Oct 2013
From that brown bottle.
It was his grasp on that brown bottle that led him to say I’m beautiful.
He claimed to be enticed by my speech,
Claims I’m intelligent, cute and not typical.
Yet I ask where he is…his hold on that brown bottle,
Drove him back to his sanity.
He’s awoken and now realises his mistakes on conversing with this plum flabby copy.
How taken I was, believing him.
His words forming rainbows of hope, wishing things turn out different.
Simple for him to step on my terrain,
Inflict some pain…yet he holds high his brown bottle and still claims I’m beautiful.
Where there any sincere words? The way he held my hand, activities he’s over-used, girls now forget he just doesn’t understand.
My importance, your significance.
Just because he warmed your skin, rubbing you gently certainly doesn’t mean you are anywhere near his book of greatness.
That to him is spreading open and giving him a taste of your pride.
A taste and an unpleasant ride.
He’d unlock your chambers and take you on a walk of sin.
Once his seen your paradise, he’s gotten a bit from your ripe orange, he’ll either reside or seek sweeter oranges.
Amazing how he used the best known gestures,
Sweet, empty words that seep from his sweet lips.
Yet they puncture my ears.
And bring to life my buried fears, I can now confess.
It’s because of this new this sort of treatment that has cemented my heart.
Preventing me now from hearing my soul mate’s knock.
So hardened it has become that bottle-holders like him seem to be daily prescription.
Appealing addictions which keep luring me back into their ambition.
He held high his cigarette.
Blowing the smoke out from his **** lips…I’d fallen deep into his admission.
Highly appealing, he’d look deeply into my eyes and fish for my weakness.
Hoping I’d lead him to my paradise,
Funny enough, I let him look me in the eyes and allowed him to try and find gold.
Yes I possess gold.
Never seen nor told…
It was when he held that brown bottle he claimed I’m special.
I seek his warmth now…
Missing his prints on my skin though I know many women who carry some awe already have those ‘handsome prints’.
Certainly not making me unique or special.
You lied yet again.
Maybe those are measures you take to feel on top of your game.
It was all after you drank the contents of that brown bottle you found me beautiful.
Stating you enjoy my company…little did I know that’s a line that’s escaped your lips more times then your Marlboro smoke.
Yet again you’ve successfully left me broke.
Have I lost this quest for love?
Early to wish for commitment the elders warned us about.
Thoughts so divine, that brown bottle introduced me to your beautiful mind,
I thank the brown bottle because this being uttered words unfamiliar to my ears.
Sad and pathetic as it is…I thank the brown bottle for introducing me to this being who told me I am beautiful.
Thandi Xaba
7 June 2008
It was his grasp on that brown bottle that led him to say I’m beautiful.
He claimed to be enticed by my speech,
Claims I’m intelligent, cute and not typical.
Yet I ask where he is…his hold on that brown bottle,
Drove him back to his sanity.
He’s awoken and now realises his mistakes on conversing with this plum flabby copy.
How taken I was, believing him.
His words forming rainbows of hope, wishing things turn out different.
Simple for him to step on my terrain,
Inflict some pain…yet he holds high his brown bottle and still claims I’m beautiful.
Where there any sincere words? The way he held my hand, activities he’s over-used, girls now forget he just doesn’t understand.
My importance, your significance.
Just because he warmed your skin, rubbing you gently certainly doesn’t mean you are anywhere near his book of greatness.
That to him is spreading open and giving him a taste of your pride.
A taste and an unpleasant ride.
He’d unlock your chambers and take you on a walk of sin.
Once his seen your paradise, he’s gotten a bit from your ripe orange, he’ll either reside or seek sweeter oranges.
Amazing how he used the best known gestures,
Sweet, empty words that seep from his sweet lips.
Yet they puncture my ears.
And bring to life my buried fears, I can now confess.
It’s because of this new this sort of treatment that has cemented my heart.
Preventing me now from hearing my soul mate’s knock.
So hardened it has become that bottle-holders like him seem to be daily prescription.
Appealing addictions which keep luring me back into their ambition.
He held high his cigarette.
Blowing the smoke out from his **** lips…I’d fallen deep into his admission.
Highly appealing, he’d look deeply into my eyes and fish for my weakness.
Hoping I’d lead him to my paradise,
Funny enough, I let him look me in the eyes and allowed him to try and find gold.
Yes I possess gold.
Never seen nor told…
It was when he held that brown bottle he claimed I’m special.
I seek his warmth now…
Missing his prints on my skin though I know many women who carry some awe already have those ‘handsome prints’.
Certainly not making me unique or special.
You lied yet again.
Maybe those are measures you take to feel on top of your game.
It was all after you drank the contents of that brown bottle you found me beautiful.
Stating you enjoy my company…little did I know that’s a line that’s escaped your lips more times then your Marlboro smoke.
Yet again you’ve successfully left me broke.
Have I lost this quest for love?
Early to wish for commitment the elders warned us about.
Thoughts so divine, that brown bottle introduced me to your beautiful mind,
I thank the brown bottle because this being uttered words unfamiliar to my ears.
Sad and pathetic as it is…I thank the brown bottle for introducing me to this being who told me I am beautiful.
Thandi Xaba
7 June 2008
