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"What if he'll break your heart?" My best friend asked.

"What if your heart shatters down into pieces and you don't know what to do anymore?"  My sister asked.

"What if someday, I will hurt you?" He asked.

"I don't have a heart."
I replied.
 Dec 2014 Tawanda Mulalu
oni
if i drowned
in my own tears,
would it be
suicide
because they were mine,
or
******
because you caused them?
Magnets;
lock and key;
and, the unsubtle,
bolt
and *****.
These are things that collide harmoniously and do not dispute

We are not such an archaic, mechanized metaphorical construct.

I feel us as primal,
torrid decadence;
a deliberate impassioned vulnerability:
an animalistic exposé.

Unfocused, infinite black holes
expanding
to be lost within

Quivering circle of solicitous, engorged fuchsia
steaming harsh,
needy
attempts of oxygen recovery

Soft powder snow
melting over olive tree trunks,

quaking with endless echoes resonating from beyond the hills above

A thunderous harbinger centers chaos,
rampaging gust-like vibration through taut roots,

a volcanic eruption.
Lava geyser

blazing till all energy
enthralls the earth.

What I see for us is a metaphor in nature.
I will be the seismic activity
and you
will dance above me.

Your world will collapse against me

in my relentless motions.

And when you stand again,
I will bring you to
your knees

in my aftershock
and show you strength that will move you mountains.
We are critical.

We find flaws in
everything we see
because nobody
wants to write
about perfection,
even though sometimes
we wish we could just stay
staring into that
unblemished surface.

2. We are never satisfied.

We live our lives upon
mountains of
scrunched up
bits of refill and
ideas we gave up
trying to
express.

3. We never forget.

We write words about
eye contact made
three months ago
that we replay over
and over in our minds
even though it
stopped
being relevant.

4. We are fickle.**

Our emotions flash
from one
to the other
like strobe lighting that
disorientates us
until we feel as if
the world
will never be still.

5. We are exposed.

We don't know how
to keep our feelings
to ourselves so
we'll write them
down for
you to find
'accidentally'.

6. We are vulnerable.

We wear our
hearts on our sleeves
and won't lift a
muscle to fight back
if somebody tries
to break it
because we thrive
from the pain.

7. We will never stop.

We will never stop
feeling and
we will never stop
hurting,
we will never stop
breaking and
bleeding and
loving
even though the cycle
is endless
and we know what's
coming next.


We are addicted
to agony,
but we agonise
for the art.
It's worth it though.
 Dec 2014 Tawanda Mulalu
axr
love doesn't hurt,
sweetheart.
teenage infatuation does
you may disagree with me on this. will brb on this
Fold me, into an abundance of of possibilities.

Consolidate me with your mind to create art.

Scrunch me up into a ball when I become an error.

Spread out my crinkles when you choose to forgive me.

Use me to make your world.

You are already my everything.

Scribble down on me to write notes.

Yes you hate me, but at least you need me.

Recite from the words engraved in me, to please anyone you wish.

Throw me

Summon me.

I will do anything

And everything for you.

But please,

Please,

Don't tear me.

I've got a delicate heart.

It's already been broken.

I don't want to be forever in pieces

Of paper.

But I am.

I have been torn.

I have failed you, my love.

**Failed you I have.
Paper.
 Dec 2014 Tawanda Mulalu
Natalie
do not date a girl
who writes.
she will internalize
everything,
carve poems
into your eyelashes
instead of
kissing them,

she will analyze you,
calculate age
from the rings
your coffee cup
leaves
instead of refilling it.

she will memorize
the way your
lips curl around steam,
but not that you
take it
two sugars,
no cream.

she will read your
palm instead of
holding it
against her chest.

she will not
blink
when you leave,
because she is
already
romanticizing it.
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