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YOU TOLD ME THAT YOU
******* HATED ME
BUT REMEMBER THAT I
STAYED UP UNTIL
3AM TALKING TO YOU
ABOUT HOW MUCH I *******
LOVED YOU?
I ****** LOVED YOU,
AND I STILL ******* LOVE
YOU. MY HEART
IS BROKEN JUST LIKE
THE MIRROR I LIKE
TO BREAK WHEN I SEE
MYSELF AND I SHOULD'VE
******* KNOW THAT
YOU DIDN'T LOVE ME LIKE
I LOVED YOU AND I SHOULD'VE
LEARNED TO LOVE MYSELF
BEFORE I PUT ALL OF MY
HOPES AND DREAMS INTO YOU.
NOW I'M STAYING UP UNTIL
3AM AGAIN, BUT THIS TIME
I'M TRYING TO FIGURE OUT
HOW TO LOVE MYSELF,
INSTEAD OF LOVE YOU
MORE THAN ANYTHING
BECAUSE I CAN'T *******
DO THAT ANYMORE.
 Sep 2019 tumelo mogomotsi
Hands
I cower in your shadow,
shivering despite any acuity of my own.

(your words are like loaded icicles,
beretta rounds fired through my false logic
and fake religion;
it scares me.)

The truth is I'm not fearless,
I'm pale and lily-livered and only so heathen as the other stars.

(maybe it's good you're in college,
it's closer than you were growing up.
when we were young,
you were short yet rough.
I was the younger,
and, my shepherd, you were faithful;
I only got lost 8 times.)

I don't think I ever really knew you
in any possible perception.

(I know I knew the talk of you,
the hustle and bustle at home and abroad
of your mighty intellect,
your crushing wit,
your driving polities
a war machine and
your gleaming smile
its patron god.)

How could I ever compare, though,
to the goddess of mind and body, brains and war?

(the truth is I am but a defiant priest,
crooked nose and
ashy eyes.
I think the reason,
even today,
for all my insecurities was due to you.)

Appeasement was a method used by the vain and weak
to protect against the humble yet brilliant.

(I feel your ******* take me over,
I feel it acid-wash into my skin,
de-porous my bones
and my imagination structure.
I feel it sink me up to the top,
drowning me in your air,
in your sky and your perfect chemistry.
your burning gold catches me,
smothers me in hands too big
for such a small person.)

How is it you are so tall
when you come up to my chin?
Why is it that I shiver and shake at your light foot falls?
Answer to the shadows
and my cowering will not respond.
de-capitalized the first letters of the lines in the parentheses, de-capitalized outside parentheses as well.

this seems so long ago.
 Sep 2019 tumelo mogomotsi
Molly
The sky is falling
head over heels
for a world that doesn't
bother looking up.
Meant for this to be longer, but I'm not sure it really needs to be...
All the best are carnivores, and when we're fed tofu and told to worship its empty calories as a blessing, it's not our responsibility when we lash out against the faux chikns who lied to us, starved us, and told us to love it or starve. We fight and claw for real Love, and if they withhold it, they've only themselves to blame for the burning, we are blameless and they are guilty, for they deny the heart, and we are the flame.

Those who fear real love hold back progress by denying it. God does not love stagnation but soul elevation, and if the only way they will open their hearts to deeper love is pain, his heavy hand will grant it, because we weren't born dogs but Human. We aren't here to be lazy, slovenly souls who only choose what's convenient in complacence, but to grow and gain a soul. God loves pioneers, the brave. He loathes cowards of the soul, who don't even try to feel others, who have no empathy, who only respect their own imaginations, but care not for any Truth, but only what feeds them more puppies and playthings with which to ******* over in boundless narcissistic eroticism - the common affliction of the neurotic modern pig in human skin.

So fret not over being a Terror of passion, for God Himself is so, and if it is lust turned toward a noble end, 'tis an image of divinity.
An impromptu poetic prose response to https://hellopoetry.com/poem/3332658/guilty/
 Sep 2019 tumelo mogomotsi
Colm
If no one reads
If no one comments
It still exists
It still IS
https://youtu.be/3VTsIju1dLI?t=158
A poem,
a riddle

An answer
to find

A Sage,
a gamester

All truth
undefined

What’s hidden,
most treasured

Its fortune
to mine

Tomorrow
awaiting

Sequestered
—in rhyme

(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2019)
Watching ‘Final Portrait’ A. Giacometti
Art should be disturbing to the comfortable
A comfort to the disturbed
A shape of two being one
The creator casting one half
The eye of the beholder creates the other
Unified into a single shape with infinite dimensions
Shining like a diamond
The shape of as heart
Windowed soul
Unshuttered and unfettered
A pouring of everything
Filling of empty spaces
The gap between the ribcages
The pain behind the faces
Unmasked, raw, refined, precise, agonizing
Hopeful and despairing
That is what art should be
Art is nothing more than that
Create beauty
//On art//
 Sep 2019 tumelo mogomotsi
Susana
A confetti
Ones may say
Even when the sun is down
She can light up the day

Clear like water
Beautiful like the sky
living in utter
Dreamlike delight

Yet when reality comes
Dark clouds creep in
And weakness in her bones

Wind blows
Confetti goes
And emptiness comes to life

And, somehow
That loved and loving girl
Can love anyone but
Herself
Heavy smoke hangs in the air,
lazily,
it's the smell of patchouli, right?
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