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