He is a storm
and storms devastate,
but every time he hurts you,
you hold your breath
and bear the hurricane;
repeating to yourself
One more chance
One more breath
just one more,
and you'll fix him

Until one day you can't
hold your breath anymore,
and you are half a stormy evening,
one tear stained night,
two minutes and five seconds
away from breaking down,

And you realize,
you cannot fix  anyone,
not until you fix  yourself.

His hands,
My hands,
Intertwined
Like two ropes
Knotted together
In a bond
Of
Eternity

26 | 31 Poems for August

I am a blank page, craving for your ink to bleed onto me.
Your thoughts and secrets are safe with me.
Chain yourself to the idea of freedom and slowly begin to liberate me.
Metaphors and similes hit the page at extremely high velocities.
People should often see your pen in motion, you write your poems differently.
It’s fascinating how you create poetry out of silence.
I’ve felt you, seen you give life to things like love, pain, peace and violence.
As soon as inspiration ignites, you gradually begin to write late in the peaceful hours of the night.
Everyone knows that your words and verses tend to excite.
The day your muse realised that words could touch her, she wanted to become a poem.
The type of poem that Maya Angelou’s ink always dreamt about.
Keep respecting your craft, make it more constructive.
Live life and regret nothing, be completely destructive.
You have spent endless nights, hopelessly staring into the void that you are constantly trying to avoid.
Your mind is constantly being filled up with possible poems, people should really see your pen in motion.
You are the Michelangelo of flow, you paint pictures with your poems.
You are the countless calm moments after months and years of violence.
It’s fascinating how you effortlessly create poetry out of silence.
People should see your pen in motion, you write your poems differently.
But I wish you took more time to write.

We are critical.

We find flaws in
everything we see
because nobody
wants to write
about perfection,
even though sometimes
we wish we could just stay
staring into that
unblemished surface.

2. We are never satisfied.

We live our lives upon
mountains of
scrunched up
bits of refill and
ideas we gave up
trying to
express.

3. We never forget.

We write words about
eye contact made
three months ago
that we replay over
and over in our minds
even though it
stopped
being relevant.

4. We are fickle.**

Our emotions flash
from one
to the other
like strobe lighting that
disorientates us
until we feel as if
the world
will never be still.

5. We are exposed.

We don't know how
to keep our feelings
to ourselves so
we'll write them
down for
you to find
'accidentally'.

6. We are vulnerable.

We wear our
hearts on our sleeves
and won't lift a
muscle to fight back
if somebody tries
to break it
because we thrive
from the pain.

7. We will never stop.

We will never stop
feeling and
we will never stop
hurting,
we will never stop
breaking and
bleeding and
loving
even though the cycle
is endless
and we know what's
coming next.


We are addicted
to agony,
but we agonise
for the art.

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may **** me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

28 | 31 Poems for August

I’m slowly falling apart, but all I can think about, is holding the pieces of your broken heart together.
You are the rain I keep dancing in and I see no use in being under an umbrella.
I’ve somehow forgotten the lyrics of my favourite love song.
Slowly sing with me and help me remember.
All I want to do is help you appreciate love’s panoramic view.
All I want to do is know you better and move closer to you.
There are millions of poems and words, but none can explain my love for you.
Give me something that I can hold on to.
Give me something that cannot be defined.
Help me build up my faith when I’ve lost the spirit to believe.
Provide my lungs with sufficient air to breathe.
Show me the pictures of you that haven’t been Instagram-filtered or tainted with Photoshop.
Teach me how to slow dance to the rhythm of your heartbeat.
I’m less interested in seeing you “dropping it like it’s hot” or showing me all the bad things that you’re not.
Let me be more than just words for you.
Let me be more than just hands that long to embrace you.
Let me be someone you can relate to.
Someone your family and friends would love to be introduced to.
Someone who can find the hidden words in your silence.
Let me be the peace that heals your wounds of violence.
Let me be the piece that completes your complex puzzle.
You are everything to me.
If only you could realise that, if only you could see.

Before I left you alone, I placed an infinity of kisses on your collarbone.
You showed me what it felt like to be in a relationship and still feel lonely.
You showed me what it felt like to be in a room full of people bursting out in laughter and still feel alone.
The problem now is that I can’t stop reminiscing on what could’ve been.
It’s clear that I have never ever met someone like you.
It has been a while but I still feel the same way about you.
Maybe I need to let you know, maybe I need to let you go.
I still want to bury my lips in the curves of your neck.
You showed me what it felt like to be in a relationship and still feel lonely.
Now I’m running into the arms of temporary lovers asking for them to hold me.
If you were someone else I’d be tempted to say that the best part of was always you.
But unfortunately it’s not, the love I have for myself is all that I’ve got.
It's all I really need and it’s reiterated by the way my ink starts to bleed.
You found a home inside my heart and no matter what I do, I can never manage to get you to move out.
But if you’re staying a while longer just know that your rent’s due.
You can’t keep living here because a new tenant will be moving in soon.

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.