"And maybe you should stop pitying yourself,” he said. “Most people are lucky to have even one great love in their life. You have found two."

I'm fascinated with the beauty of the black man who cries rose petals when the world soils the earth
And bleeds jasmine when a woman is hurt
The black man who IS rose petals
And IS jasmine
But ISN'T apologetic

When I was little
All I did was love
A tiny vessel
Being confused but in love with every surrounding thing
But then this vessel grew up
Filled with hate and judgement from society
Filled with bitter notions and broken promises
And now this vessel stands here
Too full of the wrong things

Who would have thought that when I was sent from heaven with such a hue on my skin it would create an uproar of rage and start a river of blood
Who could have fantomed the chains and the beatings that would still be associated with the hue of this skin
Who knew that the hue of this skin, the smooth darkness that I see within the mirror would suddenly be an automatic 'X' on my back.
So I lay here confused because heaven should have told me what comes with the hue of this skin.

They pretend
Pretend to be in awe
Pretend to love care and adore
To want a slice of my heaven
To want a slice of me
How do they intend to get that slice?
By stabbing me in the back ofcourse

We all have secrets.

But walls have thousands

She was armed with a camera
He was armed with a paintbrush
And I just sit here with my arms bare
Wondering what weapon would be mine
For they all seem to be taken

Being with you is like writing a novel
You know were you want to go with it
But you end up having writers block

True love,
True love is me loving my self from bone to skin
From marrow to flesh
True love is me
Appreciating myself
Even when I'm not at my best

I'm searching for my augustus

Like the fire I wish to breathe
one which shall corrupt my lungs
and stale my eyes
burn away my lashes

Is the same way that I crave you
wanting despite all I know
a blaze that will take away my life in a river of flames
a blaze that will scorch everything of my physical body
yet leave my soul intact,untouched

I want that fire
even though it will kiss my finger tips until they burn.

''Mirror mirror on the wall please show me my every flaw''

My response is..

''Dear dear before me you're horrid theres the door''

I see the tears and i cant help but smile

At the power i have over you every while

''Mirror mirror you're so harsh!''

''Please stop screaming you are trash''

You gaze at your reflection

You have no direction

You scream and you cry

But i also want to

Having you to go through.

Every day

Every minute

Same old question.

I try to tell you

''you are perfect''

But you always feel low

like a reject

Then now i show you everything you think is wrong

Boom boom boom like a strange song

You listen to all my lies

As you do everday

Me the mirror and what i have to say.

Now i watch you twirling around

Your self esteem wont touch the ground

''Wow i look perfect just as always''

And i feel like strangling you just as always

But a mirror with no other job

I stay there watching you smile

not watching you sob

You're never exisiting pain

And your forever arrogance

Makes me want to watch you dance

on sweet sweet broken glass.

No respect

short little nonesense

As you think you're queen

But i am royal

and will remain forever so

I am the mirror

the torture of your soul.

Are you allergic to yourself?

Do you scratch away at yourself,in the hopes that your skin would peel off?

Are you allergic to yourself?

Do you deliberately avoid pictures just so the camera won't add a few pounds and make you look?

Are you allergic to yourself?

Do you cough and wheeze whenever you suddenly remember a flaw that seems to get every ones head turning?

Are you allergic to yourself?

Do your eyes go red and puffy when you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror?

Are you allergic to yourself?

Does your tongue swell whenever a good word about you tries to spill itself out?

Are you allergic to yourself?

Does everything about you,make you swell ache and bend over in pain?

Do you wish you could jump out of your own skin?

I learnt once you stop writing poetry for that lightening bolt
That when you do not formulate for those numbers illuminated in red
When you are not afraid you will be the only one to see your words
Your poetry with be beautiful

A writer lives two lives
One on earth
And the other on pages

Frost is like coffee compared to you

So be tender with people today
For hearts are bleeding

I've been sprouting
Trying to lift myself from the ground

I've been trampled on
And I have lost leaves

But I'm still sprouting
Lifting myself from the ground

I've been conversing with people that don't know me
Contemplating about people that have no desire to know me
And fixating on people that will never be mine

Yet I keep praying,
Disgracing and degrading
Humiliating and abusing
My own soul, for people that never take the time to give me any loving, any caring.
People that are never caught appreciating but keep using what they keep breaking.

The dark is suffocating,it is pressing down on me and as I reach over to the side of my bed all my fingers meet are stripped sheetsand old blankets.

Yet when the morning light pulls in as though it knows I will need comfort from the impending disappointment,I reach over again calling out to a haven,my haven that I hope will be there in dark brown hair and hooded eyes..I find emptyness and fall back asleep

I wake at noon..my legs all tired and begging to be carried,yet I know the only one who would wish to take this ebony skin is far across saving galaxies and aliens that will never understand.

As the shower touches my body,images flash before my eyes my eyes that have grown used to being tired but still cry at the depravation.The images linger as the water dances across my scars and my back and it does not feel like liquid over my body it feels like you

We shape shift,don't be jealous

Us writers transform whenever we get a pen

Or a computer

We morph into beings of extraordinary capabilities

We are almost unstopable at this point

Our eyes fixed on our target like a lion upon the fresh flesh of a gazele

We rain supreme in imaginary land

With our crowns atop our heads

Having words as meals and eating on top a large dictionary

We invent,we are the masters of everything

We become legends

But there is one thing that can **** us:

**No inspiration

You held me together so tight
But it wasn't till I was touched and fell apart did I realize you were fake glue.

Your lies were pregnant
They gave birth to false dreams
And now here I am,
A grandmother to broken promises

Depression is like acid,
It eats at us furiously and doesn't seem like it is capable of stopping, it burns.

With intense determination, eager to bring us to our knees and sobs to our lips. It damages us, most times irreversibly but what it does is give us a chance to step out of our old skin that is hurting, the skin that doesn't let us sleep at night. But the painful thing is that it is never truly easy to step out of that skin that clings so tightly to our bones.

You say my words are too deep
But only because yours were too shallow to make me float

Can you hear the pieces falling?
Those are parts of me.

Can you smell the putrid flesh burning?
That's mine also.

Can you see the empty space where a heart should be?
That's my sanctuary.

Can you read the words written in something red?
That's my handwriting.

Can you feel the vibrations as this world falls apart?
That's my doing

My boy cinnamon was brave
But he wasn't enough

To blow out the candle burning in the spiteful darkness
Is to wait until the feverish snake devours my toes and kisses my bones

I cannot allow my only light to be snatched
Leaving me to hug a shroud and to wait for the faint sound that will signal my end

I instead shall burn a hundred candles,a thousand if my hands are not tired and burnt.
Coaxing the darkness out to die by the hand of light

Dear Mr President,
My mother told me I was the universe
So I will be ****** if I am told I am only a kitchen
If I am told that I am 'the other room'
I am the universe Mr President, stars and all
So do not mistake me for rooms in a house
Because they will never be able to contain my spirit

One morning,a little bird chirped at my window
I opened it up to let this creature in.
It glided unto the pane,its onyx eyes shinning bright
It began singing a song that could make a harp stop and listen.
Its tone wore a coat of gold
And its harmony had the tenderness of a dozen wind chimes.
I listened intently at this bird with its sunset coloured feathers.

I translated its song and this was what I heard:

'Far and wide,I came back and forth to this window.But now I'll stay,I'll stay'

Its song was a promise that it would be by my side,through my pain,tears and heartbreaks.

But as bread crumbs flew from another window,
It flew away

I haven't forgiven myself for letting you in
For knowing you were toxic but still letting you in
Into the space between my lips
And almost the space between my hips

My emotions are like a flower shop
You admire the beauty of the flowers up front
That you hardly notice the wiltering ones at the back

I gave you my heart
When it was time for you to give me yours
I found your rib cage empty

When you are heartbroken the whole world turns gray

And all you needed is someone to show you the rainbow again

And I pray you recognise that your sons have hearts too
And that you do not expect theirs to be like baskets and seep away all the hurt and pain

She could feel her heart racing
The euphoric moment as she landed between death and life
Her hair tangled across her sweat beat face
Her limbs getting weaker with each breath
She began to shut her eyes
As she let the multiple abysses welcome her senses
She coughed
Again and again
Until all she could taste was the metallic taste of blood in her mouth
She clasped her hands as though she could save her escaping soul
She couldn't

And how ironic is it to try to trample a flower
But then it helps the soil birth ten more

They told me my heart was too fragile to stand on its own
That it's beating
It's thumping
It's pounding
Only existed because it was held up by a man or the promise of one
I told them no
For it existed because the woman I am carries it daily and the promise of the woman I will become is what keeps it beating

Some speak of the satisfaction of life
The mere appreciation of little things that may let you breathe easy
Let your heart calm
But I still await this feeling
it foreign to me
Like england is foreign to the recent sun
Oh how I wish I could feel what they speak of

Broken hearts write the best songs
Broken hearts write the best poetry
Broken hearts taste a divine dose of creativity
But why is it always so bitter?

Let me fall into your deepest end
I promise you I can swim
For even if it is dark because of your nightmares,
I can find my way.

I haven't found peace
And I'm guessing I should
Like it is fundamental for my journey
Yet my journey has come to a halt
Well at least part of it
Like I'm in one car going at the speed of light
While I'm in car that has stopped moving because it broke down and a guy named Joe refuses to fix it, even though he has all the spanners and whatnots

So while one me is almost at the destination
The other me is hopelessly lost

Beautiful flowers may grow here
                  But it is a wasteland without you

Oh African girl
African woman,
You are more than the stars between your legs

Oh African girl
African woman,
You are more than moons that lay atop your chests

African girl
African woman,
Oh won't you believe me?
When I tell you that those curves are not all that makes you?

That your broad or small hips are not what writes your story
Oh African girl
African woman,
Carry a pen or take your finger and write your story

One day she'll beg for the moon

Better hope its no time soon

Because next she'll want the stars

Then venus,saturn and of course mars

She'll ask for the oceans and the sea

She'll ask you will be her knight,prince,hero and all there is to be

She'll want kisses that the sun can only graze

Note,this is not just a phrase

She'll also want a journal so she can document all your love

So one day she will tie it to a balloon
And let it fly above

Writers live so many lives
Die so many deaths
Kiss so many lips
Touch so many skins
Watch so many skies
Talk to so many ghosts
Cry so many tears
And live so many years
Writers dance to their own songs,even if the song is only their voice at 2am
Writers create so any pieces within the canvas of their minds
Writers have tried every potion,every drink to stay awake
Writers get high from the smell of ink and fresh paper
Writers love the way the word"Library"sounds on their lips
Writers have so many fears
Writers suffer so many diseases
Writers have so many nightmares
Writers have much to share
Writers have spoken to elves,fairies,werewolves and vampires
writers have seen mid summer night dreams
And have seen the love of a couple that had a tragic end
Writers have created,destroyed,crafted and manipulated so much.

That is why writers are some of the greatest to live amongst men

Putting your faith in me is like tryingto fly a paper plane.

You know how high you want it to go,
But it always comes down

I want to be in love like properly soul deep in love with someone not just grazing the surface and then shouting "I love you!''

Misery..
She comes when I have friends over
She comes when I'm alone
She ***** the life out of me and banishes my friend happiness.
As misery comes,her aura sending happiness into a disappearing act...I swear I want to cry but I won't let her see,I wont let misery see what she does to me.