From the moment of my procreation. My story was written, nature took its cause and **** happened. I was assigned to live freely according to my will but he? He was unexpected and I was clueless. Yet he was my one desire he filled me so elegantly. However, he was something, someone out of my reach . He was something, someone not written in the law of my nature

Emotions, they rained down and over my body, my soul, that liquid, dripping sensation, that toxin, that sin. Yet there was still that ****** I was oblivious of. Not every emotion I have felt, but I was yet to discover. The emotion I yearned to know was love. But the love I wanted to know, was not the love I needed to know. It was not written.

But my curiosity lend me to search what I thought was missing, having karma biting me on my  backside, teaching me a lesson leaving me scars and marks of my curiosity to remind me of my unrighteous sin, it which taught me to be patient with the world. But this hunger and strive that lived in me made it an obligation to soul search.

But it the mist of my soul search he had my everything of mine.
My mind,
my body,
my soul
and ....
my heart.
Black hearted, stone cold he gave two things his body and mind the rest was not written in the laws of my nature.


By Cheyanne Ntangu

******
(noun)
1. any undesirable or troublesome plant, especially one that grows profusely where it is not wanted
2. a cigarette
3. ungainly person or animal

the weeds in the garden,
though sometimes unwanted,
sprout from the dirt yet full of life,
little in worth, yet lovely.

the weeds that we smoke,
dangerous to our health,
tasting bittersweet like memories
yet brings us short-lived ecstasy.

the **** of my life,
he was nothing but trouble
that brought about mirth
in my too-perfect garden;
he frustrated the people
who tended to me,
growing back into my life
every time they plucked him out.

unwanted but lovely.
dangerous but lively.
he was my whole definition of ****.

You're deeply hurt, but you smile
Your eyes tells your story
You're smiling hard, masking something not even worth a smile.
That fake Hollywood smile, a smile not even worth a dime.

Your eyes give you away
Your friendly gestures and flirtatious nature are both as meaningless as the words that you say.

You're walking around trying to attract a brother, to prevent you from thinking about another. You say you can get any other, but you just want that one brother.

Stop acting tough
       You don't have to hold on
                           Let your soul cry

By Cheyanne Ntangu

The thunder-storm of my deepest, darkest blues but at the same time my peace, my calmest of oceans.
With him my highs are complete.
my very own overdose of intoxicating substance, bought highs that's only cheap thrills,
this high can last a life time
but when the high is gone I feel all shades of blue but the lows are worth the intoxication. It's not a bond worth breaking.

how can he be my strength and weakness right at the same time?
how can the negatives and positives be entwined?
this bittersweet love, this mandarin-oranges juice that drips right on my tongue.
this pineapple juice with bits situation, this bittersweet love.
this bittersweet love, filled my plain canvas with colour, fresh wounds are open.
this colour palette of cut up feelings and emotions that gives my black and white canvas colour, love.

this bittersweet love, you're my good morning and good night,
my hello and my goodbye,
you're my random smile,
my dark knight,
the one who has my soul
you're my bus journey thought, my topic of conversation, you're my...do I look right? Do I feel right?

you're  my depression,
you're my sadness
and my question why.
you're my confusion
but all my answer are found in you. You're my death trap
but you're the only one that can save me.
it's a catch 22 and that's all on you, that's the predicament you put me in but you're willing to save me, right?
you're that overdose,
that high,
this bittersweet love
The lows are worth intoxication
It's a bond not worth breaking

By Cheyanne Ntangu

The End.

I’m still wondering if you were the best thing
or the worst thing that ever happened to me
I wore a tough face, and yet I was bearing such delicate features
my eyes sung a song of pain and resentment

p.s. good things come to an end because better things come out of it, freedom.

I’m glad it’s the end.  

- by Cheyanne Ntangu