there is a man inside of me
he swears and screams
he is violent and
mean, unafraid of confrontation
i attempt to **** him with cigarettes
and *****
he only grows
and now he sleeps
in my throat

She might seem strong from the inside out
She might be the girl everyone thinks is perfect
But that girl is far from it
Shes been through so much
From the time she was born to the day she turned 17
Shes the girl who has scars
People may say oh its just stupid boys
get over it
But that's not it, that's not it at all
Yes she has been hurt from boys
Shes been cheated on, lied too and so much more
But that's not what hurts
It's so much more then that
She doesn't know her dad he left
He left before she was even born
Yeah that's not a big deal I know what your thinking
But it is a big deal
Yes she has her step dad that treats her better then she can imagine
And a mother thats been there through thick and thin
But sometimes that girl wonders who her dad is
It's hurts
Shes been sick since she was 1
Almost died in a hospital bed many times, with her mom by her side
She lost all her great grandparents in 1 short year
And her mom has diabetes and isn't doing so well
She sits in her bed and cries at night
She wonders what she did to deserve this
She hurts
She might seem strong, but she breaks
but yet she still finds a reason to put a smile on her face

It was near Christmas time
and you went along
to see old Pete
who lived alone

in a two up
two down house
not far
from where you lived

he was about 96 or so
and still went
to mass each day
and did the collection

at mass on Sundays
dressed in his best
suit and tie
you knocked

on his door
and after a while
he opened the door
come in

he said
and you followed him
into the main room
where he had a fire going

and sat
in an old armchair
sit down
he said

so you sat
on a chair
beside him
there was a cat

on the mat
in front
of the fireplace
sleeping

want a whisky?
sure
you said
( you used to drink

back then)
the bottle's
in the sideboard
over there

there's a glass
in the kitchen
so you went
to the kitchen

and took a glass
from the draining board
and took the bottle
out of the sideboard

pour yourself a drink
he said
what about you?
you asked

can't drink
I'm on too many pills
ok
you said

and poured
a couple of fingers worth
more than that
he said

what are you
some kind of woman?
so you poured
half the glass

and put the bottle
on the small table
beside you
Pete sipped

his milky tea
well here's to Christmas
he said
and raised

his mug of tea
you raised your glass
and said
here's to you

and you sipped your drinks
he talked of his wife
who had died
some years before

he spoke of his son
(without much affection)
and his grandson
whom he seemed

to speak well of
and his grandson's wife
who he said
was quite pretty

but not as beautiful
as my wife
Pete said
she was one

in a million
he went quiet
he sipped his tea
and you sipped

your whisky
he talked about
his master builder days
when he worked long hours

and over six days
and saved money
where and when
he could

he became silent
my son is always
on the want
he knows

I have money
and he is always
asking
for this and that

he drained
his mug of tea
you drained
your glass of whisky

want another?
he asked
I must be going
you said

have another first
he said
so you poured
more whisky

into the glass
( half a glass again
he having insisted)
and he talked

of the women he knew
and how he teased them
and flirted with them
and made them laugh

you know those old dears
like to be flirted with it
makes them
feel young again

he said
when they laugh
you can see the light
flash in their old grey eyes

and their dead dugs
tremble with memories
and he laughed
and drank

from a bottle
of mineral water
by his armchair
he sat gazing

into the fire
you sat draining
the whisky
from the glass

the room smelt
of cooking meat
and wet cat
and you said

look Pete I best go
the wife will wonder
where I've gone
OK

he said
and so you washed
the glass in the sink
and put the bottle away

in the sideboard
and patted his shoulder
see you around
in church

he said
sure
you replied
and walked swaying

up the road
you'd only went
to Pete's
to wish him well

and to deliver a card
and framed picture
of a female saint
he liked

but the whisky
had been a bonus
a kind of
THANK YOU

for being
a friend
to an old man
it was the sort of gift

you liked back then
the whisky kind
sorting the boys
from men.

Who is she?
The girl in the red, white and black dress.
The girl in the shiny, brown eyes.
The girl in the innocent smile.
The girl in the fragile, white skin.

Who is she?
The girl that passes me by.
The girl that caught my eye.
The girl that enchanted my soul.
The girl that I'm too shy to talk to.

Who is she?
The girl with no name.
The girl with no history.
The girl with no age.
The girl with no flaws.

Who is she?
The girl no one knows.
The girl no one talks to.
The girl no one sees.
The girl no one likes.

Who is he?
The boy who fell in love with a total stranger.
The boy who dies to know her name.
The boy who wishes to write on her blank pages.
The boy who dreams of co-starring her history.

*That boy is me.

I have an issue
One that weighs heavily upon my heart
One that, if left unchecked, threatens to tear our social moral fiber apart
An issue I will express in English, with some help from my old friend Swahili
Hii imenisumbua akili, kwa hivyo kuiongelea ni kitu tunastahili
Hii story ya immorality tunaichukulia so so light
Dem akiji'expose kidogo mbele ya kamera haina mseo, tunampandisha cheo kwa society, all of a sudden ye ni socialite
The new cool, eti ‘good girl gone bad’
Hiyo njaro siyo polite
We have a lot more to live for than that which we seem to be aware of
It’s not always about a good time, or lack thereof
Our reputation as a culture I believe is something we badly need to take care of
Siyo game
Siyo Jokes
Si eti mambo na fame
It shouldn’t just be about who drinks, who smokes, who vomits and who chokes
Hiyo lifestyle siyo dope
Na siyo right
Six hundred and seventy something ways to die… choose one
I refuse to go… speeding down a highway, drunk out of my mind, on another booz run
However, I may not exactly be the right person to point out how messed up you are
On a scale of one to ten?
I’m probably as guilty as you are
*******!

Not your mind and not your soul, it's your wallet I'm looking for.
I know I'm dressed up a sheep, we all know I'm a *****.
Twist me, turn me, break me, burn me. As long as I make rent.
A place to live and food to eat is my innocence well spent.
You said you loved me which may be true, yet it set my anger a fire,
Because I'm the girl that no one holds, I'm the girl they only hire.

We fight for popularity
We get drunk with no clarity
Vote for the cuter man
In the background as a fan
We see the fake picture
Getting the long lecture
Snapping those bowls
Digging our holes
Little snapshot
Of the life we bought

You are made of
photos of cities
places I won't ever go
Soothing-wistful on bound pages
Smelling of ink and dust
and spilled coffee.
That slips out past
clenched fists/fingers
down your spine and over the covers
Through twisted tongues,
and letters, and conversations
Come past your language barriers
Thin like vellum, thin like paper
And rest your heart in my hands.

I never seem to let myself stay happy for long.  
But in this moment, wrapped in a sweater
that has been dunked in the thick smell of
charred logs,
apple cider,
and,
whiskey
I feel my feet slip off the ground
and into elation.