Kaity 4m

Love feels like coming home
But I've found homes in many people
Every home I make is different, fit to hold the looks and laughs between us
Love is like taking a hot shower when the cold has seeped in from all of the cracks in your broken armor
After feeling like a dog licking at empty water dishes it's like realizing you have thumbs to turn on the faucet
It cannot be fit in a poem
People are not lists or metaphors but shelves of novels, walls full of paintings, flaws and idiosyncrasies.
Love is warm blood, messy mad hearts, and wild wolf loyalty.
It's faltering footsteps and tears after the moon has risen.
It's campfire pops and crackles, twisted bed sheets, and moments intertwined like fingers
Love isn't finding your way through a hurricane or boots stomping through a garden.
Love is like coming home.

Gaye 20h

Perhaps, I have made peace with the truth that you finally gave up all your little zings and dug up a home, like everyone else we met in that city, boring and nowhere like those little pieces you drew on tissue papers.

All the flowers, honey and sleep that you spat on my face has finally returned to you, because I have made peace with you, because I have reached home too.

I went back to my secondary school recently
just to see what it was like without
me in it. I still saw the blue, cheap flooring, rooms
with wooden panelling that definitely
wasn't wood. I still saw ill-fitting shirts
and teachers scowling at boys wearino green
for that girl who's never going
to look at them. I still saw big kids,
too young to be so old, falling into a naïve
love and thinking it's forever.
I could still see the traces
of my clumsy hands
dropping ink all over the floor of the hall,
the streaks where I desperately tried
to clean it up before anyone saw.
Lockers still lined the walls,
only the stickers that had once covered
mine were gone - the only colour
in that hall, the shock
of red in a sea of grey,
had been taken away.
Teachers walked through the halls
to poimt their fingers at herds
of giggling girls but they didn't stop
to smile and talk to me
like they used to. Maybe
it was the change of hair,
or maybe it was just
the next generation of names
erasing mine from their memory.
The next generation of hands
pulling red stickers from old doors.
Soon, hard-soled feet will wear down
the floors and those black trails
of ink will be removed, all of my fingerprints
and scars will be buffed out, scuffed out.
The paintings I left to be exhibited
will be replaced by newer, better ones
by younger students who offer more,
the halls will be filled
with new faces who don't look
quite the same. They don't laugh
quite loud enough or smile
wide enough - they are more vague
and distant than memory
ever suggested.

~~ Goodbye, Hometown. ~~
Ordeezy 1d

Listen! Listen my son
Take heed! Take heed to my words
As you journey to a land so far
Remember the sand beneath your feet
It absorbed your tears, sweat, blood in the farm land,
The blessings and curses that lies between your teeth.

Do not forget your motherland
You will always be a stranger to the snow
Remember your father's smile
His blessings helped you grow.
In your motherland you are a king
Do not kiss buttocks for green bills
Do not forget our doctrines and culture
Speak your father's tongue, its no torture.

Remember to return home, there is no place like it
Kneel my son, receive the blessings of a king.

Kume 1d

These heavenly lands,
Where the rain washes away fears,
And leaves the courage that sunset brings.
Where hopes marry belief, and trees are forever green.
Where the shadows come alive, and silhouettes breathe.

Where art is more than expression,
and dreams colour the soul.
Where broken spirits find redemption,
And all pieces are made whole.

when will it hit me?
will i wake up some Sunday,
shivering —

will i hear your voice
and flinch?

Was Yesterday A Dream?

Because I can't seem to relive it again

Was Yesterday A Dream?

Because I felt like I just woke up. Give me a hand to lend.

Was Yesterday A Dream?

Because I have never felt every cell in my body shake like it would burst from existence

Was Yesterday A Dream?

Because I can still hear My Lord's voice talking to me in the distance

Was Yesterday A Dream?

Because I kept on looking up to Heaven and asked "Why?"

Was Yesterday A Dream?

Because for a split second, I believed I could fly

Was Yesterday A Dream?

Because my eyes could not look away, they were out of my control

Was Yesterday A Dream?

Because I felt my Heart and Life began to unfold

Was Yesterday a Dream?

Because a Trio of disbelief slammed me into a pool of reality.

Was Yesterday A Dream?

Because Number 1 returned home in the land of fantasy

Was Yesterday A Dream?

Because Number 2 settled the questions of emotions in the mind

Was Yesterday A Dream?

Because Number 3 surrendered everything to the Lord with all his life

Was Yesterday A Dream?

Because I feel like my body was just released from a shot wave of sleep.


Because what I experienced, what I saw, what I heard, I still can't believe

Was Yesterday A Dream?

No... No it was not, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday was not a dream...

Only Unrealistic mind blowing events that I least expected to happen it seems...

Was Yesterday A Dream?

No.. Gosh... I need a recovery of sleep... My mind is runned down,, My Heart is in an ache, and My Soul is in a stir

Good Night Everyone...

Dear Lord.... Grant me wisdom for the Trio of events, for these three things I did not expect to occur...

November 14 - 16, 2017.

I'm tired and your tired too
Coming to see me now and then. When
You have the time
Your tired and I don't blame you
I can't explain this type of tiredness
It's not a seasonal thing. It doesn't come
When the season comes
It doesn't disappear when the season
Is over. It kind of lingers
This tiredness permeats into the body
Sort of alien ever so slowly overwhelmed
Me and I'm powerless against the body
The mind is tired the eyes are tired. The
Limbs are tired too
Wearing the same old clothes and the same
Old shoes
Not that she can't effort to buy me new
Clothes. Right now I don't need to
I'm tired and your tired too
The same old folks friends the same old
Faces greeted me the same breakfast
Welcome me every morning and I'll be
Glad she comes and bring along her kids
To see their granddad
I can sit in the living room and watched TV
I can be by the window watched the grass grow
I can hear the birds singing the cock crow
I can hear the wind blow
I can't wait for you to show up
I know you're busy I don't want to interrupt
I'm tired and your tired too
And l longed to go back home. But I'll be
Alone all the time. I don't want to bother
You now I know you're busy. I know
Your tired and I'm tired too

As it was told to me at the old folks home where this man is one of the lucky ones who have a daughter who comes visiting him occasionally.

If poetry is
an escape
into the woods,
then music is
the journey
back home.

They say home is where the brain committed suicide first
Hushed conversation overheard
Flushed worth down the drain
And as it spun
The dark corners never seemed so inviting
Enticing how the pain makes you notice yourself when no one else does
Reality is a setback that you've sat through and kept mum about
Contemplating the things that are all in your head more than things that actually are
You've already done it a thousand times
And accepted the indifference growing like vines that intertwine in your mind
Now your thumb is out and you're looking for a ride
Not any particular place, just "away"
Toward somewhere not quite like this

You use a tied rope as a taxi cab

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