mzwai: Favorites

May 2015 mzwai

kyle Shirley

You lay here in bed thinking you will always be here, till the day you die. You lay in bed, having anxiety or excitement on the days to come, but its never certain. Life is never a positive, only death. I lay in my bed worrying about bills or work and never stop to think "will I even wake up tomorrow?" Because its a given. I love my life one day at a time. Ill go to work like im supposed to, ill love like im supposed to, and ill pay my taxes like im supposed to. Other then that ill live each day like I wont wake up tomorrow, but just in case I do, I do what im supposed to.

My father will never know if he will wake the next day, nor will I know. Fear of death is lossing precious life, for each time we fear we lose a bit of happiness we could have had if we only excepted what we do not understand, and we always fear what we do not understand.

#love #fear #death #father #loss #happiness

May 2015 mzwai

Untitled

May 2015 mzwai

Elsa Njoki Kariuki

Untitled

Sometimes I wonder
whether the forecast in my eyes
whether the weather in my heart
will be something, anything
other
than
rain

#depression #sadness #anxiety #rain #change #loneliness #misery

May 2015 mzwai

Depression

May 2015 mzwai

Bipolar Hypocrite

Depression

He was in it,
It defined him.
He needn't a name any more-
He was depression.

He looked down his mug,
But he didn't see coffee.
Instead, he saw a dirtied river
With decaying souls swimming
Lifelessly in it.

He drank it,
Closing his eyes at the bitterness
Of death.
Feeling the souls
Pour past his throat.

He lay on his bed
Staring at the ceiling.
It was white...
So white...
Like angels...
That you met only when you were
Dead.

Like innocence,
Beauty,
Pure souls;
Everything he was not.

The tears fell once again
Becoming his newly found friends.
They were there to cheer him up,
There for him.
But he could taste the blood too,
The ones that he never wanted,
But kept craving to get out of him-
The blood that poured out his veins.

Depression

It ran through her blood,
Which was becoming scarce.
The knife was her saviour,
God was her angel.

She was happy.
That was her stoic mask.
She smiled, she was cheerful.
She brightened moods.
She cared so much.

But underneath the bubbles
Was a permanent frown,
One that could never turn upside down.

She envied the smiles of anyone else.
She could never be like that.
Her beauty resembled a stone-
Dull, boring, Crooked and unnoticed.

Her blue eyes stood for the tears
That overflowed inside.
Her red hair matched
The broken heart within.

She only wanted happiness-
Real, not fake.
She begged God whilst slitting her wrists.
The blood poured out
And she hoped it took the sadness away too.

But she would wake up the next morning,
Tears drenched in her pillow,
Freshly cut wounds bled to her sheets,
And a heart that eventually turned to ashes.

I Know someone who is depressed.
I have a love story.
So i decided to make a depressed unfinished Love Story

May 2015 mzwai

Not a Poem X.

May 2015 mzwai

Tawanda Mulalu

Not a Poem X.

There are days when I feel like letting my bathroom tap run open and then crawling up into my adjacent bed-sheets. My room and its impersonal bathroom aren't water-tight so I obviously wouldn't drown.

But I do like to imagine that I'd disappear for a bit.

Meh.

May 2015 mzwai

Bra-Straps.

May 2015 mzwai

Tawanda Mulalu

Bra-Straps.

I keep wondering if what I did was okay.
If it's okay for me to take so much of you
into my left hand, then my right hand and
squeeze, and feel two motherly dots in your centres.
I wonder if it's okay for me to grasp
at your smoothness so much, from head to toe,
**** to *******, heart to lips; and breathe
all over you: I'm scared
of it. I'm scared
                            of you,
of me,
            of us,
                       your moans,
          the dark,
my moans,
          the light,
          the day,
          the night.
It all frightens me, and I wonder if it's okay
to have suddenly grown up in the ludicrous
space of time it took to leave two obvious bruises
on your neck. I'm scared that your parents
will actually send you (back) to India but laugh
because I'm sure they won't- you applied foundation
to blot out my purple lust scars.
Love bites they call them.
                                               Love...
I'm wondering if what you did was okay.
If it's okay for you to take so much of me;
every non-penetrative, ridiculous, amateur
******, and every saliva strand. Every whisper
of afro-hair that falls out of your hand-combs,
and your tongue, which -my God- is now mine.
I said I picked you, I pick you, but here,
bodies somehow body,
you are me.
                       Innocence lost
is when a short skirt
represents a different type of freedom.
And my hands under there,
is my best worst decision yet.

Whoops.

#adventure #firstadventuresinadolescentheartbreak

May 2015 mzwai

Any yellow day when Red Flamboyant will be bloomed

May 2015 mzwai

Musfiq us shaleheen

Any yellow day when Red Flamboyant will be bloomed

~~
Then, if ever, is the red color grows fade
The petals of red roses drop
If the birds don't sing any songs
And even a butterfly doesn't
Play on a purple flower

If the mistake happens in the rain
You 'll not cry
You can't be afraid of thunder
They will cleanse you

And when I am gone
Forgive me, but the melody in the air
You will come, playing in the garden,
Dance with the lost grasshoppers

Any yellow day when red flamboyant will be bloomed
Will have to take off your colorful sunglasses
At the very noon will be floated on the Cuckoo's love song
Again and Again it will prove your arrival,

O' Spring

You'll be the very white sky after rain
Will bloom red hibiscus
On that gilded day
Red flamboyant 'll be loved with yellow flamboyant

Patched up with melody and words
Will be made new Songs,
New Poetry,
With the yellow flowers tune

Then again,
You 'll not  sing a song of despair,
Not even a song of hiatus,
Will sing the Songs of Joy,
Stir in the way of dreams,
Mating

Back to again and again
I 'll come back to you
Both 'll make a love
For the creation of a new life
~~

#love #romantic #spring

May 2015 mzwai

Identity Crisis

May 2015 mzwai

Vamika Sinha

Identity Crisis

I like to do those quizzes
in glossy bubbles that you
find
in Cosmopolitan and
Elle and
Seventeen.

Which girl should I be?

Should I
dump paper flowers
on my milkmaid braid?
Long skirts, long chains, and
Beatles on my radio
during their ‘Indian’ phase?

Should I
paint it all
black, strip life down to
a *******,
blare punk at full
scream,
and cram my toes in ratty Docs,
smash all emotion
into smithereens?

Should I
sugar-coat my mouth with
Maybelline, button up
collars, laughs, opinions,
read books on behaving
just like a
daydream,
sip teas, bake cookies, aim for
Ivy Leagues?

Which gilded box do I crawl
into?
Which skin to don
this week?
Which fashion editor-friendly
stereotype to fulfil?

Which girl should I be?

#girl #woman #confusion #personality #identity #adolescence #identitycrisis #character #quiz #magazines

May 2015 mzwai

Muse

May 2015 mzwai

Vamika Sinha

Muse

I want
to be written about.
Immortalised
in the scrawling of
a pining boy’s
pen.

Encased, no,
enshrined
in verses of
a stars-for-eyes
poet.

Enwreathed
in flowers of
words that
a hopeless romantic waters
everyday.

Is it
much
too much
to ask?

#muse

May 2015 mzwai

Let's

May 2015 mzwai

Vamika Sinha

Let's

Come here.
Let’s.
Let’s?
Let’s…
Let’s.

Come here.
Listen to Edith Piaf
(So hipster, n'est-ce pas?)
and the scratch of her
voice on the turntable,
will be ours
to keep in Moleskine
notebooks of memory.
So that we’ll try to believe,
love is actually a thing.
Let’s.

Come here.
This quaint room will be
ours,
our guest, as we breathe life
into the coffee cups, wooden chairs.
We’ll give it a nose, yes.
Lightbulbs will smell red
wine in fingerprinted glasses.
Windows will drink
us,
to us.
And we’ll laugh, our faces
hot and sad, mouths
crammed with French
fries.
A scene blurred with happiness.
Let’s.

Come here.
Trash the hands of every
boy, who’s spread himself
out on marginalia of our days.
Slathered himself on pieces
of time we wish we had hugged to ourselves.
Hate, hate, hate
him, we’ll say.
And his **** hands.
Let’s.

Come here.
Our eyes will be fireflies
behind our glasses,
in this cinema’s night, as we ‘swoon’
at rom-coms as buttery
as the popcorn we bought in the interval.
Life’s too short, we say.
Eat about it, drink about it,
maybe even talk about it.
Forget about it.
Let’s.

Come here.
Talk, about nothing.
We’ll all be dead one day.
Let’s.

Come here.
We can be friends.
Let’s.

Let’s.
Let’s.
Let’s?

(And your giggle will end
all and every verse written.
I’m **** sure of it.)

About my lovely, lovely friend who also writes lovely, lovely poetry.

#heartbreak #friends #drunk #depression #friend #friendship #loneliness #companionship #lets #cinema

May 2015 mzwai

Untitled

May 2015 mzwai

Vamika Sinha

Untitled

Our lips hung amongst the stars.

#love #heartbreak #romance #stars #lips