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

Eventually,when every blood vessel is popping.

I'll be thinking of you

In bed..over thinking

I lay here again.Quiet and distant as my little thoughts multiply and lay their eggs in my head.They grip with their tallons into the walls of my mind,making it incredibly hard for me to slip away.

"I just want to sleep" I beg them,but they are to selfish to let me go.

So as I lay here,red eyed an exhausted I wait patiently as I do what I always...over think.

Psychologically Anorexic

Myself and I made a pact last night

We promised to be each others bridge to sanity

We promised to be each others comfort and mistakes

We promised to accept each other forever

And we promised to lock our hearts tight,away from outsiders and the world.

Do not try running from the past
That will be too slow
Instead board a train heading for the future
While having brunch with the present

The only perfect thing in this world
Is its constant imperfections

Don't be like the Plantain tree
That rips it's leaves as though it has had a violent lover
Be like the Iroko tree
Tall and intimidating
As people sweat at its splendor
May they sweat at yours

I'm like pluto,
Rejected.
No longer belonging with the others and their fascinating qualities.
I'm like pluto,
Rejected
Just a mistake

You're magic
Pure and undiluted

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

Poets are mad,crazy because they can speak of their lovers lips and how those lovers collar bones curve perfectly so you may drink from it.

Poets are mad,crazy because they can speak about bones and how they can dance through your skin to reveal you are weak,frail nothing but fragile memories.

Poets are mad,crazy because in a pub full of people a single leaf that may try to escape winter would catch their eye.

Poets are mad,crazy because even in their sleep words swirl and dent themselves in their minds.

Poets are mad,crazy because whenever the wind blows,whenever the lips of someone loved moves they un code them and wrap them round their lungs.

Pets are mad,crazy because they cannot breathe without a pen,or a computer calling softly to them.

Poets are mad,crazy because they can write about things they have never experienced but still they come out like coins of silver.

Poets are mad,crazy because they can write about cemeteries and how ghostly streets  can be on the 26th of december.

Poets are mad crazy,because someone mere may just see the sun as a yellow piece hovering above,but they see it as a golden orb that signifies all life and love.

Poets are mad,crazy because no matter what they go through,no matter what they lose,no matter who they meet and what they experience,words will always be their first lovers and first friends.

Emaciated bones
Shivering in shrunken clothes.

Wrinkled faces,tired eyes
Watching the sun is their only prize.

Tears burn their cut up skin
Work injures up their shins.

They cannot speak for they weep for their farmlands
They are so used to work,even with their old hands.

They are dying,dying like flies
Because they are poor and these are their lives

Bless me with that smile
A thousand stars hidden in the chest that is your..well it is your secret to keep
Among others,so many others
And yet I do not mind
I would go blind
And I would go deaf
If that would make you feel safe enough to utter your secrets without worrying
But dear prince my arms will always be open
To catch you
Because you did not leave a glass shoe behind
You do not have long flowy hair.though your dark mane is enough
You did not bite into a poisoned fruit
And you were not put to sleep for years
But I would still kiss you everyday
Cherishing the thought that my lips will always bring you back to life

A drink?
Or an attack?
Make up your mind!

When the rain comes I can't help but smile

Because its mending my cracks all the while.

When the sky rumbles I may wrap a blanket close

But the lightening is the best dose

The clouds are gray and the winds are a band of terror

I just have one wish,that this bad weather will break the mirror

I watch
I wait
I pray my eyes deceived me
I pray my ears misheardbut I know they did not
I know I have been foolish
There is no redemption at this point
I had always warned you

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

I rather bleed on to paper
And have people know I was here
Than bleed onto cold pavements
And have it washed by the rain

I'm on the road to destruction
And its a yellow brick road

You were the death of the old me and the beginning of who I now am

I'm the crack on your lips during winter.

I'm the prickling heat against your skin during summer.

I'm the tickling breeze against your bones during spring

I'm the orange and red that dot the leaves and make your eyes crave the beauty during fall

I'm all seasons,and I'm everywhere.

We all have secrets.

But walls have thousands

For the first time in my life,I've decided to see.
Not see with just my eyes,I mean look beyond with my ears and my heart.
I'll listen in the morning when I wake up,I'll drown out the sound of my alarm clock.
I'll listen when I'm having a shower,carefully hearing the sound of the water drop.
I'll listen as I fry some eggs and toast some bread.
I'll listen for things that lay beyond the surface.
And when I get outside for the fresh morning air.I'll listen too the wind,the birds,the dogs,I'll listen to life.

"You're beautiful"

"Your poetry is amazing"

"You're sweet"

"You're an amazing poet"

Can someone ****** away the veil that's covering my eyes?because I can't see what you see

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 were like a shower of sand
You blinded me just enough to use me

There once was a girl so young and naive

She was kind and her heart she would give

But she was also shy and hid behind her hair

Because lingering in her mind was constant fear

She tried for years to beat the timidness

But all her dreams were crushed by her shyness

As a result no one got to see how huge her heart was

And eventually,she became a lost cause.

Night has come and the glimmer of the moon won't reach my thoughts.

My mind is pitch black and no child would want to venture there alone...not even me

Bones...protruding from the soft cage of the skin.

Ribs so visible...so countable.

A tiny stomach just within your reach

A space between the thighs where a baby could fit right in.

Small,chicken wings that are called arms.

Just skin and bones

Just skin and bones...I can almost taste that image

Just skin and bones I can see it so clear

Just skin and bones,the dream I want to attain

Just skin and bones,the woman on my wall won't look so smug now

It seems like whenever you struggle to look yourself in the mirror.
Whenever your skin irritates and appalls you,
You find someone who could spend a day in front of the mirror
Someone who treats their skin like a temple

He was the knife that slumbered in your back

Society tries to make you feel like plain white
Among rainbow bright

Sofia had popsicles in her hair
They were sticky but she did not care

She was not worried they turned her hair red
But looked happily in the mirror instead

Sofia liked her new coloured hair
She had many popsicles, some here and some there

But as the sun was growing taller and stronger
The popsicles were frozen no longer

So Sofia had to say goodbye to her sticky friends
As a long summer day came to an end

Sofia liked to play ball
She would hit small and big ones and hit them all

She would kick with all her might
Often giving the goalie a little fright

She would run and run
And sweat until her day was done

Sofia liked to play ball
She loved to hit them all

Sofia found magic so pure
She would open her palms and out it would pour

She would wiggle her little fingers up and down
And in an instant create a golden crown!

Sofia found magic so pure
And she knew it came from her for sure!

Sofia had a favourite bunny
His name was Mr spice and he was cuddly

If Sofia was near or far
Mr spice was always with her

Mr spice had a pink nose and was incredibly white
He had soft fur with eyes incredibly bright

Sofia loved Mr spice so much so
That she would hug him tight and not let him go

Someone please call a doctor,tell him words are crippling in my mind.

Someone please call him fast because there are moments I want to rewind.

Someone please tell him to hurry because my pulse is rising  and my heart beat is racing.

Because I'm clue less and visions of us I keep on chasing.

Someone please call a doctor,because I thought I fell in love.

You called upon me
Oh how sweet your voice be
You told me"stay here"
And I did,I grabbed a seat

The moon waved as my legs dangled off the edge of heaven
And I waved back,knowing it was probably nearly eleven

I looked to the stars taking in their bath of black milk
The clouds passing on them,almost as silk.

He came back hands behind his back

"Close your eyes my love even though its dark"

And so I did
Still curious as to what he hid

My mouth opened and a million universes  caressed my tongue

I was in ecstacy but I knew not for how long

The sun and the moon made home in my throat

And I could feel their roots as they took growth

I was surrounded by heaven my eyes turning golden

"What is this"I said,bringing my eyes apart.

"What you are tasting are a million stars"

"Thy tongue lovest the taste?"

"I don't know,no one ever gave me stars to taste"

"Sad is that.I hope it wasn't too late"

"I tasted frogs
I tasted darkness
Even lately
a little madness
I tasted sorrow
I tasted greed
But no one has given me stars till tomorrow"

I have not accepted you are gone yet

That is why I have not cried

That is why I can not breathe

The world is hurtling by

And I'm being left behind

I never had a chance...well all too many I did but wasted

To tell you you heart beats nysc with mine

To tell you your thoughts are woven with mine

To tell you your words are treasure on my island

And although it is proven you are gone

I hope what I felt will still

**REMAIN

Teenagers are scientists
They experiment often
And stay up half the night
They analyze the theories of the opposite ***
And try to tell what statement would evoke what reaction

Teenagers are the real scientists
Because when they mix too much stuff together
They are constantly blowing things up

I often wondered what it was like to be a delicate woman.

To move with grace and be simple yet too complex for anyone to understand.

I often wondered what it would be like to perpetually have your legs crossed and your back straight.

To be so intimidating and yet so alluring at the same time.

I often wondered what it would be like to be that woman from a novel who heads turned for.

To be so breathtaking that even the blind would write poetry about her.

I often wondered if I was ever capable of being such a woman.

To be graceful and not stumble,to be breathtaking and alluring.

Sadly I am not her.

I hear the cockreles signaling night is gone
Saying 'wake up you slept for too long'

I write letters to the dead because they are quiet and they listen.

I write letters to the dead because they like the night as much as I do.

I write letters to the dead because they never write back.

The signs are there
My poetry is declining
And so am I

The end of the worlds chapter is coming

Will you be in the rolling credits?

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