Honestly...

It all made sense when i saw him. He was what you were after all along, and because he and i look similar you concluded that our contents would be too. I do not know him personally kodwa from what i see he seems to be deeply in love with you. He seems like he agrees with what you say and where you want to go; where love lives according to your rules and definitions, according to when it stops and begins. He seems to smile a lot and take selfies with you in the background. You comment on his pictures and i’m pretty certain you make fantastic, mind-blowing love to him. That you tell him you love him and also sing for him.

What i see in him is a little bit of myself when i was with you, minus what you referred to as "temperament"; i too was deeply in love with you, i was open to agreeing to some of the things you said and places mentioned for us to go to. I tried living in a love according to your definitions and rules, where it could begin and end but that spelled trouble for me, i couldn’t for long, i was looking for a partner and not a liar or half-baked lover  . It makes sense now that when you said you loved me you were referring to him and the other whatever-number boys in Johannesburg and perhaps elsewhere that you had contact with that were similar to he and i. I just happened to be open to love and you were there to pretend you were to. i just happened then to be the first one in line; second to she whose name shall remain unknown. We grappled her out of the way and i was ready to forget that she exists, that she is a threat, and when that journey was about to start my intuition about he who shares a bed with you presently and others began inviting itself. I was hurt and to a degree still am. You managed to love in many places and all at once; selling dreams and manifesting them but that was never enough. I wanted you and all of you and In innumerable attempts to get the latter i began to lose myself.

In thought and within various places like when taking a dump, in a taxi back to Varsitiy, lying next to you post-coitus or when you would say something stupid in your car like: “Pretoria is so full of beautiful boys, look at that one”... or even during conversation with loved ones i was slowly aware of the action required to regain myself, kodwa i stayed and let you look into my eyes, kiss my lips, breathe into me and even peek into the depths of my being that i do not just share with a tom, DICK, or harry. You made me feel like any other Tom, Dick or Harry and now you are doing it to him. Honestly there are two things i hope happen: 1. that with him you learned from me and are honest in what you are saying to him and are not going to leave him dismantled , 2. that like i he sees through you (given you are the same beautiful jerk) and leaves when he is still intact, emotionally. Emotions are such a beautiful disaster, they are the reason i am seated here at work on the 31st, a day before the New Year, and writing this. They fuel my creativity and are the reason i left when i realised that i was a trophy... all shiny and easy to show off to yours.... and they are also the reason i am able to smile with each new day and regain myself from the “i” you created and i stupidly believed i was (the angry, snappy, ready to date someone else even if they have a significant other, moody and selfish me). Slow progression but it all makes sense now.
honestly.

Noah's Garden

I will build you a garden,

A place engulfed by smiles, hugs, and the quiet

Roses abundant; gifts for you

the sunlight; your father and I

I love you so, even though I have not heard you cry

Haven’t touched your skin or stared into your eyes.

You are my all,

In need of protection, teaching, and loving

And yet, 

I’m the one being taught by you that spirit, gentleness, and kindness are the way of life

Tonight I planted a seed and tomorrow its fruit will be yours to reap,so you grow

And forever be a part of spirit

That way you will know to turn outside-in when the rest of the world is in turmoil

I will try my best and hope that it’ll be enough

I’ll build you a garden,

A place engulfed by smiles, hugs, and maybe not so much the quiet

I want you to scream, run, and laugh as loudly as you can

Be vocal and share your feelings.

Grass, roses, the moonlight, your father and I

We haven’t heard you cry nor looked into your eyes.

He’s still somewhere out there, your other dad;

In need of protection, teaching, and loving

And yet I know that you are also his everything.

God, grant this to he and I

A chance for your love to shine through our home

A garden for Noah who’s still up there with you,

But lives in our hearts already because you do

Perhaps

perhaps life's not too short

perhaps it is death that is too quick to arrive

perhaps depending on how one lives life,

at the beginning of death new life regained.

perhaps.

Façade

Yes! I am…

Brilliant, gorgeous, courageous and speak my mind

My mind alters, at times even incorrectly, all that my senses sense

And through which in rivers, information flows to reach the sea called my mind,

Sometimes pure, most times polluted by a history

The sea grows and waves are formed, rippling to areas not interested or party to all that’s around
That is how it is formed.
De-formed.
When all pouting and picture taking ceases,
And all that is left is a reflection of untrue reason,
Seasons gone moulding my beliefs of self, lying to save the poor reflection of I
FAÇADE!
Leaves from autumn, summer days gone but sunlight from then still alive
Winter within winter, and spring that sprang but one’s still springing in
All together to convince others that I am…
Brilliant, gorgeous, courageous and speak my mind
Yet continue running with the façade that all is true but not

Untitled

when I miss me,

I go through pictures of you.

Untitled

what is the point of having residence in your heart,

when in your house and in-between your daily dealings it is he you fuck?

The other side of Blue

I could see it,

The other side

As I lay there struggling but not trying anymore

I let the arms of the ocean hold me, instead of fighting and wanting and aiming

For my own way

I was in the deep blue, and as it appeared the other side seemed better

“One more time”,

Then I tried

And I woke-up on the other side

The other side of blue

Darker than what I saw and imagined,

Deeper

And from that point, looking back

“That blue was much better a hue”

FOR MY PRECIOUS

I never stopped seeing her,

Even as she lay there, eyes shut & motionless

The beauty in her eyes continued to shine but more brighter,

Blinding me of all that now was-

Nothing

According to the world and its meanings,

She was no longer

But to me she continued to be my “everything"

I was living in memory then as I am now, and

All I heard was our voices singing

All I saw was her silhouette brimming

All I felt was love, living

And as she lay there in the presence of sounds and cries

Some genuine & mostly happening because of the new ending

Some were sounds sounding off walls about her ending

And I stood there and all I saw was love

I wanted time alone with her, but of course could not get such

I wanted a moment to whisper to her one last time

And hold her, but that was out of line

All I did was look for a maximum of a couple of minutes

Cramming together a whole lifetime between siblings

Then I had to walk away and continue to live while my heart lay there,

Together with hers

But I never stopped seeing her,

And I never stopped hearing her

I never stopped speaking to her

I never stopped…

I continued with life but my garden lay bare

And with each day and night that passes

And I feel I might,

I remember that I’m alive because of her heart

It continues through me

And I don’t stop, I just continue to

 

FOR MY SISTER WHOSE LOVE STILL LIVES TODAY, EVEN THOUGH THE WORLD SAYS SHE DIED A DECADE AGO.

Scarlet letter

Once, I wrote a letter

Its contents echoed sounds from my heart,

Once, I sat in agony... &  wrote a letter

I said that its contents were from the within the "depths of my heart"

I sat and I wrote,

and through the rain that covered the windows to my soul I put pen to paper,

I wrote a letter!

 
Courage.

 
I dipped in ink-scarlet,

Gave symbols life,

Sat as the moon rose and again as it disappeared to rest its head

fluid-red, dripping

Window wipers' motion nearing settling,

With every symbol now breathing,

My last breath was taken

Did he find the scarlet letter?

Did he find out the contents of my heart?

...

Now I'll never know,

The scarlet liquid purged out and with it I left this part

Victory for (Supposed) Victim

A celebration at the beginning of night;
Lost in the conversation of the beating of my heart,
I stare into the silence; a warm breeze holds me firmly.

I believe!
A toast for he who had me question my sanity,

A dark ocean, chalice filled;
 leaping and revealing some of my sympathies.
On the inner layer of your eye,
I, a broken ray of light, am...

Bent beyond recognition, a morphing of the soul until desolation,
A Victim.
That is how I appear to you;
Weak and frail, sad and duped 
yearning and moaning for you and your love,
Dismantled!
Melody and rhyme leave through the openings of my mouth,
A song sang swiftly to seal you together with goodbye,
I am a Victor!
"triumph awaits you, it is yours” the breeze sighs
still with arm raised  and glass in hand I smile,
the dark ocean, leaping and revealing-
"Beginning of night is not the end"

Day dream: Sequel

We wake up hung-over but weirdly still remember last night
Our hearts beat all over and we still have our hands locked
A kiss from you in the morning is great
And even though we haven’t brushed our teeth this moment I do not regret
In your short shorts you get up and start preparing us a meal- Vodka and eggs
So basic and yet so majestic
Smiles everywhere
Let’s make love before the sun is set up too high
It is the only thing that can shine and climb higher than I feel now

SML

 

  

 

 

Your soul resides in mine

My life, ours combined

 

LIVE!

Just a boy...

From the title, those that know me personally or otherwise- via fb or twitter- or have been in proximity to me while a Beyonce song was playing know that I am huge fan. Many will probably roll their eyes and think “not this again,” while others will say “of course! He is a faggot; we never expect anything other.” But I would like to make a suggestion, read the title once more and try to imagine me not being the typical homosexual male, biased, and gyrating to everything “Beyonce”, while at the same time believing that I am her, as I sing in front of the mirror, mimicking her every move and vocal technique. This is not about Beyonce, well ...to a degree (lol). It is about manhood and boyhood and why the latter is just a waste of time in cultivating a long lasting relationship aimed at commitment and all that comes with it.

Having failed once more, and quite recently, at an attempt to foster a relationship with a man, I found myself  like any other person would, listening to the songs that seem to heighten the sensation of pain just so I could deal with it and move on. Normally I would deny that I am hurting and just pretend while carrying a smile on my face during the day, and at night have the rivers visit me as I wet the pillow while suffering perpetual episodes of anxiety attacks. So in essence, I would and have before, pretended that all is ok in front of others when my insides are turned out, exposed to an environment they are not used to and cannot thrive in. This time around I lost it, I was angry and ready to explode and I understood why and accepted it (post-Beyonce’s If I were a boy).

 I did not cry as much as I thought I would but the anger was there; a throbbing, burning sensation that filled me every time I heard of, saw a picture, sms, or some stupid memory collected from the past six months. The anger arrived and the first thing I did, well after accepting the feelings, was to put on a Beyonce cd. I expected myself to dance around and sing while cleaning my room (homo much???) but then what happened is that I listened and it made sense. Resentment was the first song, followed by If I were a boy. The latter had me sitting reflexively on my bed and feeling. I felt what I imagine Bey went through when she wrote the song- each and every line spoke to me and I understood. And miraculously the anger disappeared. Some might call this rationalisation of the situation, but seeing that I’m more inclined to use my emotions to deal with things I refer to what happened as emotional re-awakening or intelligence. Yes! I used the term intelligence while speaking of something related to the queen Bey (yol haters out there are continuously saying how unintelligent she is) smh! Wrong!

Anyway, when she sadly sang “but you’re just a boy,” I got it. I was in love with a boy instead of a man. He listened but could not hear me, he used strong words such as I love you but could not follow through on them, he tried hle, but when maturity has not pushed one to the level where they need to be, or when one has their priorities set out up-side-down in a relationship, there is no way that ship is going to sail through the storm and arrive safely and in-tact to the shore. This is of course a one sided analysis of the “ship”, but that’s all I can give seeing that when I took the boat and decided to sail the other way there were a few, shallow, and useless utterances between us. I wanted more, sought an explanation, some-sort of line that would make me believe that he understood what I meant, but I got no such. But when “you’re just a boy,” hit me I understood . I accepted it and slowly I am moving on. I’m not a black man-super-bottom that just walks out of things and have all feelings relating to the other just vanish; I think of him, miss him, sometimes I do things (gestures, say things) that remind me of him. WheN my mind recalls how he would have reacted in a given situation. But then I put myself first, prioritise things according to what I want instead of empathising, overly at times, with the other when they don’t give a damn.

This is not an entry from the diary of a mad, black homo. And I am not lambasting my ex-lover (somewhat); I am just being real to myself and for myself. Maybe he feels that I too was a boy, I mean I am aware that I can’t communicate properly and that is something I’m working on. Most times I expect the other person to understand how I feel without saying a word, lol, and of-course that is childish behaviour because I am such an astute communicator. Maybe I wanted and expected too much, maybe maybe maybe… meh!

But it is what it is, I want what I want and I deserve it. And unfortunately it took me a while to realise that I was on a ship that could only give me 50% when I gave 80% and was willing to even go to a 100%. I sailed back to the island of “me” and it was hard; the boat would sometimes get filled with water from the sea, I would get tired of rowing, was freezing and just wanted to give in at times… just let the ocean swallow me whole. But then hope never left, I knew I would heal and begin to feel something other than anger and frustration, I knew that I would reach the island and would have learned something from being on the “ship” with my dark chocolate. It is true that sometimes life lets us be with people only a while to teach us more about ourselves, the world, and things beyond the world. I continue to listen to and watch Beyonce’s performances of Resentment, If I were a boy + Oughtta know (Alanis Morisette) and nuances I missed from the songs now stand out to me.

TBC…

Man/Beast

In the midst of it, she found cunning in your ability to perform cunnilingus,

Does she know you were taught by me?

The dice rolls to chance but this was not as a result of fate, you decided

And now the skill it took me months to sculpt, she was enjoying the fruits of

Kisses from my mouth found themselves on the drips of her labia,

In a twisted, grotesque, yet fantastical way, I suppose that I too was giving it to her

Your tongue, her lower mouth

You had her speaking in tongues,

My lips, our kiss

Now towers for her to climb

And climb them she did, unaware of the man behind the deed

Beast!

L

Not in existence to be understood,
Not in existence to be understood,
Not in existence to be understood,

It is the creation of God and instead of being grateful for our sneak- peek into it,
We have mastered how to bastardise it and shit on it.
I said WE.

It, in actual fact is the belonging of the Angels,
Poor souls acting on the inclination of their nature felt the need to share it.
Only to later realise that WE would soil it.

Take it back…
Our bodies cannot wrap their molecules around it, at least not fully.

Not in existence to be understood,
Not in existence to be understood,
Not in existence to be understood

In existence to be felt.

Day dream

Eyes that carry with them a history and are capable of telling stories, asking questions, and providing answers...

 eyes that strip one naked of their skin to only see the vibrations all over the body - initiated by the heart beat.

 Your eyes provide a sense of marvel and bring with them an abundance of glee. Eyes capable of lighting up a room from the miniscule entry of white-light from cracks carved on the walls.

Your eyes are beautiful and if they are anything to go by - so is your soul!

Kikiki :)

Heirloom

That which is gifted unasked,

I look at but dare not touch

That which in your hand held-out exists,

A most prized possession, possessed,

Passed from one to another,

I leave behind for I do not need

 

Given that this is my life-

I choose to break free from its power

By levitating and reaching the peak of freedom-tower

Emancipation by setting it free,

This heirloom I do not need.

For generations next –

An act of love on my part

Four's-skins

The colour of my skin is not supposed to mean anything,

And yet it does:

It carries a history of a whole nation made up of warriors.

The colour of my skin is not supposed to mean anything,

And yet it does:

It carries on it and within,

Rivers red, flowing deep,

Memories of a people not meant to be.

The colour of my skin is not supposed to mean anything,

And yet it does:

It means to this day the black man is perceived as weak.

The colour of my skin is given a variety of meanings,

By the colour clothed, colour-less, on another

The colour of the skin on the other, abundant of meaning,

Always!

It means according to history and this story, my skin will always be a shade too dark compared to his,

But it also means that because of the colour of his skin;

I am filthy,

Deserve nothing better than the worst,

Belong in conditions uninhabitable, even to anything lost,

Incapable of any reason or acquisition of education,

That with the epidermal cells that were chosen to be mine;

I should not be anything but nine-times…

Lower than he who wears the colour of skin colourless,

That I am nothing that is,

That exists.

Hence, his need to not only dig my grave but lay me in it.

Surfacing

Not sure how I got here,

seated with all that is but no-one.

Not sure how I manage to remember my life back on earth and still dine with Angels.

I do not deserve to be here.

I wear the scarlet letter of my sins, those accumulated and still accumulating.

loudly I proclaim: "I do not deserve to be here".

"Forgive yourself," they say in song,

"you are not made to walk with others and not experience human-ness,

For all that you've done and still are about to, we forgive for you are aware,

dine with us and return to where you rest your head, for this dream mimics some, and not all of your reality".

My home, Macabre

Ravenously gulping down the ghoulish and great

Hoping to get away from the sweet, soft, surrendering that comes with you-

Knowing not what the knots in my abdomen meant;

I continued to ravenously gulp down the ghoulish and great

“Macabre” is the home I know and built

I find comfort in its skulls; orifices with meaning now left vacant
 

Where the eyes once found refuge, only worms and soil abundant

Where the voice once birthed from, only silence and the cold apparent!

Where apparatuses of the ear once were burrowed, only memories of sound come in the hollow

Ravenously gulping down the ghoulish and great

Hoping to get away from the sweet, soft, surrendering that comes with you-

A kiss from the cyanide-filled chalice, prevents the absorbing of your pure heart-state

I continued to ravenously gulp down the ghoulish and great

To leave me alone in the tomb of my fate

She is I

He walks around sure of nothing,

Not even the skin plateau-ing his body

His heart has evolved,
or has it regressed?

It chews his insides till they wish they lived with the outside

 

 

"Weirdly, I think entanglement has had a better flavour..."

My take on my demons

Having performance phobia is like having Angels that have broken free from your insides,
 but now surround you as demons...
Everywhere, everytime you have to climb onto a stage and render your art.

For you, my King

You call me angry;
what a mammoth understatement!
Let us not be eluded by precision; I’m fucking pissed off
I remember a time during the early phase of this façade;
Then, we had summer rain coming down on us
Now, towards our demise and because of you and your pathetic penis;

sadly, we die

You shall receive a gift tonight as you lie calmly in his arms

You shall have the elements prove the depth of my wickedness

 So like lightning bolts on supposed armoured chests,

You’ll feel the hurt I felt when you chose careless

Only for you my king;

I shall kneel and ask,
And shall receive,
And you shall bleed till completion of task at hand

You call out miserable and I respond
I say think with your other head and let’s prove me wrong
You laugh teasingly as if I’m a joke, but then the wind outside stands at my command

You shall receive a gift tonight as you lie calmly in its arms
You shall have the elements prove the depth of my wickedness
So like lightning bolts on supposed armoured chests,
You’ll feel the hurt I felt when you chose careless 

Only for you my king;
I shall kneel and ask,
And shall receive,
And you shall bleed till completion of task at hand