I've read about bloodshed;
whether foreign or local by hands of same labour,
Tribalism; though something I haven't experienced,
I've felt it's affect. The very hurt of a neighbour.

History has shown us plenty, still the plenty
of hurt in our history we carry.
If these walls could talk; they'd seem lesser, and
quietened by the ground's bloodshed.
History taught us well into future, but affected the
present so badly.

Tears of loss, tears of tragedy,
tears of us, tears of brothers and sisters,
Are tears of all, us as one nation's family.

Tears of old, tears anew,
tears of past, tears of present and future,
Are the tears of another I shed too.

These tears on the grounds of present pastures;
I question how long generations we'll wait for
the tears to into laughter.

Sigh!

Storing up the blessing of sky;
Dry arid season is here,
A drought of love; nature's harshest,
5,000 years of stories,
Silhouette of a rural African experience,
you cover the vastness of her land.

"Tree of life"
Whereas the breath of man was origin,
Folklore; stories of our elders and tomorrow's wisdom,
We are all children of the sun,
Bright skinned under the cooling shade of time,
Time as long as a tree has lived, and lives on.

Lest we be wise to store up our stories,
What will our generations remember of us,
Baobab trunk; store up the provisions, love, stories,
Time, blessings, and fruits of our labour at heart.

Baobab tree; blowing the wind,
A symbol of life in harshest of times,
We adapt to our environment; people all to thrive.

It is our nature.

Worthwhile moments printed in memory,
the good, bad and moderate at times,
all that we have now; is all that we can
cherish.

I'm blessed for knowing you all,
the known and strangers. I must have
heard and seen a thousand stories,
I've been blessed to be a part of them all,
even if it was by quick interaction.

Your moment was my moment,
we've made moments together,
a worthwhile experience; we're all
the moments waiting to happen.

Let's enjoy the moment.

To some she seems less appealing; by skins of shedding
away snakes. Liars in the world with venomous words,
But there's a city on fire,—in the burning eyes of
the bright future I see in her.

Clean streets; at least better than a capital,
chilled vibes, and no rush to the stresses we
all got to face. Faces of a bright smile; but of late
hidden under a surgical mask.

Sky's the limit in skies, but we're limited
by the resources we once had. "Salibonani mama/baba,"
greeting my elders out of respect.
A mix of black, white coloured, indian, and many more;
the dish of flavours going well with good fellowship at church.

Race barriers still exist; but maybe we ignore it
enough that it seems little. The writing is on the wall!

Many tribes, but my tribe is of great people.
Aren't we all, despite of upbringing or class,
status, hierarchy, or density highs or low.

I have love for you all, love for my Bulawayo.

My love for you is a mile
a journey
a long road
an odyssey
an adventure
but I'm yet to find
the footing
the first step
of telling you
"I like you"

Disengage; why diss an age for not being at the same
pace of your particular race,
Disarray; what play do you stand for in the game of
fitting in life's tight space,
Display; is on every man's pride on the wall;
painting the bricks you've built on false confidence to portray.

In these days pretending we're all okay,
"how are you really," we should really tell our cherished people,
But the words are too heavy to say. Too heavy to be brave,
too ashamed to pray. The African mindset of sitting on a
journey's first step, and yelling, "God will make a way"

We're far away from the potential we choose not to chase,
a waste of yourself. ******* attitude; rotting the mind to
decay. Calling the black and white lines, yet we're forcing
ourselves in between truth and lies. Life is grey.

Life is strange, life is wonderful, but at times a cause of
man's dismay. Still cherish it for it's all, and appreciate today.
It's someone's birthday today, anywhere in any moment. So
celebrate each moment like the event we all cheer,
"hip hip hooray"

Yaaayy!

Fantasy dream; caught in the between of reality
caught in these nets of generation’s imagination.
Desiring self *** appeal,—only the ones who’ve got
the guns for creation. Violence runs the streets;
a marathon of the fatherless kids brought into the world.
Tell them not to be bent out of shape if you dare, but
any blow of the wind causes them to fold.

Tender kisses of mama; spoiled a child:
Rotten as blackened teeth holes of the sweetest treats,
a long while since a tame domesticated the wild.
This child! Has only witnessed domestic violence all
of their life. Stepped on stepfather; beating the daylights
out of them every night.

Seeking approval; where the approved are only the kids
who break the rules. “There goes the youth,“
they’d often say. Unknowingly the same band of troubled
young mother’s go on their knees each night to pray.

But you’ll just bat an eye away from them;
ignore a present problem, still looking to a future’s gain.
Or take advantage of a youngster, then claim
their misconduct being only by an upbringing
as to blame. Where are the men?

To show a son how to love and respect,
a daughter a hand of gentle protection,
Teaching lessons of wisdom never to forget,
not of their words becoming a weapon.
To not settle for less when there’s always a best,
don’t let the shortest sad times become a deep long depression.

In the end what will our future be;
if we’re not being the future we’ll leave for
our young to follow,
Don’t glance at it with wallow,
build yourself strong,—build that strong
tomorrow.

9:15; a quarter mile away from truth.
Conversations are boring, all about what we've done for today.
Innocence of two kids before their moppet words find their youth.

Texts get a little deeper, a minute past ten.
All past experiences, and mistakes are; with heart and soul
expressed. Their companionship sees the other more than a friend.
"I like you," a quickly deleted message, but has been read.
Emoji eyes; "I seen what you wanted unseen," the eyes seemingly said.

Awkward silence, awkward silence; both sides typing and clearing
their response. Nobody presses send; while there's a slap on the
head exclaiming; "not like this, not the beginning of this
relationship's end"

"I didn't mean to make things weird with my emotions.
I'd like you as a lover, but I love how we are as friends in the
open," a brave text sent out of one still hoping.

"But I like you too," the next reply came around late.
Phew! What a relief; least for now. But what happens next,
I guess is the pending question of staying up this late.

It was best to go to bed by eight...

Overbearing–
the past feels heavy on my heart;
burdened on the many regrets of life,
A heavy heart is of what weight you
choose to carry;

Carry your worth–but not carried away
in bright fame lights of successes,
Stuck for a moment; but we must soon
carry on...

Carry on, carry on, carry on;
carry that strength with a patient heart,
Carry on, carry on, carry on;
Soon will we make it to a peaceful end.

Numbing pain; headache tablets full in a mouth,
speedy replies, and local loves. I love the rush.
I broke my heart for a crush.
Reminder: life is a little too
rough.

But I'm acting tough, close to the lines of messing up.
Always about to cuss. I swore it was the last,
but that's just a whispering bluff.
Enough of myself, too full of
myself every time I
laugh.

I spend hours thinking about random stuff; to huff
and puff, and blow away my best love. And we
both love spending hours talking about
some random
stuff.

She's had enough, with pure innocence of a dove.
And I'm the one sinning on her behalf. She's the
better half; but still a kid at heart, acting
tough. She's a calf, domesticated from
her wild love from her
past.

We're tragically in love, not from above or succumbs;
pushing time into each other, as it will shove.
Holding necks with a love glove, it has me
so choked up. In the first line of
love being a
drug.

Wayward thoughts, I think far ahead of myself. Stuck in my ways of a procrastinating thought, at least in the times I don’t know what to do.
Seems like there’s a lot of pressure nowadays. Alas with my careless
ways; of not caring at all for myself. Involved in the opinions of others, likely more than I listen to facts.

Sigh! Every piece I write feels like a sorrowful love letter to my past
self. That child would never sleep peacefully; knowing what future he
has to wake up to. But I need that younger me to keep on dreaming, for me to have something to believe in, (to hope in ) at these critical
moments.

But what about the future self? Do I even have the strength to bite on
my nerves; to remind him of current events? Writing in a diary I’ll
forget about in the coming years. Whether he becomes a success or
not, how long do I have to wait for the answer?

Longer than the patience I hold in my hands. Time fades away like a pair of jeans, worn out by the wearing anxiety of life. A button missing, with the threads sticking out. I've stuck out plenty, but few of the times that put me at an advantage. Foreign are my lips; by a tongue speaking blessings, that it feels like an unfamiliar language.

The pain never ends, but moves onto another. To change face, but still the first face you'll see in the morning. So perhaps the only thing I'll say to my past, and future self is, "I'm sorry"

A robbery: it starts of, by overcharging a people of  their everyday basic commodity. Honestly! Are we all not trying to live that way,
But how do we survive in a life of less regards, and an apology?Seems a price tag’s sayings is, “I’m more than your worth”

The entitled: are so many undeserving, as lightning is in a man’s bones; his enlightenment is struck in a nerve of knowing there’s not much he owns. Though he certainly owes.

A dream: of working long overdue hours in their head, the day is gone but one man’s labour never ends. A waking dream; deep breath out for there’s a lot to be taken in. Still in the reality of it only being good at taking.

A bigger than life experience, unfortunately with a small package.
Miss your train of thought; it's best to wait for the next carriage.
Off the rails, is there a better way to living? Seems hard in doing things yourself, but also harder to be Christian.

So understand my only greatest prayer in life is to find wisdom.

Spoken word: the resting tongue laiden on potential thought.
I exclaimed, "I am, a poem," loudly as courage lets the heart
be bold in her voice.

She is love, but often wicked and rough.
A cup you fill of often watered down emotions. Do you focus
onto past or present experiences,—or are experienced in growing
a worthwhile future? I attest to myself of a testimonial; in these
dreams I've perceived.

Do see I firstly before you see just some random guy. I am
bright,—as two suns crashing into each other; that the stars
witnessed in awe. I am spoken word, a poem of endless words.
As you see less of me, so shall I give them more.

I am, a poem.

Now in these eyes, petrified, terrified, suicide,
In all the walks of life, fighting only to survive,
A man's pride is weaponized; his failings widely televised,
All the moments of love's bitter sweet,—by what we gingerfy,
Love is red; putting yourself out there to be hurt and jeopardize,
Learning from past mistakes,—change of character we gentrify.

Oh the next line; follow suit of a route to death wrapped in a necktie,
We envy to say "hie," but are accustomed to saying short goodbyes,
As life is a constant trial; walking court cases with a confident smile,
"Guilty or not," all of my shortcomings I press on in their denial.

I've walked a thousand's,—in a mile of every breath of time,
Though I haven't lived a while, I've seen plenty in these eyes.

Mr Nice Guy,
with a broken smile, shattered dreams, and tired knees.
Battered equals, divided by trades of thought. You think
too much, with idle hands so dangerous when you’re
getting bored.

All the time of the world, is too small to hold.

Or like the past in your hands, a bright future seems
too dim in your head. So while you’re living to impress,
and motivate others lost in the lights of life;
I know you’re constantly hoping to wake up dead.

Aren’t you already there?

You won’t be there alone too long, I’ll be joining you soon.
Let me not wake up dead. I’ll need to switch off my alarm.

Question...

What is self conversation in these minded walls;
What speaks louder,— a present, past or longing future,
Who do you follow to be the leader of tomorrow,
Who are your children to be; of what you make of yourself now,
And how do you treat yourself when the public eyes are off,
With the obvious expected responses of a nice guy?

Oh Mr Nice guy, you're too nice for the world.

Untouched moments, untouched skins,
An untouched moon under one night’s
Ocean blue, and it was just us two.

Beachside sights, toes stuck in salty sands,
Life is an offshore view of foreign lands,
And I threw a watch in the waters to wash off the
seconds. Where sun and moon both kiss the same sky,
Is the light to the open gates of Heaven.

Angels with their great wings; are a soaring escape,
But narrow did this paradise seem afar in my eyes,
Two thousand tears fall, in life's heavy grey rain,
As kingdom come reins, we hold onto all that we have,
Holding hands together to say our daily Lord’s prayer.

“Our father, who art in Heaven,” a place love resides,
And with it the many blessings.
“Thy Lord be thy name,” we call upon Him to be saved
By His grace, gracefully still stuck on Earth.
“Thy kingdom come, thy will be done," I hold tightly,
In a prayer with my imperfect love.

Time is lost in all of a man's final words in death,
A beachside prayer, I'm washed of a past in new tides,
If I drowned in all of my regrets, don't let the anchor of
Sin keep me down at the bottom; Oh Lord. Amen.

We take slow drives to nowhere;
Towards a Sunday drive, with your heavenly kisses
On my lips. I close my eyes, being out of touch, out of time,
out of lines, and all out of rhymes.

As I head outwards into space; on my Tuesday highs,
Feeling so warm at heart, but I can’t stay inside,
But maybe I’ll love you by this Thursday’s vibe,
Comparing our loves for things we both like,

And kiss in rhythm;
Until our tongues dance on each other,
But there’s never enough time...Only of the one
You and I make together.

Let's make the time to love.

When you’re dancing underwater, as with feet so deep
inside of the ground. In my absence; you feel so free
as I’m not around. So shy to show off your two left feet,
I’m the least embarrassed to see you at you’re cheeks redness;
as like two overripe apples, (hanging around desire)

Toes shaky as the business hands at the longest meet
and greet, I’m so overjoyed as you dance a night;
would you at least dance one last dance with me?
While singing a happy tune with joyful tears, two weeks of
water works, and choking words, (of how to explain my love)

So accustomed to being here before, crushing my heart,
just to impress a crush. Speed dating conversations; just to
get a feel of the rush.

High on emotions; careful not to crash, as plain expressions
does many harm. But who’s going to put up with the bull,
of the sheets I use to cover the beds of love; I've made to rest
away from despair?

Flattery is key, a twisting lock into a glimpse of your heart,
One last dance it seems we all have; under the music of
life's grand stage, (do enjoy the show)

I enjoy watching you at your most vulnerable, as I'm so
vulnerable in my eyes barely focused on anything else
but you. We all live a single life, but a better chance of it when
we dance together in it as two.

So shall you and I dance?

Loaded gun; with the glares of girls shooting
their shot. X marks the spot of where she aimed for
my heart.

It hurts to love, it hurt me plenty in the fall,
I was in the air; floating, waiting for what they say
it means to be in love.

Slowtown, right around the corner of the rush
of my feelings. A crush is a rock you carry on the strength
of wishful thinking, and desire.

Overcrowded in the room of sickly ones,
wickedly sickened by a love sickness. Love sticks to the air,
Untamed by the consequences it must carry.

Yet you only see what you what, but still a love
sick fool is the reason for it being so blind.

Do you still as a youth glance at a potential lover,
or does maturity see a future?

Mmmm....

The oak is strong; as it must be from cutting words,
Tough skin and brave,
Calm handed and determined,
Bright smile and focused,
Wise eyes and ownership; life does require this.

You are strong—but not like gods,
You are strong—but not like machines,
You are strong—but not like currencies,
You are stronger when you choose to...

Grow in the winds, rooted in time,
And fruitful of a cooling love under shade.

I am a Great oak.

Trodden puddles; muddy waters of cattles laiden on the
path of a dry river bed. The surrounding being ever present
of one's land loss. It's love (like many hearts) so bare to the
humid air, under these heated moments. Skins have broken
out, in my rash decisions.

Don't butter me up, to spread the falseness of a left hand.
Though it's right isn't always holding onto doing right.

Shall I tend the field—once after the herd passes? Let no puddle
be open on where you walk.

Wait your turn, others will fail in front of you,
    Learn from where you stand
You too shall have your losses,
      But lesser the former:

Wait your turn, as love is a given,
   Still we must search
Not of a love out there, but a love
   In us—worth to be loved;
Don't chase what you can never hold,
   Nor trodden grounds of crave:

Wait your turn, till death picks you
  Not to be called by sparing lips,
Risks are life—though aren't the ones to risk your life
  Treat a moment as it's the last,—make it last:

Wait your turn, for no success comes in a day,
  No peace of heart is without pieces
Littered with worry, how do you dream?

Wait your turn, for these lessons
  Are what you'll always own,
Wait your turn, to be a father, a mother,
   A success, a people and great story
Wait your turn, my children to be
        A woman and a man.

The fall of beauty,— a rose buried beneath the
soil of time. A gazelle; prancing in tall grass,
Quickly noticed by attraction and hunt.

How fair does beauty stay in tune,
as like in a jungle...Time preys on you like the
hungry Lion.

Chocolate diet,
your hairs were too sweet, so you chose to dye it.
“Do you like it, “ you had to ask me, which I had to
admit, “I seriously Iove it.“ But I only could mind it.
In a diabetic coma, we were sleeping on sweet dreams
with your hair on my favourite pillow. A willow now;
your hair was now falling off. You tried to dye your age,
but how it looked before wasn’t really much the same.
Still wishing the old you could come back around again.

Coffee diet,
you’ve been grinding all of your life in continuous cycles.
“Can I have a break, “ you exclaimed to me, I couldn’t lie
to you, and pretend slowing down meant you’d have a break.
Baby test your brakes, just to ease yourself into rushing into
those familiar mistakes. There’s no shame I could put all on you.
Even when I’m trying to fix everything, not only for one of us.
But also fixing a fulfilling life for us two. But it’s all for you.

Cannabis diet,
we’re getting high on all of our wildest desires, and dreams.
Afraid of the heights, getting to the top of success as it seems.
Playing both sides of the spectrum of ideas. Can’t we work out
all of our issues as a team? The closest we are, to doing the
same kind of work. Your cooking up some stories, and I’m
cooking up a storm of my words. How soon till the kitchen gets
burnt? Bite marks under skins; getting on each other’s nerves.

Commitment diet,
tying ourselves around trust. But it passes the fine line
of making up, or passing around lust. Why does the love we’re
making, end off with me having to cuss? We’re playing it all a
little too rough. I can’t be explaining to workmates about my face’s
latest cuts. Must of been the feelings that radiated the first time
we met. But it turned into radiation, falling into a toxic combination.
Toxic relationships are only the ones people fall into blindly. But we
could see the disaster before, taking it ever so lightly. And so mildly.

Cuddle diet,
teddy bear kisses, calling me soft for falling so easily in love with
you. I had to borrow someone else’s glue to get myself stuck to you.
Listening too many times, to peers pressuring me to do things I
never really liked. But they were the ones to decide how far I should
jump, to reach up to their hype. Yet your friend’s excitement aren’t
there, when they see a close couple they know publicly fight.

Sigh,
I must be tired, and too full of myself to picture me the fool.
Drooling over love; waters of the flesh are only sweet in the
moment. But try yourself to enjoy the same taste, straight after
***.

Seriously,
why must we go around chasing loves, leaving us out of breath?
Following a length of measuring up to unrealistic values, and
ending up with less of your human strength. Regrets will fill up
your favourite plate. A diet of all of these things, somehow leaves
you bent out of shape. I was too busy chasing cake, but the flavours
of it, wasn’t something I could always taste.

So,
I had loads of inked pains to write this. Not to act as if all the parts
of you I despise or really miss. But if lips are the first taste we have
to a full meal of two lover’s violence, I think I’ll just stay off it’s diet.

I caught myself dreaming of places I’ve
never been to and seen before,
Breaking, decaying, crying my eyes out till
they’ve flooded the floor.

I’ve been flying; without the wings of
any of the angels or the birds,
Living with strangers; so unfamiliar inside of
this very small world.
Repairing these many things that never broke;
putting back the many tiny pieces of my soul.

Wondering where next to go.

Screaming, “keep your long breaks”
you can’t break into my heart.
Ease your pace into falling in love;
and my love test your brakes.

But I’m smiling in the dark,
hope you see my bright smile;
I stole from a thousand stars.
I drew a constellation in the skies;  
just to remind us who we truly are.

People!

Or have you forgotten, four gots; still
you’re counting them all,
Why are you so afraid to open up,
instead of letting people peep through the door?

Complaining about a little, but you could never
afford, or handle any more!
Waiting at corner shops; when there’s so much
in store.

Myself is the longest fight,
the battle never ends while you’re still alive.
But wouldn’t it put the enemy off, if you came
to the battle with a smile?

I can’t say it wouldn’t work, but it’s worth a-

Try!

Skin tone; like bright pearls under the sun.
Standing straight hairs by the goosebumps of a touch.
Chills down the spine; a travelling sensation to her curled toes.
The kiss of morning, with a hint of coffee breath. Dry crusty
toothpaste in the corner of the sink. A noisy tap, and running
shower waiting to get warm. (Running away from the cold)

The warm embrace of a hug from behind, a background
picture of love making from behind. (A favourite position)

Bacon and eggs, sitting on a lap with yesterday's only crisp shirt.
Short like the days of a dying wish, dead in the sense of the
time they both have to ****.

The morning routine of lovers.

I act shy around
strangers,
strangely enough
amongst my peers,
but around you
I'm not as shy;
to be strangely in
love with
you.

strange?

"Take that sorry and swallow it; like the first spit of the morning. 
That holds around your neck by; the grips of life.

Your sorry's are so out of hand.

But does it hold anything, if I'm not touched in the first place,"
I had asked her. But it felt like I was asking myself more of why
I couldn't accept her apologies.

"To be, or not to be" (William Shakespeare from Hamlet)
As it's been asked. I question the choice to choose or
Not to choose, in the fitting affairs of what would
You do in someone else's shoes (Walking their mile)

Place yourself in another;
The life of a sister or a brother. Racial barriers:
What are they, but one's blind hatred for another colour?
If you lived the life they do, how would their
Discrimination leave an affect on you?
When the same of the world, isn't the same in your
Sphere,– a harsh word said publicly neither sheds a tear.
But you identify yourself in the identity of what
You've been told; in a world where the new is just
A reincarnation of an old.

I guess,
The hate of back then is just a new,
Coming back around all over again. On repeat:
The hurt on ourselves; repeated on children's grandchildren.
High expectations we've set get so taller and taller,
While the worth of ourselves gets so belittled by a former.

What's change with yesterday's chains,
Shame that replaces a familiar name;
Those who don't give a **** are ******
In a nation under your nose; vaguely it understands.
What do you stand for on the stands of your life,
And who do stand with,– be it your God, your family
Your friends, a husband or a wife?

Be not kind in just for appearance and status.
Trade good from the bad given, the love you have
To dilute the hate. "I know they hate us,
But it was never the hate that created us"

It was love...

So to be, or not to be: Do you be the not
Of what they want be,– or rather not to be,
Of all the world's faults, that is the question.

Crashing aeroplanes inside the ocean,
all the blues of heaven skies will fall.
Grab your bathing suit, and best summer toes.
Open up yourself like a garden rose,
crimson red cheeks,
Shine as bright to warm up your cold nose.

Falling tears from high above the trees,
cools the earth along with the winds.
Catch your breaths to feel as free.
Hold your hands onto the things you need,
let it all out each time you breathe.

Past the square of circling seasons,
winter, and summer, joys of the morning
With all the Sun’s kisses, and brightened
reasons.

To live on, like the circling repeat of
your favourite yesterday’s song.
Stay as strong.

Whispers of strength heard in the softest ears,
comparing hurts with a taste of your tears.
Recognising familiar eyes,
all dealing with the same kind of fears.

Window frames filled with the echoes of the rain,
racing down the glass, two kids sit and laugh.
Taking time off their backs to sit and relax.

Pepsi by two for a dollar,
two ice cubes full, tucking away my love,
As she tucks down my fine collar.

Clothed in the finest of a day,
taking birthdays as just another day.
Before I’m close to the age of twenty eight,
gathering around a few friends and family, all
cheering, “hooray”

Crying in comfort when I’m gone,
For you won’t have to miss me for too long.
I’ll meet you all at the corner of a new dawn.

This is life.

Young depression is,—
not feeling like I can move out of bed,
but I’ve got constant moving thoughts in my head.

It’s paranoia,—
of all those scenarios you paint out in your head,
bleeding out emotions that every tastes red.

It’s cold hanging feet,—
of the next step I’m so afraid to take,
bent out on my concerns and feeling out of shape.

It’s a sharp knife,—
thinking about how many cuts it takes to ****,
hurting yourself every day to see if you still feel.

It’s a smile,—
you show off a happiness they want to see,
a slave to the traumas that won’t let you be free.

It’s crawling in your skin,—
so reluctant to walk any further,
living up to life’s hype of jumping over another hurdle.

It’s feeling insecure,—
amongst the familiar faces in the crowd,
hangouts with friends but feeling like no-one is around.

It’s feeling lost,—
in a world full of so many others,
avoiding to be grey in a world of so many colours.

It’s all that I once was.

Her lips were cold as a Winter’s bone, sending sharp chills down your
spine. His kiss was like a Summer, with it’s sun warming up the days.
A Spring of blossoming scented flowers, no longer shy to be openly
seen.

The butterflies in search of nectar, being the ones in her stomach. As
with the fall, they had both fallen in love during the Autumn.

He would forever be her seasoned kisser.

Soles of white dusty red shoes,
Old laces, and pieces of plastic on the tips,
Newspapers to add space in a mediocre label,
Fake Vans, that ironically says, ‘Original’
In place of that brand’s tag.

Red, and reliable like the last piece of value,
In a house of not many valuable things.
Except the memories of the places I’ve walked,
Bruising my ******* jamming my back heel,
Into a rather than tight new pair.

“These are supposed to be size nines”

As like the age my foot grew longer than I did,
Taking every corner before I did. Indicating loudly,
Which next turn I’m going to take.

Truly shy of my foot without the covering protection,
Of a common shoe. Don’t judge how far I’ve been,
By the measure of the state of my shoes.

I haven’t been that far...

Though I would like to have,
To foreign places like the land I bought my shoes.

Today I had to throw them away,
Which felt like I threw away...

A piece of a memory,
A piece of my wealth,
A piece of myself,
A piece of favourite clothing,

Worn so proudly on my feet.
Farewell to my reliable old red shoes...Sigh!

I've traded the butterflies in my stomach for birds
woodpeckers,— they seem to be of the groans
I have around
you.

tap, tap, tap

There goes the sound of my love for you,
flying south to the warmest parts of
my heart

Truly I am bird shy in expressing my love

Is this truly
love?

Butterflies are birds now

What am I doing so wrong in my life, to not be moving any
further ahead? How many counts do I need make, to soon realize
I’m running out of breath?

Am I dead?

No, not yet!

But as close to the feeling, with blood running through my eyes,
to only see red. It could be my last time to wake up alive in my bed.
The confusing phrase of, “he/she woke up dead”

Where I rest my head, lays the thoughts of dealing with life’s pressures
and pointless cares. Gaining less of self-respect, and losing some of
my hairs. Especially at an early stage, as I disengage from people who
act my age.

Well the previous one at the least.

Being too young doesn’t have much to give, but just wasted time.
Living without much direction, missing every sign. Pretending you’re
all fine. Flipping girls over for a change of finding a dime. I’m funding
my love, but quickly losing interest. They could be so many out
there, but I’m not a fan of all the kinds of fishes.

Those constant sweet nothings, and long tongued kisses. Not
really much of a fan, when my opinions to them are blowing in
the wind. I’m just blowing in the wind, with the echoes of it
tickling me down in my knees.

Sigh! I take a few minutes to quietly breathe.

Testing my own winds, to see if I still feel. Ha, I’ve watched an
emotion develop into being. Proceeding far ahead of my delusions
that trick my out of the things that are real.

Sigh! I take a few minutes to quietly breathe.

Blowing in the winds, blowing in the winds, blowing in the winds.
A windmill of my life, all of which spins on repeat.

How do I stop myself from blowing in the winds?

With love, we are made from love
To love,— we are once loved
Give love to receive love, be love to see love
And speak love to taste love

We are all love...

"I'm the sweetest"
so said the grapefruit by it's looks,
"I'm the most mature"
so said a sour big grape hanging on,
"I'm the tastiest"
so said an apple with a worm in the centre.

Oh the denial of beauty, alas it's subtleties
are just a bite in moments.
But what fill does it have,
of it's tastes?

Feeling extra nervous, when my phone battery hits
forty-four. Feeling low at the half points of my soul,
Train of thoughts burning all of the last coals. Fossil fuels,
going into being extinct. Less than active when I take so
long to blink. So over a thought, but only after I over think.

Did I set that alarm, the daily one I always check before bed.
“I hope tomorrow I don’t wake up dead,“ hasn’t that phrase
been over said? Who really cares, and why do the corner eyes
of stranger’s have such awkward stares? Glares of my glaring
insecurities, usually when I’m treating my flaws with such cruelty.

Disciplinary, proceedings brought forth to the circles of self
beatings on my every worth. Could never describe myself with
just a single word. I’m bent over myself on a road of life, with
the longest curve.

Where am I heading, when it feels like seven seconds close to
Heaven. All the blessings in a straw nest of Christians still
nestling. Going against the world, and t.v. screen’s weaponry.
Bang, bang, boom! We cares about doom, just take it as nothing,
and quickly move.

Onto the very next thing, and trend. Do what the t.v. says,
playing the longest game of Simon says. Like wrestling bears.
That’s a very short fight of pulling hairs. Ha! Being bold to being
bald.

There I go again over thinking ahead of my next thought.
Butterfly fishing, for the wings of a wet slippery effect, I soon
never caught.

By the way, my phone is at forty-one. Rushing to put it on
charge all night for morning’s fun. It wasn’t charging at all.
Well, don’t I feel so dumb.

Sigh! The one time I didn’t choose to over think. Now I don’t
have the device to quickly dot down how I feel.

Being an over thinker is so real.

Mountains that are tall, cover the dreams
that are shallow. Valleys that are long,
are the lives that are too short,

Love that is blind, is a tragedy to eyes. Words
that are sweet, are sour to the years.
Beauty that is made, is the grief of an early
morning,

Choices that are made, is the shaping of
their future. Creatures of a thousand
breaths, are all under one Death,

Tears of now, aren’t the ones of forever.
Spirits to be filled, are of those empty vessels.
Transformation isn’t a sudden, but all a
continuous event,

All that we want to be, can all be.
The question is only,—

when?

When do you choose to move, in all
the things of life holding you back,
When do you choose to be brave, in all
the fears you constantly have to face,
When do you fix a broken world, in all
of the brokenness to be fixed in you,
When do you choose to love another, in all
of the less love they have for you,
And truly when do you make a change for yourself,
in all a society trying to change you,—

tell me when?

Wipe my eyes, melting away the wax
of unrighteousness; to see into your grace,
and all it’s wisdom.

I’ve been blinded,— to not see the value of my
worth. In dusty mirrors, only seeing the worst.
A slave, a sinner, and being so undeserving of
your love.

Oh Father,—

Boys will be boys, but not rarely are the
men baptised in wisdom. Washed of their
former selves.

Spirit filled,— isn’t of the religious talk your lips
could exclaim. But of what really resides inside;
of you and your relationship with God, alone.

Voices are many, only in the quietest moments
of heading into sin. But it’s but a whisper of what
true righteousness speaks of.

Know that it is Him,— the King of kings,
Lord of all, as Jesus is and remains the one
true King.

Reading the Bible, when Jesus died
Each time I was feeling suicidal. Grab onto the rifle,
Feeling ****** in those cycles. Who am I though, in the
These staying thoughts, wondering where to go?

Reading a newspaper, to impress the daily
Struggles of my neighbour. Asking for a teaspoon of cooking
Oil as a favour. We all bleed the same, but act as if we’re
Not made from the same creator?

Reading the comments, the racial barriers,
Looking black, but I was told I belonged to the coloureds.
White tongue speaking, too seem a little different, yet
I wasn’t regardless. A garden of people, but why did it feel
Like we weren’t any part of those pretty flowers?

Reading the gimmicks, the fake prophets, and
All of those acting religious. Irreligious, eerie thoughts
Of those seeing their own hate as a witness. Can you believe
This, or are we the generations just to repeat this?

Reading up on the icon, believing one could be my
Saviour while they’re well gone. I could remember all
Of the lyrics of a trendy song. But not enough verses of
My Bible with the dust on. Would I rise less to Heaven by
The next dawn?

Reading the tears of years, I’ve got the tragedy of
Losses to former peers. Not in death, but feels like it
When we haven’t spoken in years. It’s clear we weren’t
Here for too long, to relate on our greatest fears.

So I’m just reading, reading, reading,
Never to stop reading all that I see.
I’ve read into so much matters of this crazy world,
My eyes at times bleed.

I read on...

Leather seating, closure in these moments
while we’re on the longest of this drive,
Maps stuffed in the glove compartment; where
shall we go on this long road?

Not giving hearts, but giving you my word,
in a blue chassis ride, skipping gears to get to five.
Going down hill, and I’ll put it down into glide.

I’m not as neutral, to express my eyes, reflecting
all the pretty mirrors of your body.
Lap sitting, holding onto my steering wheel,
hand on a rear; wipers set on low. And I’ll kiss you
one last time, as if the last becomes the first.

Blue Nissan, tell me if you’ve even been in a
ride like this before? When your empty pockets are
full, and you’re driving a car you could never afford.

I promised myself, not to do the wrongs I do to
myself to someone I love.
To not go on stealing hearts, as if this world
doesn’t have too many bandits.

My hands are vowed to only rest their desires
on you. These lips are a secret only to know
your ears.

This love I can only gladly give to my God,
You, and His people.

Death isn’t an end to us, but just a new beginning
we can only get to one by one.
So keep my seat warm up in Heaven, and I’ll keep
yours too if it’s me to go before you.

Whether sickness is chasing my lungs,
cancers diagnosed on my list of problems,
Let’s just be running towards the days of life you
and I both still have.

And like this drive,
with no rush to our final destination,
But enjoyment of all we’ll experience on this
road of life.

The wettest of love written out of my black
fountain pen. I’ve got hearts to spend,
customs to save, and not a lot of people to blame.

Oh what a shame, in this love’s long game,
starting off as friends, good remarks,
All into permanent scars; how haven’t we
come as far?

Oh I wonder how to slow down, to keep on
searching for something not yet around.

Love!

Oh where do I search, with the possible heartbreaks
that seem to lurk? Cut and burnt, soon after I had
my first.

Love letters into ashes, ashes into the dust,
scratched out names, nails turning into rust.

Pinned down by the wrists; to hold onto pain,
crosses are instead exes. Restless, into resting
soundly in my death.

In over my head, thoughts are covering
my shame. I’m waiting patiently after all,
to fall in love.

Once again.

Treat as royalty with my broken crown,
pull away veils, could I not see your open
love,

Your heart amongst empty chests in the
crowd,
would you only notice me when I'm not
around,
Wish to hear me when there’s not a single
sound,
you only seemed lost when there was nothing you
found,

Act high on your thrills in a lifestyle so upside
down,
a pound of flesh, a pack of thoughts, and a bag of
****,

Every time you sleep, you’re taking that leap,
another risk; whether this time to wake up from
that dream,

Eyes wet, waking up from ocean dreams,
I hope your parents taught you well how to
swim,

In so deep, in murky waters,
as all you’re doing is looking for surface under
your feet.

But the sands also sink,
trying not to shut your eyes, so you constantly
blink.

Insomnia is keen to grinning,
smiling on all the chances of stealing your
sleep.

I’m so weak; for not being your shore
inside of all those tempestuous dreams.

Ghost in the shadows, killing thoughts had in the dark,
What luck to have been so close to an edge,
pulled away from the cliff, close to being cut off,
But my scaled skin just broke off the tip. Given a
second chance to live.

Sort of took a chance to breathe, took all that’s in,
And letting out desire; seems my old inner demons
are quick to come together and conspire,
Darling I’m only a liar, I could never count all
of the daily lies in pen, and catchy rhymes.

But just wait for tonight.

Tonight we’re going to be caught up in a lie,
laying sheets of paper on a wooden bed,
Drawing closer to an embrace, with my imprint
on your skin.

Oh where to begin?


Is it sweet lips, cherry bites, and still wild,
scented candles, and perfumed necks,
Smelling of youthful passions, and exuberance,
I’m dying fighting this flesh.

Chestful of voices, holding breaths, holding
embraces, and swimming pools, swimming
breast stroke. I’m smothered by your pillows.

In the centre line to the belly of tickles, all the
sensitive areas for both of us.
Of course the senses are only too much, if my
tenderness of kisses are a bit too fast.

Setting sun, and a sinking moon,
in between an ocean with it’s two peaks,
I had my glimpse under a dress,
address me as a favourite flavour, slowly as you
undress.

The duration of warming up long legs,
pressing down buttons, pressing knees,
Pressing feet, pressing emotions, pressing
concerns, I’m pressed to solve them with a
bust of a gun.

Won’t our tonight be so fun?

These fallen empires; hidden treasures,
how to put them into words,—

I’d much prefer; of things I’ve had,
oh of the so little, less than expected.

Truly then to be glad.

Of an out of touch experience; but soon
it’s out of hand.

As time is like Oceanside sands,—
to come and go in just moments,

Alas the winds...a breath, a breeze,
so shyly felt on my naked skins,

A keen spirit of blessings, shall they be upon
you; like the ocean’s sun sinking into skin.

Do go on to dream,
with open eyes; for the successes you’d long to see.

Novelty; as of which morality is in the pages
of life’s novel. Seems so short now; in the days
of this crazy world.

I yawn; as the many things of it;
has rendered me so bored.

But still in the hopes to live young,
smile long, and die old.

Live on, dream long, be strong, and be bold.

Tis my message to all.

Young are fools,
Young is love with it’s gazing wet eyes,
Young is time,— of it you still have,
Young are dreams,
Young are fears,
Young are the first worries life burdens us with,
Young are we all,—only for a time.

You are never too young of all to do,
But old in the spirits of picking whichever's when,
To start off young, and end off old.
Though life is as short,— it feels too young nowadays.

~All is too young.~

My desires of a dream, in the sheeting of time.
I am wrapped over, by a harsh reality.
A morning sunrise, upsets dark looming eyes of fears.
Gutted by the feelings of butterflies in my stomach.
The knots of being tied to flesh.
Belittled by facts of my experience not reaching up to this word
of Love.

Seems only a word slipping out of the tongue to wet ears.
Pleasurable to be heard by our once youth.
But not of their deserving.
But what of the old, that has impressed the new, I haven’t
the slightest clue.

Garden roses
my heart is a bunch of thorns,

Sweet white Lillie
my love is of ornamental peace,

Oh my Aster
the brightest star in the dark,

My sweetest Daisy
so affectionate sweetness of your hope,

These tulips are such
a touch of my purple violence,

For blue Iris
is stuck inside of my shadowy eye,

In this paradise,
please my dearest children, keep away
all of those weeds.

Beautiful tragedy, a travesty of love brought by
things unspoken by the lips of so many few.
A honeydew sticky to my tongue, underneath the
fun of having someone to call, “my love”

Fields of maize rustling dry leaves in the tiniest
of breeze. Reminds me of the first time love had
shook me down in my knees.
Baobab trees of a swollen heart, packing luggage in
that African trunk. Under the tree kissing during lunch,
or in all of those lessons you and I would love to bunk.

Eversharp blue pens, drawing heart pictures on my wrist.
Bathroom breaks, and scandalous friends. Making sure
the memory of you, isn’t the one thing I rinse.
I’m convinced, with all the exercise books with tiny blocks,
I’d one day be boxed in by love.

With heavy weinbrenner shoes, walking around your entire
room to make them fit. I’d walk a thousand miles
to find a place in your heart, with my charms and wit.

Cascade diary drinks, cascading shadows of your
desires milked by the many ways you’ve lived.
I felt you heavily breathe, each time we kissed,
clutching my fingers to grab onto a time,
long before the low blows of love with a closed fist.

Must be nostalgia talking into my present days
and cares. A crush sweet as orange Mazoe,
you and I once would share.

I’ll take all the time to remember those lessons from old
things, and of course an old flame of love.
Trace my fingers along the scars, and the smiles
of memories we made out together.
Despite it being out of teenage peer pressure,
I’ve grown from it, to grow into something better.

I thank the nostalgia to my love. It’s worth the look back.