I leave in a hood where gun shots have become music to our ears.
It goes like "bang-bang"
We know its an alert that we are one short...
I live in a hood where blood has
Become the painting of street art...
Its like we lose to gain...
I live in a hood where underground kings have become the pimps of all clit's..
Its like "aaah-aaah"
Yeah ***** you gon' be ****** for
A ***** to gain rands...
I like in a hood where knives have become friends with underskin..
Its like knives have been glued into pockets...
So welcome to my hood...
Jul 6, 2015
Jul 6, 2015 at 4:50 PM UTC
She smiles with wounds hidden
Beaten by sticks
Thrown by stones
And yet she still remains the Queen on the Throne.
She is sometimes treated
as passing paper
blown by winds
that illuminate stains on streets
As his his feet seek to *****
her cleansed soul within...
The baggage she carries.
The shades of burden she walks with.
The sorrow that she has married.
As she feel like dust
as it has no value
when it's wiped of valuable goods..
He enters her purse
as she is not obliged to
be taken advantage of
By him who played the characteristics
of a two-faced lover as he has entered her...
All thanks to lust.
The beauty of a woman
not appreciated.
All her struggles fail
to define her, but are then told
because they are the reason of
UBUHLE BENTOMBI!!
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 3:58 AM UTC
Take me to a place where only our hearts will appear outta space...
Touch me in a place where you'll get my highness of love.
Talk to me as if it is the last hour for you to prove your love for me...
Taste my lips as if they were the last bag of jelly tots.
Oooooohhhh. **** me like it was our last.
Fill my heels with excitement
And I promise you
it won't be our last
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 10:34 AM UTC
Paint me with the slight scars
that appear with insights of
incidents that took place
with nature's intention to groom my strength.
The beauty spot
on my lip is not an
Edit but a feature of difference amongst
millions that exist.
If possible, make my
dimple stand out 'cause
It's my symbol of my joy.
With your painting of me
I'll carve stars that'll shoot
to endless nights of happiness.
Paint an image of me that represents
Our love.
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 9:26 AM UTC
So mom told me " I don't know what we are going to eat tomorrow ".
I decided to leave my beauty
'cause I knew "Pretty" was going to keep us away from starvation in the next morning.
Tight dress, I wore.
9 inches heel, I wore.
Red lipstick, I wore.
Mascara
Blush
Mud or whatever the usuals call it " a Coverage".
I once heard " Pretty " makes you the centre of attention.
I heard that "Pretty" fills your pocket for a day.
I mean no jobs.
Lack of education.
What is there for me to have a profession in?
Millions spent to change streets that already have names.
Pastors don't practice what they preach.
Case documents missing
And Lawyers being caught in the middle.
Governments expanding their estates with the nation's money
Who are we to trust these people with our lives?
Who am I not to use my Pretty flaw to cash up?
Who am I to criticise, when I too is breaking the image of womanhood?
Yes, "Pretty" struck an *** of a man's eyes.
Boxers who can't read or write earn millions for a round.
I get R200 for a round
Battling with a stranger
Pretty smashes beauty.
Him winning the round
Me losing myself
Losing self-respect
Losing womanhood.
But still we had a something to eat the next morning and night.
My mom smiled not knowing where it all came from.
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 1:39 AM UTC
So mom told me " I don't know what we are going to eat tomorrow ".
I decided to leave my beauty
'cause I knew "Pretty" was going to keep us away from starvation in the next morning.
Tight dress, I wore.
9 inches heel, I wore.
Red lipstick, I wore.
Mascara
Blush
Mud or whatever the usuals call it " a Coverage".
I once heard " Pretty " makes you the centre of attention.
I heard that "Pretty" fills your pocket for a day.
I mean no jobs.
Lack of education.
What is there for me to have a profession in?
Millions spent to change streets that already have names.
Pastors don't practice what they preach.
Case documents missing
And Lawyers being caught in the middle.
Governments expanding their estates with the nation's money
Who are we to trust these people with our lives?
Who am I not to use my Pretty flaw to cash up?
Who am I to criticise, when I too is breaking the image of womanhood?
Yes, "Pretty" struck an *** of a man's eyes.
Boxers who can't read or write earn millions for a round.
I get R200 for a round
Battling with a stranger
Pretty smashes beauty.
Him winning the round
Me losing myself
Losing self-respect
Losing womanhood.
But still we had a something to eat the next morning and night.
My mom smiled not knowing where it all came from.
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 12:51 PM UTC
So I asked " what will I be to you when I'm gone?
Will I be the dead one?
Will I be the cut on your heart?
What will I be to you?"
Not intended to leave with unfinished tasks
But I intended to fall in love with you
Will I still be your lover?
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 1:47 PM UTC
The grave yard showed shades of darkness that were in between life and death.
The streets showed me dripping blood oozing in corners that were flooded with sorrows and borrowed pain.
Uzile showed me the identity that could not be claimed by even those who claim to have fought for freedom.
I am who loves unconditionally.
I am who protects fused pieces of light that dim their clustered hearts.
I am the shield that Shaka Zulu used.
I am the words that philosophers use to mend souls that are baffled and blurred.
I am not what you think I am.
I am not what you want me to be.
But I am who I am with no crayons or mud on my face.
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 7:52 AM UTC
If my lips would reach for yours
Would you meet me half way?
My breath so fresh and warm
But after it all would you accept me?
The scars on my face
The beauty spot on my bottom lip
The crooked smile I have.
Love to be unwritten and carved into man made stars.
Would you still love me?
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 6:23 AM UTC
Wake up in the morning
Ready, I get.
Beautiful I look.
Set, I go.
Thinking to myself is it love or a business deal...
I look at him with eyes that are scared to blink.
Kiss on the cheek, he gives.
Fake smile he throws.
Floating words he utters.
Fucken lies he tells.
Thinking to myself is it a business deal or love...
Plumpy I look,
Lovely I speak.
But scared is my heart
And lost am I.
Thinking to myself is it love or a business deal...
Rich, is he.
Poor am I.
Painted he looks,
Crooked is his smile.
Money he throws,
Money I catch.
Diamonds he gives,
Crystal I wear.
Dull is the mood
And Gloomy are we.
Closed is his heart,
Beating fast is mine.
Thinking to myself is it a business deal or love...
In his house we arrive
The main door closes.
Romes around the house
Curtains he rolls down
Dim are the lights.
In his room we go
Carefully he lays me down
Slowly he kisses me
Gently he touches me...
Softly he taps my *****
Turned on is he
Rough he throws me
Hard he ***** me.
Thinking to myself is it love or a business deal...
Satisfied is he !!
Horrible I feel!!
Shallow I look!!
Shaking are my legs and cold are my thighs.
Disgusted I look!!
Sick I feel!!
Ashamed am I.
Glowing is he,
Truly he smiles.
HE HAS DONE HIS BUSINESS!!!
Cold is my heart,
Lovely he speaks.
Shut is my mouth.
Warm is the mood.
HE HAS DONE HIS BUSINESS!!!
Thinking to myself was it a business deal or love...
Resentful am I towards a man,
Afraid is my heart to love,
Dubious am I to trust.
Depressed am I behind closed doors,
Ugly is my reflection in the mirror.
Death is what I want to achieve,
Suicide I attempt
Knowing it was a business deal
Fake love he perceived.
Torn apart am I,
Broken is my heart...
HE HAS DONE HIS BUSINESS...
Dec 26, 2014
Dec 26, 2014 at 1:17 PM UTC