There is a type of admiration
Which transcends love
My friend's dad
A man with a mustashe
And an honesty
To tell the truth
In stories of the past
And laugh wholeheartedly
At comical remarks
A confidence.

It is a love which is different
It is a respect
A desire to understand
And peer into
Rather than touch
The edge of his garment

A patriarchel dominance
Both strict and calm
Which portrays a godlike figure
Like a wise old man from the east
Except he's from Namibia
And he's been divorced

But I admire him
Like a soldier admires his superior
It is a love which is not love
It is admiration
Of a character

How strange, a man who could choose to love, but hated instead. Himself most of all. What a pity it was, but that's not what he wanted, right?
He wanted their forgiveness, not their pity. Forgiveness for not being enough. But they thought they saw right through him, they know his ways. And he would agree.
   He's a writer after all, he would say. It's in his nature to dislike himself to the point of ignorance. But when does an act become nature? When does this character he has created become apart of who he is? Or was it that way all along?

A person who wants nothing, never can be bought
A person who won't fight, never can be fought
A person who doesn't lie, never can be caught
A person who won't play the game, never can be used
A person who dosen't cheat, will always pay his dues
A persons who never thinks, can never have any views
A person who dosen't care what you think, will never leave you confused
A person who has nothing, they will never lose
Tell me dear friend, what kind of person are you

of us ain't looking for the best
rather than greener pastures we settled for artificial  tuff
we left the fight for the best to the rest
for we have realised sometimes enough is enough

You can’t hear my screams through this house’s thin walls
I can’t reach the shore in your paper lifeboat
You can’t pull me up as I drown while afloat
I can’t help but by this spiralling stairwell be enthralled

I leap over, hurtling towards the water beneath
Blood splatters on the walls, crimson swirls in the sea
You scrub the water coarse, trying to strain the impurity
But my wounds are still open; they continue to bleed

The cycle keeps repeating, as history tends to
You’re tired of all this melodrama that keeps unfolding anew
You think it’s all rehearsed, that it is not impromptu
So I perform behind closed doors, waiting for your cue

During the entr’acte, I wait in the dark
The spotlight’s gone out, the character has not
I have been typecast in this role for too long
It’s become second nature so I play along

One time the inside of me was dead
only way to stop the jitters in my head
jitters forcing my heart to rip into shreds
Charging my pulse, forcing me to feel red  

One time the quite made me feel calm
Bruises slowly disappearing from my palm
The first time my breathing played like a song
Discovering the difference between what's right and  what's wrong

One time they said that I was too nice
they don't know my heart was once cold as ice
Experience comes with it's own special price
Your childhood would have been my paradise

One time I felt everyone else's pain
I saw how it moves through us like a chain
Fueling it's power through the dead right brain
Making ignorance a comfortable ball and chain

One time I screamed angry at the universe
Seems like being humane is a blessing and curse
Just when I thought things couldn't get any worse
we have normalized a society that should make you averse  

One time I realized it's all worth the fight
It's not so bad to be someone else's light
Despite all the hatred I'll stay polite
because losing your character means losing the fight

People try to tell me that your thoughts are not you
That they’re not your character
But what better presentation of your character
Then the voice of your subconscious
And the screams of your demons

Voices in my head
Gain life on the page
Showing their all
Upon a new stage

Bits of me are in there
Some in more than most
You just have to find them
the paper is the host

I may be the blues man
I may be the painter too
But, just what parts are me
Well, that is up to you

Each character, each story
Is a part of me
But each part is well hidden
You have to dig to see

I'm in every story
Somewhere in the words
I may be just a shadow
I may be singing birds

Look and you will find me
And learn just who I am
In the river of the story
Or hiding near the dam

Each page contains a segment
Of me there in the rhyme
Look hard, I'm really hidden
Don't worry, it takes time

I'm in every story
Every character is me
Just know that I am with you
Look hard, I'm tough to see