Once upon a time

At the peak of that luminous day

The angry sun presented her discoveries to whoever dared to lend an ear

Her nemesis was to be tormented to lifelessness, she anticipated.

The sun finally uncovered the secrets of the dark, she boasted.

Fruitlessly she spoke of how the night relied on the moon to breathe

and told tales of how the stars sat next to the moon as if they were her offspring

she too desired a companion, more brighter than the stars of course

the rain always chased her away so she was no alternative

To her demise the jury failed to grasp the motive for her contest

That they showed unremitting favour to all that is brought into being at twilight

On that day she finally came to terms with the reality

that they both were created to reign on dissimilar times of the day

and that she was strong on her own, the empress of the day she was labelled

only then did she shine without jealousy

only then did she know her place in the kingdom

In the kingdom of the day she reigned

and they lived happily ever after

That beaming almost blinding light never came as they pledged

nor was the voyage any easier

the rain bowed on me even harder and undeniably angrier

this surely was a peculiar kind of a tunnel

the one they surely neglected to speak of

for they certainly knew about it

it was written all over fate's eyes

I don't really know what I fell in love with

your restorative smile or how your name sounded next to mine,

or possibly just the all the pieces of you,

the shards of your light,

or all the ashes to your fire?

perhaps I will never know

but I will assemble myself in forbearance trying to add you to I

In bits and pieces you came

Wrapped in all fabrics of doubt

Yet you asked me to mend you

They came and admired the flowers

Some kissed them while some spoke of the beauty that made them take notice

Yet nobody ever cared to honour the ground that made them bloom

What made it you?

Of all the multitudes who come flying to my sight,

those hopefuls who almost made it home,

flooding me with honey sweet promises.

What made you the one I chose?

could it be that smile that shone brighter the sun

that aura more enchanting than the moon

or was it the melody that escaped from your lips when you stuttered my name

You mysterious Seamstress

Sew me away in your heart

and over-lock me in the fabrics of your bosom

You are a god, a deity of splendour, a torrent of magnificence,

Worthy of all the reverence in the horizon, you beautiful Empress, your Excellency,

Let all humanity touch your feet in exaltation of the God that dwells in your spirit,

Let drip upon the follicles of their hair the verses of authority,

Let them bow to your commands, oh beautiful queen of Eden,

Let your lyrics of wisdom linger in their hard-stoned hearts,

Do not settle for anything short of royalty,

Lest you forget who your father is,

The Great I Am

He is

You litter my mind with unbroken musings of you. Such beautiful mess

Taking hold of me in between every breath. Perfect intruder

The sovereign of my being you are

You are the font of hope in my every scribble, the reason for my being

You see past my blues, yonder my past times. My fountain of faith

and the sun rays have made your soul yellow. The goddess of my soul

After all her attempts to save the world

She packed all her aspirations in her late grandmother's suitcase and never returned

She feared failure with all that still remained of her

It’s only when I mothered your shaking thighs

Your careless screams

Arched back

Supreme curled toes

Your bare ribs

that it hit me

that I was your addiction

at that moment

from that moment

You love me… right?

The humbling possibility that you love me more than you actually let on, that lies within your soul a home for me, that you worship every fragment of my soul in the temple of my being, that you love me so much it terrifies you beyond ashes level and that nostalgias of me successfully manage to keep you from slumber thinking about all the honey sweet mellow things you want to whisper to me when I wake from yet another nightmare, is what carries me through the rocky bumps on the road.

The probability that you fear losing me as much as I fear losing myself in the fogs of the earth makes me love you more than I care to admit, even to my little ever wavering heart.

The likelihood that you wear my love around your neck for the world and the hopeful other hers to see, is what defines how alive I will be the next day.

The life threatening possibility that I'm just fooling myself and that you'd merrily cherry-pick a life free of me, free of us and the house we built, leaving lifeless on the ground the portraits of our imaginary sons and daughters, please do keep it to yourself for my own sanity

But, but, but you do love me right?

Love & everything in between

I didn't just fall in love with your soul that effortlessly carries me through the shadows of life and lays me comfortably on the knowledge that you'll almost or rather possibly never leave me

I also fell in love with everything in between

Like how you dance for me in between those unscented sheets that haunt me every time you are away.

Like how your hands look like when you grab the pillows as I let you enter paradise.

Like how you conveniently forget to flush the toilet or collect the mess you left on the floor just to piss me off, conveniently ... for you.

Like how you sincerely always forget to close your mouth when you yawn and manage to irritate me to passing out levels.

Like how you burp and see no reason to apologize, my little pig.

Like how you somehow always forget to close the door to the loo when you take a release.

Like how you bang the car door when you are upset thinking I will forget you didn't apologize.

I fell in love with all the pieces that make you what you really are behind closed doors where only I can see you.

Amidst all my troubles lies the reality that, I'm undeniably the luckiest girl alive

To the love of my soul

 You offer me words soothing to the soul

Your skin placed on that mahogany bedstead

as you submitted to me the everlasting lessons from your lower lips

You let drip the knowledge from your life encounters unto the crown of my head

Closed shut the books you've read

Almost letting me in on all that consumes you when the lights go off

You shower me with unbroken devotion, honouring my deepest needs

But I, though content I, I yearn for the fragments of your soul you flawlessly hide

I am certain they are the reason I fell in the fountain of your bosom

She wasn't really the prettiest of all

nor did she turn anyone's head

there was no sound of thrilled whistles thrown at her when she walked past the village rebels

Even the attention of delinquents she’d bashfully accept

But not a soul ever saw past her knee length skirts and concealed bosom

but at the core of it all, at the end of her displeasure with how the world perceived her,

she knew her lover thought she was everything she'd always seen and craved for in the world

and that was just enough to keep the smile on her ever wandering eyes

she came rushing home

to tell him the news he ached for since their formation

only to find him trying his luck on an 18 year old

much more thinner and prettier than she’d offer

Perhaps he essentially wasn't ready to be a father

"I am afraid of getting older… I am afraid of getting married. Spare me from cooking three meals a day—spare me from the relentless cage of routine and rote. I want to be free… I want, I want to think, to be omniscient. I think I would like to call myself ‘The girl who wanted to be God.’"

Sylvia Plath, (written in 1949)

We are the loose ends of something beautiful

the last drop of every rain

we were created for eternity for each other

messed up as we are

The long awaited Friday came and clouded us with promises

of the glitz and glamour the night might offer us

Only to find my neighbour's daughter dangling from the roof the following morning

Ropes don't make great jewellery at all

And new days are not always the start of something new

The blood stains in her pricy underwear still haunt her mother

We spend our Sundays

wondering if Monday will find us

worthy enough to let us bask in her tormenting light

that is always better than not being there at all

They all gather in their dark corners every other second

Mourning the loss of their companions

The eternal scars of the Marikana struggle

Like Father Like Son

Their fathers and sons hesitated not to snatch the womanhood from the sacred hands of their daughters

Yet none of them is brave enough to tell the tale of that bitter night that came with every darkness

Another meal on the table for them they were not ready to lose

Silent cries from the other room they chose to ignore

But sadly those nights are renewed with every dawn

The pillows serve as an escape to confessions they only make to themselves

For they will never look at the faces of their daughters without seeing the hands of their sons and fathers covering their developing bosoms

©GayKindaLove 2012-11-13

All I have ever wanted,

paying no mind to all my flaws,

was to be one of the poems in your poetry book

All I have ever cared to be

forget my incessant complaints,

was to be even if it's just a line in your infamous rhymes

All you ever were, ever will be,

is the ink in my every pen,

flawed as you are

I went hunting for the sun that used to shine in your eyes

even melody has left your parted lips

oh Mother Earth, restore her from the grave, the fall of my soul

My heart beats for you more than it beats for me,

the same way I implore the gods

to save you more than my own redemption.

Lover, on whose bosom will your heart lay tonight?

Admitting to missing you will
most likely worsen the solitude state of my being but again,
it would make you smile knowing you consume me just as much

Lover, I see you battling with self, wondering if you should call me.

Shove over to me all your sorrows and I will spread laughter on your lips

One day they will remember me,

they will surely call my name as if I still live.

Maybe that's when my life will really begin

As the sun sets to bring forth a new dawn
Life will resurrect with every tragedy of death

Fear not to tell them of the day

you stopped giving fucks for a living.

What a beautiful tale that should be

What good is a day if the sun won't shine?

the leaves fell beautifully from the tree

it was celestial how they collided with the ground

against the storms they danced in the rain

finding resumption of faith as they battled for life counter to the quakes of the earth

until they found meaning in your lips

Love, Poetry and Fingerprints

She was a fountain of sin

Turned the heads of the village kings
Like how the bees lusted over nectar
But her soul mate found comfort in other men

All the priests prayed for a moment with her,

The rebirth of a fallen seraph in whose bosom they minded not to fall

As they drooled from the tiny hole to the confession booth

where she sat every Sunday dawn drenched in regrets

As she made known the sins of yester night

An outburst of tales that haunt her at sleep

Little mind did they offer to her pleas

As she implored the heavens to save her

Rather they had ample time to unclothe her of all the fabrics that covered what remained of her skin
Up and down they travelled the cracks of her body,
Some were on a pursuit to see her come undone

While only one was on quest to save her broken soul

They pledged to adulate her commands
like how the stars worshiped the moon
but she needed only one man to leave his fingerprints on her shattering skin

Even the sincere one could not take the place of the love of her life

though she knew he was out of her reach

he lived beyond what she ever could be able to offer

They all came clothed in falsity

Uttering promises of eternity
Promising to mend her shattered glass of faith
Promising her serene nights
Like how the sun obliged to the authority of the darkness at nightfall
But she needed one man to serenade her ache with rhymes of poetry
What tragedy it was that the love of her life found slumber in Adam's bosom

Another weekend spent well

Thank you Momo

With you, the impossible are possible

God lives in YOU

Their anger raged more than thunder,

Their words were as deadly as the lightning that the birds lost their melody

and the sun never returned

Some were on a quest to see her come undone
while others wanted to save her

There’s something greater for me out there
Something I’ve been praying for
Bruised knees have made known the tales of my quest
I surrender to the calling
There’s something greater for me out there
And it is in your soul

I wanna curl up in the well of your bosom
Tap to every stroke of your affection
and hear you tell me how you pined for my return

Sprinkle me with the oil of your devotion
from the follicle of my hair to the soles of my suffering

and I will worship you

You bashed me your words of piercing silence
Showered me with daily words of your displeasure
Words unspoken
Finally made me an ambassador of failure
So packed my dreams away
Blossomed in doubt
Till I realized the power of self

She expected a storm of painful words;

little did she know I came dressed as a Saint this time around

It just dawned on me that

pain haunts me

as passionately as I haunt slumber at night

I am tarnished and blue

Surely sinking

Drowning in and out of sanity

Please

SAVE ME

You took away your love and all I now have are shades of your presence

How do I attest you were real?

 

 

I'm just a bundle of pain and that's the closest I've ever gotten to joy

She adorned her face with more layers of "make me up"
Yet every nightfall she asked the Lord to make her as beautiful as Snow White
Little did she know that her beauty was her zeal for her creator

I'm the same colour as the nails holding up a broken house
Rusted and weary

Tarnished and blue
Revive me
Save me

My Neighbours' Daughter

She was a beautiful woman

Her voice must have been that of Mary

Her stride commanded sinners to righteousness

She was her Mother’s spawn
the reason for every man's fall
had every hand cling to her lustrous temptations

A goddess of wickedness

 

She carried the sins of men in her bosom, the well of tragedy

Around her neck she wore the bruises offered to her by the father who stole her womanhood every Sunday night

Soaking wet with compliments from men who left their wives uncelebrated

Intoxicating foul-mouthed men by the scent between her thighs

 

She clutched the taste of heaven at the tip of her tongue

As she worshipped the coins in their pockets

More so, when they clumsily read from her parted lips

Scarring her skin with their inharmonious grins and groans

Her intelligence insulted by their atrocious chitchats

 

She clothed herself with more lies than the fabrics

which were no more than 3 even on the coldest of nights

She adorned her speech with more fairy tales than the reality

she shoved behind her closet every winter night

As she tirelessly climbed the paradigms of her enthusiasts’ bliss

Her lovers called her art

 

Silently she wept for help, implored for redemption, the more she let escape what they confused for delight

As she hurried to a pretentious climax

The more she screamed I am coming, her mind flew to places only she created

Where she pined for her lover who never made it out of her imagination

Her fragment of paradise never made it home after the fires of that sombre night

She cried to the heavens seeking answers to questions she never dared to ask

Until that day of audacity where she’d make known to the messiah her pleas

A haven of broken dreams she knew she’d remain

©GayKindaLove 2012-10-25

 

My words are

Melody to the brokenness of my being

Tales of the damaged spirit,

A masquerade to the brokenness of my mortality

An escape from my nightmares, sometimes I live my nightmares through the words I utter to the world

Infant footprints to redemption

Hallway to my thoughts

The splinters of my dreams, a fragment of my reality

A voice to the lifeless parts of my soul I lost in the fires of change

Pieces of my suffering as I attempt to mend my own heart, to become my own saviour

A mother to all the demons that have become residents to my soul

Abstract ideas of my prospect

The only testimony that I breathe

My words are my mediocre endeavour at poetry

© GayKindaLove 2012-10-19

Writers' College

So for the first time I have difficulty writing and it's driving me nuts. I am trying to apply at the SA's writers' college for a Novel writing course and it's a year long. I had originally applied for an Honours' in Economics with an accredited university, the very one that enabled me to obtain my degree in Economics and Accounting but I had to withdraw my application because I am going overseas next year May for a year on business, so I am set to return from the “never never” land the following year around the same time and I have no desires to study through UNISA for my lazy reasons really.  Now Writers' college wants a motivation letter of 200 characters as to why they must take me and then they trick me and say, I quote

 

 “Don't worry, it isn't a test! We just want to know a bit about you"

Of course it’s a test silly and I will ace it, as soon as I can locate my creative cap. At the moment I don't know why they must take me but I know I want to study with them, isn’t that enough? I mean what's up with these trick questions, they are not at all amusing really. It's an online writing course and it is therefore very convenient for my stay abroad but I just can't seem to be able to give them reasons as to why they should take me. It’s totally incongruous that I am unable to write this because I tirelessly write about a lot of stuff all the days of my life. I write about everything, everyone, everywhere, things I have personally experienced and things I see those close to me experience and sometimes my mind flows and tell tales of things I have never experienced nor seen but on this one it seems I’ve reached the plateau of my demise.

What do I say? Why must they take me?

I gave you my heart as an offering

A holy lamb to the communion of our affair

A sacrament for all my felonies

© GayKindaLove 2012-10-18

A Letter to all great Broken Poets dressed in Tattoos’, Piercings and Cigarettes

I would marry you if I wasn't already in love with your words. Now, it would be hard to distinguish you from your words and then I'd constantly fear what would happen to you and me if you ever ran out of words or were too tired to write for me, about me and about us.

 

I would marry you so I can see you wake next to me every morning, just to say I, once upon a time, was woken by the rays of the sun that came radiating through the corners of your eyes and be sanctified with your "awful" morning breath that wouldn't be so awful anymore when you are mad at me and aren't talking to me because of my love for other women, sometimes I obliviously carry the spirit of Jezebel with me and inadvertently err with my lustrous every wandering eye so pardon me for my gluttony. I command you to prune me to your liking, to the greatness of heart lead me.

I would marry you if I wasn't already in love with your words. I'd tell you how I fell in love with your rhymes and haiku's and how I yearn to be your fountain of inspiration, just a word or two in your poetic hymns, living inside your mind, the ink mothering every scribble, an inhabitant to your dwelling of creativity, what a patriot I’d become.

I would marry you so I can tell you that you are beautiful in instances when you feel your worst and kiss away the traces of your pain from your countenance. I'd tell you how much your words healed me way before you met me, I'd tell you how I played your voice like a record over and over in my head before you could even hear the sound of my voice. I'd tell you how the world stops when you speak so you can know your worth. I'd tell you how the world worships your very existence when you feel unwanted.

I would marry you if I wasn't already in love with your words. I'd scribble my affection all over your body just like those tattoos you elegantly wear and adorn you with piercing attention so you never feel the solitude of your world. I'd assure you immortality so we can bask in never ending pillow talks after our sexual debates as we mend the broken limbs from the wilderness. After every intimate communion, the scars on your body would let known the tales of how I worshipped the tone of your voice wrapped in moans translating pleasure, the intimate narrations of your soul. Your speech would be cluttered with words of how your spirit travelled every corner of paradise owing to my caress, how you tapped out of the Devil's cradle sprinting to my rescue so you can tan in the pleasures of my embrace and you would debut to the world the pages as you jotted them out  from my womanhood.

 I would marry you if I wasn't already in love with your words and I'd be your light to your journey to every cigarette as I breathe in every part of your soul you breathe out. I’d sail away with you to every piece of my mind just to show you that it’s okay to be broken. I’d let you surf the depths of my fears just to show you that I too cry at night. I’d let you nail me in anger as you rebuke me for all my sins just so you can save me as if you were my saviour and I resurrect to the power of your warmth.

© GayKindaLove 2012-10-18

I have died a million deaths

Became a haven of more graves than I dared to live

Became a widow of my own soul

Covered myself with the cloak of death mourning the glory of loss upon us

Dressed myself in more insults with a dash of curses than your devotion

As I dangled from the roof of your mercy petitioning for your worthy heart

Became an ambassador of your threats to disappear than your affection

But again and again I return to you

In hope that one day

you might believe that I am not what you are used to

©GayKindaLove 2012-10-17

A Poetry Festival

My weekend was flooded with words and it felt good sinking in too deep with no prayers to be rescued, seeking no salvation from this sin of art. It was a two day poetic offering by Word N Sound Poetry and Live Music Series in collaboration/partnership (I stand corrected) with Melville Poetry Festival that started on Saturday and concluded on Sunday. Saturday was poetry as I know it, PERFORMANCE, PERFORMANCE and PERFORMANCE. The Word N Sound finalists were bashing us with their poetic revelations and we (Nomonde, Nkateko and I) sat in the very front row so we were also blessed with literal spits from the artists, instead of going EEUW, I felt honoured instead, LOL, I am serious. I felt their anointing falling on me, LITERALLY.

 

My main act for that had me drooling in admiration was Masai Dabula, I am not at all into male poetry, well because I am an overly sensitive being and therefore women always know how to have me begging for mercy with their words that always seem to hit just the right spot, but Masai as unemotional as he was, had me leaping in incredible heights with joy, he had my friends especially Nkateko, on their knees worshipping the grounds he spat on and he was deserving of the adoration. His words were as perfect as the aura that travelled with him and almost as perfect as the love that left Nkateko blushing like a fool. Nomonde was validated, she always spoke of the greatness that resided in Masai and I never showed interest in her words until he walked on that stage and commanded the world to listen like he were a god and boy did we listen, such authority is too godly to be ignored. He totally blew my mind away and then Thandiswa Mazwai came in, Momo went all bananas and then she left, she came in briefly I guess to see what kept everyone in doors. If I go on about how she stole the crowd and became a victim of a million stares in wonder or how she had Momo go on and on and on about her heavenly aura and beauty, I will not get to Sunday, so I will stop here.

 

Then Sunday came, can't believe it was just yesterday, when Nova performed. I apparently have this love-hate relationship with Nova that Momo and Nkatz pointed out, which is not to be entertained at this instance, so for now I will only dwell on the love that I have for her, not that there as any aspect of hate in me for her. Oh Father, she is one talented woman, she is amazing and I admire her work. Lord how she blesses me is mystery even to myself. She stood on that stage yesterday, her body full of tattoos like a rebel and sang me away in poetry, she serenaded my every limb, and almost had me acting like a groupie but I contained myself otherwise Momo would have been embarrassed so I behaved myself, for Momo's sake of course. I personally wanted to misbehave and once in a while act like a hooligan in love but the audience would have stared at me in disappointment, the audience was too mature for such teenage tendencies so I was forced to maturity and I obliged. So anyway, she stood there, dressed in simplicity, her body scribbled in ink and her voice hypnotic like a lullaby and sang rhyme to my very being. She performed my favourites, of course she did, "The Re-Enacting October" and "A Love Supreme" and also performed the most relevant pieces titled "To do List for Africa" and "The House We Built". In total she performed 5 poems though I cannot remember the fifth one. Nonetheless, she knows how to take my breath away with her work almost as perfect as she is. Nova is a goddess, God's gift to my world, I wouldn't hate on her even if that was to make me a better person. Other people performed and they were also good but Nova was the definition of day and why at all I went to the festival yesterday.

 

So poetry signed, sealed and delivered my heart to the God of art in thanksgiving.

Yesterday painted her face

with memories of how the sun

left your side the other day

Via Grapevine Volume 1 Anthology

This day officially marks the start of great things that I am yet to experience. A while ago I was approached by a lady named Brigitte Poirson, an anthologist, who showed an interest in my work. Long story short, I had uploaded two poems on a poetry page titled "Poetic Design" and she saw them, fell in love with them and asked if she could add them in her Poetry Anthology and without hesitancy I agreed. Months have passed and the Anthology was launched and my work is there, one poem I wrote while feeling swallowed by the world and left untitled is there and the other one I believe will be on Volume 2 of the Anthology.

I am happy, I am positive that eventually I will publish all my work, all my poetry and the novel I am currently working on. Day by day I feel closer to my destiny. I am not taking NO for an answer, the heavens have just deemed me worthy of this breakthrough and therefore the world and its residents MUST open way for me and the universe sure is conspiring in my favour, the great Alchemist was right when he said " When a person really desires something, all the universe conspires to help that person realize his dream" . I am taking up a course for novel writing with SA writers' college next year just to learn the acceptable technique of writing. I have a story and I am ready to tell it, it has haunted me for many nights, took away the pleasure from slumber and now is the time for my freedom and finally face the demons of my sleep.

 

Below is the note you will find in the Anthology.

TEARS LEAPING

Tears leap from eye to eye,

Sorrow kissing every soul.

Insults seduce the lips of the pure,

Dancing to the beats of rejection.

Body to body, we move to the touch of loneliness:

We are children to the kings of sorrow,

The offspring of the mothers who meant to abort us,

Mimicking what our forefathers became.

We are the descendants of pain.

Thank you Brigitte.

If I didn't believe in dreams coming true before, today I am born again into something even greater than faith in the God of Art. Like he did with the great Psalmist David, he truly turned my wailing into dancing; and removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy.

Maybe I don't have a good heart, maybe I won't make it to heaven, maybe I was destined for hell so I dine with the likes of me but I have always been good to you, good to you that it frightens me, I have been good to you beyond hell's approval, it scares me. I don't think I was made for such righteousness; it's too godly to swallow.

I try to make you see in me what I can't see of myself. Maybe I try too hard and sometimes to your soul's detriment and my own destruction but I will try even harder next time, I promise, even if we mourn the loss of our souls everyday in my attempts to save our creation. One day we may reincarnate to something definitely more beautiful than the scars we wear so shyly and we will be new again.

I'm a different kind of messed up
the type of damaged you wouldn't wish on your greatest enemy
And sometimes like now, I need to hear you tell me

that it's okay,

that I'm okay,

that you and I are more damaged than the world has to offer

You sailed across the oceans of doubt,

away from reality

made a few stumbles

and you haven't returned

to the sea of my delight yet

Dear Sailor

The day wore your smile today

She crawled up on me to remind me of why I fell for you

What a beautiful serpent she was

She wore your scent

that every blow from the wind led me to my home that is in you

only you won't let me in

so I slid the letter chanting my remorse under your door

She wore your big arms

that I ran to her, banged my broken self against her bosom

only she didn't hold me the way that you do

so I crumbled at her watch

She spoke in tones that resembled your voice

that I left a million voice notes on your recorder

hoping you'd dial my number even by mistake

The day wore your smile today

© S Phohleli 2012

My Faith

I stand in the heart of the burning flames unmoved

Rooted in him who makes it all worthwhile

The Truth about Fall

As she paged through the pages of my womanhood, I knew history was about to me made

I rejoice at the sight of nightfall

replay the moments

when you came on me that silly night

Twinkle Twinkle little star

The lipstick of your shirt shines brighter than your lies

 

Twinkle Twinkle little star

How I wish she was worth your loss

© S Phohleli 2012-10-09

SEASONS

You left me in the WINTER of my destruction
the 11th hour before my redemption
you rubbed a piercing cold from the crusts of my solitude
against my already cracked skin that left me
calling for the angel of death
pining for her as if she were a lover
like a chandelier I hung from the roof of her mercy asking her to save me
AUTUMN stripped me off the leaves of my sanity
as I SPRING back to regrets of why I never freed myself off of you way
before my tears rained
harder than the
SUMMER showers

Someone please tell me I've made it home

Safe though not sound

That life is still worthwhile

I lost the sound of my voice in the wilderness

when you came on me with your hand on my mouth

as you ordered me not to move an inch

Me

I'm not your typical girl next door, not at all your "let's sit down and talk about it" typa girl and I know that I am not always good to have around. Sometimes I'm more of a storm than summer breeze; sometimes I swear and forget to write you love letters to hide under your pillow when you wake in the morning. Sometimes I'm more thorns than roses, sometimes I'm more on sad hymns than writing you sweet melodies, sometimes I break and expect you to catch me even if that's accompanied by daggers of words through your heart but still you smile. I see you everyday sacrificing a piece of your soul to teach me life, I see you holding on to me with your pillow drenched in tears as you mourn yet another part of your soul. I see you everyday teaching me lessons about God and self sacrifice...

As the night sleeps in me
I remember the reason I danced when the sunlight touched my toes that they curled up in awe
Loud cymbals in honour of the new day
I stood in the confession booth of my misery
And laid without care how recklessly I have fallen for you

You have become such a glutton for pain
that you feast on her
even when happiness
is on the other plate

I will never understand
how you always confuse
thorns for roses
Sometimes I think
you are the Messiah of agony

She let me roll my tongue at the tip of her tongue

and that's the deepest conversation we've had

I dribble and turned to the corner of her eye

and that's the first time I knew she cared

© S Phohleli 2012-10-03

The Vacillation

We hailed "Abba Father"

as we fell into temptation

with both our hands digging deep into the forbidden jar

We chanted hymns of disbelief

as we laid awake on the bed of our sins

under the white sheets of yesterday's declaration

The morning after the fall

We moved to the tunes of broken promises, uninspired

Dancing on flames of hurt

Echoes of silent words

with hands covered with the blood of our indecision

The oil of sin dripped from our crowns

as we sang Bloody Mary to our sorrows

Crucifying every word that once pained us

Nailing them with torment

through the exchange of bodily fluids

as we partook in sexual debates

©S Phohleli 2012/10/03