Pianist playing right now,
thank you for quieting the storm in my mind
It's moments like this one
That cause me to believe in God
Right when I felt like I couldn't bare the storm
within for one second more
You sat down at the piano
in the room next door.

There is art
In your heart
Painting pictures
When I lay
My head down on your chest

There are songs in your eyes
Singing lullabies
When you hover
Pin me down
With your stare

There is a poem
On the tip
Of your tongue
I taste it
When I kiss you

You are tortured
Stereotyped
My jaded lover
I hear it
When you won't talk

this isn’t going to make sense
cause it’s not supposed to
and if I’m being honest
this isn’t for you
it’s not even for me

I’m stuck
I’m trapped
I’m lost
I’m every other word that describes people who feel at a dead end

I’m typing on a ****** phone
That’s connected to a ****** connection
That could possibly be a metaphor for my life

I’m writing
Because I don’t know what else to do

I’m writing
Cause that’s what they told me to do

But they also told me that what I think isn’t always true
That I’m special and I just don’t see it

But that’s the thing
I don’t see it

And if I don’t see it then why should it matter if anyone else does

And if I’m thinking something why should it matter if it’s true

What matters is that it’s in my head
What matters is that it’s always there

But here I am
Stuck in the same place
Back to square one
No progress made
The same questions, whether true or not

Will I amount to anything?
Do I really help?
Am I really worthwhile?
Do you actually care?

I see these people
When I’m online
They smile and post
They edit and pose

I can’t help but wonder

Do you really smile, or do you just do it to look happy like me?
Do you really feel happy, or are you trying to lie like me?
Do you understand what I feel?

Or is it just me?

I’m not trying to be selfish
I don’t want a lot
I just want to be happy
And I want others to be happy with me
But neither is happening

So instead there’s a poem
That doesn’t even ryhme
That makes no sense
  I’ll try harder

Set the alarm
Lock the doors
Lock the windows
Lock the shutters
Find the cricket bat – “put it by your bed”
Say goodnight to mom and dad

Although young, not naïve
I knew every night had the possibility of being my last

A routine that is now muscle memory.

Fear –
You may think
But life –
Normal for me.

Wake up
Turn off the alarm
Unlock the doors
Open the windows
Open the shutters
Put the cricket bat in the cupboard

Never being able to be left alone at home. Unwillingly dragged from store to store.

But – that’s the thing –
People don’t know the real Her,
They know the exquisite scenery, the unforgettable wildlife
They don’t know… But I do.
Because She is my home
Because being in constant fear for my life –
is normal.

Confused –
What do I tell people about Mother when they ask?
The person who raised me, taught me how to be grateful, how to ride a bike,         how to love.
Do I tell them? Will I scare them?

Although hidden beneath the tyranny – I would say –
the bloodshed
the faces of malnourished children left for dead on the side of the road the poverty struck soil the corruption      the greed the hunger the death the separation of class and race

Although a place feared –
Africa.

My Africa –
Whose sunshine you feel ignited in your soul
My Africa –
Whose smile is irresistibly contagious
My Africa –
Whose heart lies in the grassy terrain
The golden dunes of sand
The never-ending mountain tops
My Africa –
Who is the heart of various people
           cultures
   languages
          All who call Her home.
She is –
Where my heart lies even if I am thousands of miles away
Where my mind wanders from day to day.

Her air, instantly calls you
Her smell, instantly smelt
Welcoming you ever so dearly –
      Home.

Like all good mothers,
She is the one who can handle both the tranquil and turmoil,
the love and war.

She is my home. She is who I fear of disappointing.

My Africa –
is beautiful.

dear you,

i’m in love.
yes. you were
waiting, i
bet, for this.
this time, though,
it is not
what you would
think. it’s me
this time, not
you, although
it’s still you,
but not in
the way it
used to be
you. it’s my
fault this time,
my doing,
my painful,
pitiful,
suffering.
it’s you in
the sense that
i cannot
control you.

this time,

it’s your mind and your thoughts
the things that slip off of your tongue
the words you put, pencil to paper
the ideas that come out in your songs

it’s your eyes and your sight
the careful observation of beauty
the need to bask in warm, pure light
the stare you give me, rarely now

it’s your movements and your touch
the hugs where you grip my shoulders
the times where i’m drunk and playing with your fingers
the warmth you give off and your gorgeous smile

none of them
are mine to
have, to take
to keep, to
love, to break

i miss you
and to go
and detach
to break what
we have, that’s
the hard way
out. but i
am trying
to help me.

i feel the
same way i
did when you
said i was
wrong about
this. about
how i feel.

i’m hoping
disposing
myself of
you, means that
the dreams will
go away
too. but if
they stay,
i’ll give you
a quick call.
probably
a text, to
be honest.

i love you,
unhealthily,
with every
part of me.

keep in touch,
please.

love,

me.

Women like
the skyscraper
He's cultured
so dapper
And on paper how
we perceive things
it goes along
way too print

His hands showing
nakedly walks of hints
He's up to stunts
Whose the one to blame
What credibility made
you want an
old flame
Or to write like you
never danced
  nakedly before

Feeling lost after the glow
graveyard shift hours slow
Her body like the naked
breeze air show

Ever Sunday brunch
Was divinity like
Velvet

Naked but it
never shines
In Philadelphia
The College boy
Alpha he loved Rina
Moaning for Lisa

Those Scholarships
And his lady
Left stains on his
white collar
Business trips
The fantasy-scape
Like the ship of her
naked tip nail's
Going to the
****** Islands sail

He got the writer
all roped into him
Like her poem was
his script let it arrive
with him

And their words
Were like no other trip
Admiration another naked
talk vacation
But in reality, they weren't
naked to be fantasied
To contemplate is
this really
Our time for fate
The temptation is
always there
Like the cross leg road
He's the intersection
My mind is inside all
his fragments

To meet our perception
Like a writer's block
Goes a long way
to anyone
Reaction
The kiss lipstick color beyond naked
Fit so well French Connection
Language goes beyond
anyone that is naked
Salacious, Delicious,
Ambitious, Notorious
Amourous, naked generous
Without being naked
Delirious
Golden naked mounds
He groans and it's
quite normal
to be yourself and growl
like Wolf or a Fox
She's the Triscuit
He loves his Southern
tasting biscuits
He puts his suit on
Dash of pepper
and salt

Are the stars at fault
Over his shoulder
He wraps her around
She felt a freeze
Wanting to hear the
naked truth
She was his cherry
He played his basketball dunk
Her naked cream
The naked writer
in between got drunk

Her leg crosses and
He's the tie being
crossed she was in
her flip flops
The writer kept her heart
of his message with
cute pups
Well the naked writer
received An unusual box
and she was naked LOL