Days passed without food.
Water was what we had for
Breakfast, lunch and supper.
Seeing a mother crying tears of lost hope
Seeing a child scratching each and every ***
As if he would miraculously find food.
Will it be forever that all we hear, see, eat and touch is Poverty??
Child of poverty, I am.
Dreaming with an empty stomach filled me up for a jiffy.
For a minute I tasted my dream.
For a second I hoped to live it.
I wanted to be in Poverty no more.
With a touch of hope, I dared.
I dared to chase my dreams.
With no mind-forged manacles.
I strived for my belief.
With a touch of God's grace:
Child of Poverty , I was.
Child of Poverty, no more.

It's pretty and precious when you speak and spit those words of yours that are meaningless.
It's deep and thoughtful when you think you own the land that you were raised up on.
I think it's hilarious when shoes are compared to the price of bread.
Is it me that sees material being more worthy than food?
Brazilian weaves become ends meal and yet no meal is eaten at the end of the day.
Gold twisted to coins
And yet POVERTY is still a lifestyle.
The TRUTH being twisted into LIES.
Fast money reaching it's greatest  peak
But in reality we know that slow money is more purer.
Our hands are filled with BLOOD
Our MINDS are locked in chains
Our wrists are slit with blades.
We are blinded by our stories
Covered by our problems
Scared of the truth.
We'd rather face the darkness than being caught in the light.
Because I heard that once you're caught in light
You're a "GOODY-TWO-SHOES".
We throw punchlines
But they bounce back
With lines that form a REBOUND.
Superficial, materialistic and cynical is what we define.
DREAMS burnt away
As if in a crucible where metals are melted and purified.
Our streets are blocked by ashes
Our senses are polluted with gas.
Yes, our MEN are filled with violence
And yet our WOMEN appear to be resentful and bitter!
But have you forgotten that BITTER  was once SWEET
HATE was once LOVE
ENEMIES  were once FRIENDS?
It's more simple when we reflect our backs on the mirror
'cause now it's not us that we face.
We running from the truth
Due to our fear of our roots.
Remember that God didn't create a coward
Neither did he create a sinner.
It's just the life that we face that trickles us down.
We pop bottles in funerals.
We take shots on horses 'cause we want a hell of a ride.
Our tongues twist what's true to false.
We have become slaves of our sins
So in denial, lost, confused and BRUTALLY tampered with.
We are set for LIBERATION,
INKULULEKO
FREEDOM.  
We have misused our freedom.
Yes , we don't appear to be SINNERS,
We are sinners!!
But I prefer to be a RIGHTEOUS  SINNER . . . .

I love painting the city at night
Chill down influenced, intoxicated or deep into a Jay.
You'd find me staring at the sky
Whether it's clouds I see or stars that I wish to become coz I know some glaze at them and see beauty even if they don't understand the galaxy
They'd find me interesting
Yes I know then I am noticed...

I love painting the city at night
How I'd love to paint it ****
So I can show my imperfections
That make me stand in front of the mirror with the urge of wanting to erase them... Stretch Marks that we scale as silver linings...
Stretch Marks that even an eraser cannot erase...

Wearing clothes that I pretend to not know how "perfect" they'd fit
I'll just say " oh threw this one coz I don't really have time to look perfect"
I pulled an act so you could envy my pretentious perfection.
Perfection that's manufactured of cover pages... How bad I want to make it on the front pages.

I like painting the City at night
Analysing personalities , realising how depressed we are
How we all want to be noticed.

I like painting the City at night
With conclusions made up in my head of how perfect my imperfections are
City lights excite me after every glass of wine that leads me to the realisation of how great depression suits me.

I like painting the city at night.