A leaf in a stream,
I wait for you to stop me.
To end my journey.

guns in the snow
write stories that stick around
until spring.

we write because we are told
we write because we are cold

so why write poetry?

is it to obey
is it to simply misbehave
is it due today
is it more than what we say

if not
why do you write poetry?

because I can
&
because I am

we are made to feel
we are made to speak
some people are quiet
and others are bleak

words are expressive and alive
but some words are best left to die

in spite of spite, I want you!
Despite its delicate, it’s you,
It's euphoria sailing to hearts,
It's coral in crimson,
It's Dahlia in sunsets.
It's a timeless voyage

i am a sheet of white paper
very light and sacred
and you are the pen
full of some untold stories
you know that paper and pen are meant to be together
so i gave you all my body and soul
for you...

I remember the evening
that we sat clinging
to paper cups
of coffee gone cold

over secrets spilled and memories told
two bodies cursed
with hearts grown old

behind your eyes
I found new worlds
A winding road stretched out for miles
to a small cafe at the end of the isle

Sweet pastries filled the mouths
of those who sat beside us
and stayed for a while.

How the hours went by,
people just passing through
The descending sun ending
a forever with you.

A bundle of contradictions
A nonsense battleground
Victorious or defeated
No matter what happens
Death comes as the End...

the voices of a completely  low glow
falls into the darkness of the city
secrets in the maze
await to be uncovered
by an extraordinary sound
hiding
where the sun can't touch

I read a quote somewhere that said,
"I don't know how many times I have survived myself, without telling anyone else."

And I felt those words shoot through every nerve in my body. I felt them so deeply.

And I wonder how many of us feel the same way.

How many nights we fought off the suicidal thoughts, the urge to cut, the urge to purge, the urge to run or to hide out, alone, too afraid to worry or bother our friends and family.

How many days and nights have we all suffered in our own darkness alone?

People like us fight a battle no one can ever fathom because it's a battle no one can see. And we don't let them.

I've fought myself and survived myself alone so many nights.

There were nights I use to lose my own battle. But some how still came out alive.

I guess that's how we keep going. Because every time we give up we come out stronger.

You fight yourself and beat yourself up for so long that eventually you become a master of surviving a war.

We're warriors.

"I don't know how many times I've survived myself, without telling anyone else."

Tonight, I'm telling all of you.

I survived myself.

And if you're still here and you're reading this, you survived yourself too.

It's not easy but you did it.

And I'm so proud of you all.

so tell me why you're here
is it to relieve your mind with writing words?

or

is it to hear the words of others
hoping
to find relief?

i see you, love.
i notice how hard you're trying,
and i admire your strength and courage.
i know it's not easy, and i know you want to give up.
but i see you. you're not invisible,
you're valued.
did you relapse?
if you did, that's okay, you didn't fail.
are you only a day clean?
that's okay, i'm proud of you.
you have a purpose.
your voice deserves to be heard by all.
don't give up, keep fighting.

The law man, he’s a comin.
A comin, ta go on get ya gone.
You better best be, goin.
Go on, get ya gone. Go on, get ya gone.

O he aight no low man,
He’s high high above the law.

Go on, get ya gone, go on get ya gone.
O that law man! He’s a comin,
Ta go on get ya gone.

O hoh, don’t feel so low,
That lowly law man!
Just sees a wild dog.

one starry night
footsteps crossed paradise
a captivating fragrance,
stings suddenly out of  blue
footstep's silent's too loud
same scent of tragedy
lingers

I love him
I tell myself
I know that
We will be together forever
I don’t believe that
We could be separated
My thoughts tell me that
He’s the love of my life
Sometimes my heart lies and says
I could live an eternity
Without him
Like my friends say
“We’re perfect for each other”
And you can’t tell me
He’s not the one.

Now read from bottom to top.

Just a cut
just a scratch
what’s that mark
it was just the cat
just an excuse
just another lie
what’s with the bracelets
just fashion why?
just a tear
just a scream
why were you crying
just a bad dream
But it’s not just a cut
or a tear
or a scream
it’s just one more
until it’s not
until you die

the day a poet  
falls in love with you
is the day
you know you will live
forever
not in life
but in the love
that your poet
could never seem to
grant
themselves
but will
give you
all of

I will never be okay

Thank you to everyone who cared

This, and I, am over

Thank you

Always,
Rantipole

A friend asked me
how to be a writer.
I wanted to say,
lock yourself in a room,
scream until you have
a poem and no voice.
Open your veins and bleed
until you know that your bones
are pure words and sorrow.
Act as if you slit your own throat
and all you can bleed
are your own regrets
and all of the darkness
you boxed up for inspiration.
Write your mom a letter,
tell her you're leaving
and you won't be back for awhile
Because being a writer is traveling
through all seven layers of ****
and denying anything is wrong.
Forget loving yourself
when all you have is a pen and paper
fused to your wrist
and Jesus is tapping at your skull
saying turn back now.
Warn the neighbors that if they smell burning
It's just your soul
clawing at the front door trying to get in.
Learn how to be alone.
Learn how to lose everything you have
in order to feel release,
learn how to only feel deceased
from now on.
A friend asked me
how to be a writer.
All I said was
don't

Sometimes words fail
To Express the full rhapsody of living
The feeling of a boat setting sail
Or simply the sensation of breathing
The overwhelming grief of loss
And all encompassing joy of love
The first flap of a baby dove
Or the smell of rain soaked moss
Each sunny day
And tear soaked night
The kind words others say
And the harsh ones that bite
Sometimes the most beautiful thing
Is the feeling that the words cannot bring

dear you,

i’m in love.
yes. you were
waiting, i
bet, for this.
this time, though,
it is not
what you would
think. it’s me
this time, not
you, although
it’s still you,
but not in
the way it
used to be
you. it’s my
fault this time,
my doing,
my painful,
pitiful,
suffering.
it’s you in
the sense that
i cannot
control you.

this time,

it’s your mind and your thoughts
the things that slip off of your tongue
the words you put, pencil to paper
the ideas that come out in your songs

it’s your eyes and your sight
the careful observation of beauty
the need to bask in warm, pure light
the stare you give me, rarely now

it’s your movements and your touch
the hugs where you grip my shoulders
the times where i’m drunk and playing with your fingers
the warmth you give off and your gorgeous smile

none of them
are mine to
have, to take
to keep, to
love, to break

i miss you
and to go
and detach
to break what
we have, that’s
the hard way
out. but i
am trying
to help me.

i feel the
same way i
did when you
said i was
wrong about
this. about
how i feel.

i try to
not panic
and quiet
sob in the
bathroom at
3:27 am
every night.

i’m hoping
disposing
myself of
you, means that
the dreams will
go away
too. but if
they stay,
i’ll give you
a quick call.
probably
a text, to
be honest.

i love you,
unhealthily,
with every
part of me.

keep in touch,
please.

love,

me.

It would be well worth it
as long as mankind does benefit.

Can you come a little closer?
Let me undress your wounds
And let your wounds bleed and bleed
Let me help you find some release

I know you’re not used to
Letting others sit in your cult of pain
But I feel your pain too
Please let me feel it with you

Don’t push your pain to the shadow of your mind
Embrace it, reveal it, you deserve to feel it
Please stop smiling with your misty eyes
Please don’t cover your wounds with bandaid lies

A moment

That's all it takes

A single moment

The touch of a loved one
The laugh of a stranger
The shy smile from the little boy
hiding behind his mother's leg

There and then not

Did you savour it
Lean into it
Let it sink deep

Or did it pass you
Did you let it slip away
Unaware of its purpose

One moment



That's all it takes

this isn’t going to make sense
cause it’s not supposed to
and if I’m being honest
this isn’t for you
it’s not even for me

I’m stuck
I’m trapped
I’m lost
I’m every other word that describes people who feel at a dead end

I’m typing on a ****** phone
That’s connected to a ****** connection
That could possibly be a metaphor for my life

I’m writing
Because I don’t know what else to do

I’m writing
Cause that’s what they told me to do

But they also told me that what I think isn’t always true
That I’m special and I just don’t see it

But that’s the thing
I don’t see it

And if I don’t see it then why should it matter if anyone else does

And if I’m thinking something why should it matter if it’s true

What matters is that it’s in my head
What matters is that it’s always there

But here I am
Stuck in the same place
Back to square one
No progress made
The same questions, whether true or not

Will I amount to anything?
Do I really help?
Am I really worthwhile?
Do you actually care?

I see these people
When I’m online
They smile and post
They edit and pose

I can’t help but wonder

Do you really smile, or do you just do it to look happy like me?
Do you really feel happy, or are you trying to lie like me?
Do you understand what I feel?

Or is it just me?

I’m not trying to be selfish
I don’t want a lot
I just want to be happy
And I want others to be happy with me
But neither is happening

So instead there’s a poem
That doesn’t even ryhme
That makes no sense
  I’ll try harder

to the love, you had for me,
to the love, I broke in a single action,
to the love, we believed will be evermore,

to that love, I now say sorry,
to that love, I wave my goodbye,

for love, I move on.

Cold and damp, swamped by dismay
She left me, on this fragile Saturday.
Here I sit, on a porch for a day.
I never thought I’d travel off.
When you realize, there’s nothing left to say...
You arm yourself, emotionally, in another way.
Not to dare say nostalgic, that’d be careless to relay.
I’d rather scoff at the notion, of caring at all.
So, I’ll just sit and stare, as my friends come and go.
I’ll wait, patiently... my mind blue with frost.
No thanks, I’ll wait... no matter the cost.

Just because someone says they don't care,
does not mean that they don't care.

Set the alarm
Lock the doors
Lock the windows
Lock the shutters
Find the cricket bat – “put it by your bed”
Say goodnight to mom and dad

Although young, not naïve
I knew every night had the possibility of being my last

A routine that is now muscle memory.

Fear –
You may think
But life –
Normal for me.

Wake up
Turn off the alarm
Unlock the doors
Open the windows
Open the shutters
Put the cricket bat in the cupboard

Never being able to be left alone at home. Unwillingly dragged from store to store.

But – that’s the thing –
People don’t know the real Her,
They know the exquisite scenery, the unforgettable wildlife
They don’t know… But I do.
Because She is my home
Because being in constant fear for my life –
is normal.

Confused –
What do I tell people about Mother when they ask?
The person who raised me, taught me how to be grateful, how to ride a bike,         how to love.
Do I tell them? Will I scare them?

Although hidden beneath the tyranny – I would say –
the bloodshed
the faces of malnourished children left for dead on the side of the road the poverty struck soil the corruption      the greed the hunger the death the separation of class and race

Although a place feared –
Africa.

My Africa –
Whose sunshine you feel ignited in your soul
My Africa –
Whose smile is irresistibly contagious
My Africa –
Whose heart lies in the grassy terrain
The golden dunes of sand
The never-ending mountain tops
My Africa –
Who is the heart of various people
           cultures
   languages
          All who call Her home.
She is –
Where my heart lies even if I am thousands of miles away
Where my mind wanders from day to day.

Her air, instantly calls you
Her smell, instantly smelt
Welcoming you ever so dearly –
      Home.

Like all good mothers,
She is the one who can handle both the tranquil and turmoil,
the love and war.

She is my home. She is who I fear of disappointing.

My Africa –
is beautiful.