Her Story

She was just a Village girl,
Forever counting the countless stars
in the hopes that her golden dream would shine
just as brght

But all my reality showed her
was a
Dull
Damp
And Diminishing hope
for any change,

See, She was just a Village girl,
Dreaming loud and proud of her
Golden Husband

But all reality showed her
was
Sipho next door
sipping on some smooth
Milk

so, She ran.
Passing surprised, suppressed
faces
until She reached the city of GOLD.

And for a change reality showed her something
GOLDEN.

She assumed too soon,
see, her  Golden tiled floors
were dark  tarred roads

Her Golden roof
was a CBD Bridge

Her Golden painted walls
were graffiti  painted pillars

Her golden husband
Who was more dust than gold,

Picked her from the gravel,
Told her that she radiated beauty
that her chocolate skin  put him in a constant chocolate high,

But soon that was all gone,
See, she was changing

Her skin went from purple to black even blue too
Her body di'composed
Each muscle swelling, aching, bruising
Her
golden husband
who was more dust than gold
turned into  a brutal
being. Beating...Beating...her.


So she ran.
passing surprised suppressed faces until she returned  home.

My simplicity was not enough for you
You wanted me to write metaphysical poems
But couldn't you physically see that my simple being
was a metaphor on its own.

This artistry in its simplest form
its purest form
standing before you.

Powerless yet so powerful. My potential is left untapped. Greatness  unwrapped.

Placing a mask to fit in. " but how long will it last"

But the best part of all if this is your ignorance to all of this.
Your lack of care has made you inner being question its importance. I shouldn't care.
Yet I care
So much that every word you utter is tattooed onto my memory and re-ingraved every time I think of you.
You. Sir ma'am boy sister. Recognize your power
Stay  woke when when you vibrate. Recognize your energy because that stuff is contagious.

Don't cloud my aura with your pleague of self hate.
Love yourself.

Where has your soul gone to?
Why do your writs smell of blood?
Why are you numb to feeling?      

Soulless
Bleeding                                              ­    
Numb

Society.