9:37 pm. I’m alone

The call has just ended

With unresolved silence

From my side of the dial

Tone deaf and dumb

An uncertainty lingers

In the air from her

‘Goodbye, I love you, speak soon.’

Naturally I deal with these

Uncomfortable moments

Where I’m left with nothing

But self reflection and a

Dead battery the only way

I know how.

Cherry red lips

And a swivel of gloss

Stains the rim.

No drop will be left to

It’s lonesome tonight

There’s a Red Sea inside of me

Waiting to be parted

I dissolve into despondency

Inebriated therapy .

There are mistakes that I’ve made,

Risks that’s I’ve taken,

Sins I still seek atonement for,

And decisions I refuse to face

All screaming in

Harmonious discord

Why did I let it get this far?

If a sixth sense exists, and

A woman’s intuition is God

Then I have denounced both,

My own personal Judas.

Didn’t listen to my heart

Did what I was expected

Paralysed by parental pressure

When it was time to speak my truth

My backbone bent

Not strong enough to withstand

The commodity of my youth.

So they all laughed .

Laughs turned to horror

Horror turned scowls of disgust

Disgust to confusion

They must’ve thought me delirious.

When the jokes not so funny anymore,

‘Oh, she’s serious?’

Voices sink like quicksand.

People really look like places

When you’re lost.

A man can look like a home

When you think you have none .

Hollow inside

I allowed many to take up residence

Not even dead presidents

Could pay off the debts they raised

Imagine me, Almost 23.

And I thought I’d ruined my life

Thought I spoke up too late

Ran when the timing wasn’t quite right

A trail of breadcrumbs left

Still waiting on the mice

To take it all away,

Conceal my misguided steps

I was waiting for days, weeks ,

Months, a year later

And still left there standing

Still hoping to salvage my self before expiry

Eyes cast to the heavens thinking

Man, God must be tired of me.

Gave me so many exit plans

I stood dumbfounded at every door

Looking for ways out

Drawing circles on the floor

When momma hang up the phone

I didn’t know what to say anymore

Didn’t know my future

Didn’t know what I was doing

I let him change my name

Left to ruin

As if it made me any more of a woman

Signed my independence away

Blood stained calligraphy.

They say a man who finds a wife

Finds a beautiful thing,

But I wasn’t ready

So his blessing became my curse

Final chapter written in cursive

Open Endings still uncertain.

I can never really explain

Just how much it hurt,

Still I managed to claw my way

Through the dirt.

Sometimes the pain comes back to visit

Like an old time friend

Reminding me, Never. Never again.

If life was a lucid dream

I would’ve woken way sooner

Changed the narrative

Traveled the nine circles of hell

And bought back my soul

…Just 22 years old.

I’d tell her don’t slow down

It’s only just begun.

The Walk

I haven’t just yet.

But I’ve figured it out. And amidst all my worry and doubt a sense of relief lies buried beneath the rubble. Relief in the inevitable or what I deem to be decided. So much could be solved if I simply speak. If I articulated what I felt instead of waiting for words to fall into my lap. I feel the shift. The change in energy, and the looming threat of separation like a candle in the wind. I know it’s a matter of my own doing. I want you to speak, but who am I to demand expectation. The lingering thoughts in your mind, the content of your heart, all your senses and sensibilities, are yours to share, not mind to demand. Besides, I want you to want to. To reveal, confide and confess on your own accord. Because you feel safe with me. Because you find consolation in our minds interweaved. A knot in the thread is the only thing that seals. Let me be transparent, I’ll stop making excuses. I know my diversion can be worse than hubris. Sometimes I shy away from conversation, afraid of losing the illusion of control. Control of my fears, desires, secrets. Control of my philosophy, interests, taboos. I say it’s because I don’t want them to consume you. In part, that is quite true. Really, I fear that you’ll contain me. Whether you want to or not. There are depths behind your eyes that I can’t quite reach, but I feel them as if I’m slowly drifting into the deep. And with every glance in my direction that current is felt. I can tell you’re not like everyone else. So I hide behind base level vanities to shield my fragility. Deep conversations breed vulnerability. I know you want to go beyond the surface, ironically I want the same. My countenance may say otherwise, but really it’s all a foolish game. There’s much more to this, it’s worth the try. If it means I must lay aside my pride, then I’ll throw down my armour and look you in the eyes. No distractions, aversions of glance. I’m ready to talk if you’d still like to hear. Let’s go for a walk, you can lend me your ear.

Hope.

In this valley of dry bones

Humanity once thrived.

Now war cries of pain

Echo between the hills

Tumbleweeds leave

Crimson stained tracks

Of a world we once knew,

Before Malevolence raised

His hateful hand

Blade gleaming in the desert sun

Striking the earth so

Swift and deliberate

They were eaten by the chasm

One by one.

Tell me Son of Man,

Can these bones live ?

Could It Be, I am All I Need?

I arose and Divinity leapt from my tongue.

The extent of my Mind was Boundless

Imagination Limitless

Power Unbridled, Manifest Destiny

At my finger tips. One hand to the

Heavens Above,

One towards the

Earth Below.

Thus spoke Zarasthustra

And my will to Power

My will to Create.

Exceedingly and abundantly,

Exceedingly and abundantly.

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙁𝙖𝙡𝙡

“In Hell, in Hell there’s Heaven.”-Solo, Frank Ocean

To fall under your possession,

Surrendering free will

And biting my tongue

In response to

Your cruel affection.

The sweetest violation

the thrill of temptation

Acted upon without the

Slightest of hesitation.

I want to worship

At the head of your altar,

Where I end is where you begin

Two entities intertwined

In sensual sin

Teetering on the edge

Of Armageddon

My gates are open

Your residence is welcome .

♡︎

The Grand Optimist

 

With youthful merriment

I have dared to tread

Waters unknown to man.

Countless times amongst the waves

I watched my dreams

In the distance

Armed with ardour

And a lover’s zeal

I knew they’d come to fruition.

A grand optimist of sorts,

From infancy I pledged

I’d aspire to greater things

Like they always say you should,

Sacrifice my heart and pride

Work toward the greater good.

Look how times have changed my friend

How sentiments wash away,

I wouldn’t dare lift a hand

Disturb my permanence

For a fleeting moment

Or brief epiphany.

To watch it fail yet once again

A burden I cannot bear

I’d rather live a life confined

To a comfort zone of fear.

I apologise for my jarring tone

and melancholy notes

When life reaps enough disappointment

You too will sing such songs.

 

“What did I do? What did I do?
What did I do? Tell me, what did I do to be so black and blue?”

Subjectivity vs. Objectivity: When Does It Go To Far?

Extreme subjectivity in journalism is the most detestable thing. Now this is no bash against subjectivity, or a critique on which method is ‘better’, for human beings are inherently subjective, and both methods are important & useful in their own right. But when the line between authentic reporting & propaganda have been blurred you are on dangerous territory . There are too many instances of the media insidiously inserting certain dogmas into the minds of viewers. When it comes to significant matters such as political affairs, religion, and societal relations, I would hope that reporters would be more objective , presenting the world & matters as they are, not as they see it, or how they would like it to be seen. Personal social & political agendas interwoven with truth is like mixing in a pinch poison in your coffee. It is tainted nonetheless. A talk show & a news report are two different things, two completely different contexts. In a story regarding human interest for example, discussed in an open forum, where the host is trying to evoke a certain response from the audience & vice versa, subjectivity has every right to reign freely. As a professional you have to learn when to put your own opinions on the back-burner, and when they’re necessary for utilisation. Especially in light of the things that are transpiring here & around the world, the importance of discretion is vital.

Concrete Songs of Melancholy

These streets are as wild as

The natives heart.

We  watch the city

Change like the fleeting hour

The morning smell of

Coffee and cigarettes

Complements the businessman’s scowl

Felt from a mile away.

 

Do you know how it feels

To be constantly lost in

A sea of faces?

A part of the culture

Yet invisible to Man.

Lonely in this

Mosaic of life.

 

Until you find a rose creeping out of the concrete.