If I drink green,
    am I more like the tree?

Could I be so tall,
    borne wooden sense
        and roots
            and the creaky sway?

If I could extract the
evergreen envy from
the eyes of friends.
I would paint it between the lines
of the Sugar Maple tree limbs.

Tainted red orange leaves
of such trees is the end
of the sweet summer pollen.

For the apricot forests
and chilled mornings,
dipped into pumpkin spice lattes-
Leaves me knowing that
the everlasting sunsets
that we once held
is slipping through the cracks,
of our now frozen fingertips
and chapped lips.

From tank tops to
sweaters with holes
that my thumbs peek through,
as I grasp my tea where
the warmth of
your hands should be.

Traded midnight blues eyes I fell into
and engulfed in the beautiful galaxy
that was hidden behind Ray-Bans.
To blank stares that I've learned to trust
but they don't glisten like us.

Can I please,
fish through my purse once more,
aimlessly wander the street corner,
dig between cushions
and hear the click of the hours reloading
as I fill it with orphan coins
and rewind?

Whispers in the night
I will listen from
the window I have merged into
They stain my frame
like Jack Frost on winter nights
Nothing goes unheard

You've told me
and you've been telling me
that the only place you're willing to be alive in this cruel world
is on rooftops
And that you've piled up many memories
there
is the only thing you say when I ask
why
It doesn't quench my curiousity at all
and from time to time I find myself wondering
Why?
Perhaps it gives you
peace of mind
Or maybe
it is the way the rain feels as it beats down on you and weighs you down(just like the whole world)
while you torture yourself with memories you've spat out again and
again
Or it could just simply be
the part of you
that craves the beauty of the night sky and the stars scattered all over her(like the freckles on your skin)
and the moon
how she's sworn herself to secrecy with secrets you've whispered in your sleep
and that she feels just like you
do -
plagued with darkness
outshone by others
and so, very, very cold
your
lips
are
in the pouring rain
us closer to the moon
than anyone in the neighbourhood
(perhaps she knows there is one more lonely soul admiring
beauty she could only ever envy on others.)

From that brown bottle.
It was his grasp on that brown bottle that led him to say I’m beautiful.
He claimed to be enticed by my speech,
Claims I’m intelligent, cute and not typical.
Yet I ask where he is…his hold on that brown bottle,
Drove him back to his sanity.
He’s awoken and now realises his mistakes on conversing with this plum flabby copy.
How taken I was, believing him.
His words forming rainbows of hope, wishing things turn out different.
Simple for him to step on my terrain,
Inflict some pain…yet he holds high his brown bottle and still claims I’m beautiful.
Where there any sincere words? The way he held my hand, activities he’s over-used, girls now forget he just doesn’t understand.
My importance, your significance.
Just because he warmed your skin, rubbing you gently certainly doesn’t mean you are anywhere near his book of greatness.
That to him is spreading open and giving him a taste of your pride.
A taste and an unpleasant ride.
He’d unlock your chambers and take you on a walk of sin.
Once his seen your paradise, he’s gotten a bit from your ripe orange, he’ll either reside or seek sweeter oranges.
Amazing how he used the best known gestures,
Sweet, empty words that seep from his sweet lips.
Yet they puncture my ears.
And bring to life my buried fears, I can now confess.
It’s because of this new this sort of treatment that has cemented my heart.
Preventing me now from hearing my soul mate’s knock.
So hardened it has become that bottle-holders like him seem to be daily prescription.
Appealing addictions which keep luring me back into their ambition.
He held high his cigarette.
Blowing the smoke out from his **** lips…I’d fallen deep into his admission.
Highly appealing, he’d look deeply into my eyes and fish for my weakness.
Hoping I’d lead him to my paradise,
Funny enough, I let him look me in the eyes and allowed him to try and find gold.
Yes I possess gold.
Never seen nor told…
It was when he held that brown bottle he claimed I’m special.
I seek his warmth now…
Missing his prints on my skin though I know many women who carry some awe already have those ‘handsome prints’.
Certainly not making me unique or special.
You lied yet again.
Maybe those are measures you take to feel on top of your game.
It was all after you drank the contents of that brown bottle you found me beautiful.
Stating you enjoy  my company…little did I know that’s a line that’s escaped your lips more times then your Marlboro smoke.
Yet again you’ve successfully left me broke.
Have I lost this quest for love?
Early to wish for commitment the elders warned us about.
Thoughts so divine, that brown bottle introduced me to your beautiful mind,
I thank the brown bottle because this being uttered words unfamiliar to my ears.
Sad and pathetic as it is…I thank the brown bottle for introducing me to this being who told me I am beautiful.
Thandi Xaba
7 June 2008

Beauty beauty
Both good and bad

Here in the mirror
She stares and smiles

She sparkles with me
She keeps me alive

She throws her shadow
On my care

Let not their words
Penetrate and thrive

She sheds her poison
In my air

Beauty beauty
Till I die

Your place I visit
When I'm sad

I'm gold and platinum
Then why do I feel like the mud, stucked under your ride's hooves?

You say you're a king?
Then I just became your crown,

Don't cast me in the box of your jewellery,
For I'm sparkly and shiny by nature,

On your head you should carry me,
Don't mistreat me with thick dust and dirt,

But if you wouldn't, if you can't, if you don't want to,
The farther you put me down,

The more I ****** your gold and glitters,
Before I vanish into thin air