The pool

 

I am standing in a pool of my fathers blood.

mother always said all rapist must be shot.

still, she looks like she is drowning.

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South.

Mother, the lad is brilliant!

he builds me rainbows and brings me roses.

so why the tears child?”

Mother! he doesn’t ride down south.

 

sigh!

 

heart on chords.

 

Break my heart,

stitch it together then, break me.

kiss my senses, let my members go to war.

Bring me happiness,

invade my soul, let my feet dance to your tone

body follows suits, seduction.

Give me closure,

you understand me, speak when my tongue deserts me.

this feelings I cant put in words…

euphoria, desolation, calm, turmoil, blithe…

you make me feel it all, art.

 

MUSIC

 

 

Dear boy.

...:

 

I want to feed you the world and watch you eat it.

touch your skin in places only darkness knows.

Kiss your soul and teach you to bask in vulnerability,

be the antidote to your pain and drink your sadness.

 

I want to love you till it hurts to breathe.

match the love your eyes fail to hide.

give you all of me till there’s nothing left to give.

but you cant give what you don’t have.

 

so when you leave for her half baked love, It will hurt.

but if you pick me, there will be  no survivors.

 

POISON.

 

 

wolf and woman.


shape shifter.

There are a few things I find completely amazing.  ‘woman’ is somewhere after God and before medicine. Really, think about it. have you see anything more astounding?

Youjin Lee 이유진:

I am out  having lunch with a friend who is the epitome of a strong, independent and easily intimidating if  your man guts aren’t firmly rooted. somewhere between her oven knuckles and our almost heated debate her man friend calls. My girl goes from fire breathing to vanilla voice and wind soft. I am perplexed. I realize then that this is power gifted to us by Phanes. The  ability to change swiftly,go from fire to ice in a second. Get an attitude for a lover but bend voice, distort body, speak honey before favours are asked. Brew his Ego, butter him up, feed him mirages of power then ask what it is and receive graciously mother told me once,you must learn the art of shape shifting.

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There are brands of magic not all can experience. the art of child birth. Although it is a mans world, this one power they will never have, a brand of intimacy the male specie will never  afford. I imagine it to be a pretty bitter,sweet and scary experience. of scary things I do not write.

Jacqueline Bissett is an illustrator, expertized in Hand drawn and book illustrations:

 

Hellen of troy, the face that launched a thousand ships. 

Countries will go to war, brothers turn foes, years of friendship crumble at her feet, man loses his will, his wit, man dines with sheep. My good friend once entertained thoughts of leaving his job cos his lover fancied men of a different profession. I couldn’t fathom this for days,Some men have left wives, neglected kids and morals for  mistresses who have mastered the art of finesse. still, its a mans world they say, a moment of laughter, now silence. There is great make believe at work.  The art of finesse.

 

I have learnt, there are things one simply doesn’t get in the way of. A woman deep in love, a woman scorned, a woman with a mission, A mother fighting for her kids. A wolf watches, learns from her. similarities.

 

                                                   some days,

                                      I am more wolf than woman.

                      I am still learning to stop apologising for my wild   ~Nikita Gill.     

bougie

Overlook The City.:

I have always thought, it would be nice to live by the sea. To be sent to bed by the peaceful bustling of beach waves. Something about peace, serenity and its beauty makes me humbled.

I have dreamt of weaving through a city with bright night lights, to be wakened by croissants and butter dancing in its air at dawn. something about baking and pastries makes me think of goodness and tranquil dust.

snippets of a life that’s not mine.

 

what do you think of?

 

 

 

Deadly alive.

 

life is waiting for me,

chores, duties and needs to be met.

Books are waiting to be read

and adult things beckon

but here I am, drinking oxygen from words of strangers.

Searching for life in letters and lines.

a tale so intricately woven, a word, careless sentence, a blogpost

poetry so raw, naked, unadulterated waiting to meet my soul,

leaving me vulnerable, gasping for a second, then deadly alive.

just air.

Unfazed.

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here I am, with the too much I have said

and the ocean of thoughts I keep locked in my throat.

Here I am with love in my heart and vile in the words I need to spew.

 

Still, here I am cutting, tailoring these words to hit like lightening.

strong, hard, burning but never enough to make to you hate the rain.

 

Here I am, on my knees

with my words  dancing on iced air

brain mocks heart,

tear clears  vision,

regret falls on lap.

 

here I am, lines crossed, feelings tossed, sleeves bare…

 

There you are: insouciant.

Nightwalkers.

when 5am meets you outside,

the birds will sing songs foreign to your ears

the cold will be so wicked your fingers grow numb from pain

your skin will reek of  cheap life.

 

remember,

this is not the life your mother wept to the gods for.

Wanderer.

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I like the word random, how it doesn’t refer to anything in particular , just something random, like thoughts and random posts. how random. There is nothing particular about this post.

I wonder sometimes if the sun  tires from shining or if the moon kisses the stars wrongly some days so they get mad at each other and have a brawl over who comes out that night.

I wonder if God ever tires of  being God, cos truly watching us wallow in our cycle of sins  must get painfully exhausting. I also have questions about God, life and heaven but I think voicing them would be blasphemy so I never ask.

I wonder why humans suffer, why peace never comes and evil seems to be on an all time best roll.

I think of how ironic it is that best friends make the best enemies .If love is the greatest gift, how is it never enough sometimes? Nothing is ever sure. Today you could be served on a Gold platter but tomorrow you’ll be serving.

I think of mothers that never see their kids grow, children that never get to have parents, people who never feel love and how much hate we have in the world. Being mean is the new cool. using another seems to be the order of the day. caring too much is the fastest way to die young, being nice is a good way to build yourself a coffin.

Here we are millennials, grown babies,living fast. How is it that the wokest of all generations seems to be the most lonely? the darnest things hit the news everyday and for a second, just a second fear for the future grips me. In these moments, I seat down and I’m  be humbled by how drastic change can be. how a second can be the difference between life and death. how a post, a like, a tweet, a new slang can trigger a whole generation.

I think about time, how precious it is, how easy it is to waste, how vexing it is when another wastes yours. I think about the complexity of emotions, anger, sadness, happiness. how do we feel them? what exactly do we feel? learned behaviour?. I think about time again and how its 3:45am now, I should be asleep, but as a millennial you already know insomnia is only for cool kids.

I think about how random these thoughts are, how I might never get answers .wanderers mind.

3am rituals.