People say I'm the life of the party
Coz I tell a joke or two
Although I might be laughing loud and hearty
Deep down I'm still blue

So take a good look at my face
You'll see my smile looks out of place
If you look closer you can trace
The tracks of my tears

Having Depression is like finding out that mermaids are real
It doesn’t make sense to you until you’re getting dragged to the bottom of the ocean
And then you think
Oh
That’s what this is
And I’m drowning now,
That’s just……… great
And eventually, with your last vestiges of breath left
You float back to the surface
And you’re fine.
And that’s it.
Mermaids stop existing again.
Because you never actually saw what grabbed you
You only felt the claws around your leg
The cold, clammy hands tugging
With a force that you could never fight against
But you never saw her
So it was all a dream
Right?
And it happens again and again
You are drowning again and again
Until the water begins to feel like home
And the only thing reminding you that you are alive
Is the burning in your lungs
And when everything you had balanced so very carefully starts falling
Off the shelves of your life
When your “mild” depression starts deciding it wants to be more
When being alone makes you feel dead inside
And when losing your cool for one ******* second makes you contemplate your own demise
When do you admit to yourself that you are slipping
You are sinking and just because you can slow your descent
Does not mean that you’re not still drowning
And at the end of the day just because it took you longer to get there this time
Doesn’t mean you aren’t still lying on the ocean floor
Devoid of light and sound
And if you had just climbed onto that now distant boat and sailed away
You’d be fine.
But climbing was too hard
And sinking is so much easier
And you’re scared that if you reach out
Your hands will feel clammy and cold
As they wrap around your friends throats
And drag them down with you
And you would rather rot at the bottom of an endless sea
Than let that happen
So you lie in darkness and wait
For a sound
The singular resounding sound
Of failure
And you slowly float back to the surface
Take a deep breath
And you’re fine.
Because mermaids aren’t real
It’s all in your head

Through your poems I finally found you,
prints of soul in your tracks led me to you ,
your raw heart stripped mine open and bare,
exposing these emotions that I now have to share,
my demise began when I introduced her to you,
erasing my destiny that was written for you,
I wander in misery,settle in denial ,live in daze,
striving to unravel the clue to this maze.
How do I recite metaphors in verses of a poet?
How do I sing rhythm in the lyrics of a singer?
How do I draw color in the brushes of a painter?
How do I guide him in this different channel?
How do I tell my best friend that for him  I've fallen.

My mind, my soul, my intuition was dead,
Woke up this morning and found a letter that read;
‘I rise, in the depth of solitude I am who I am,
In the spirit of humility I am who I am,
In the spirit of togetherness I am, Nelson Mandela.
In the face of revolution I am Dedan Kimathi,
In the wake of National Pride, I am Kenyan,
I am Bantu by Origin,
and in the face of love, I am weak.’
A letter written by me, for me!!!
Before being human, I am POET,
I strive to lead within the legion of wits,
To dissent decency and embrace love,
I cry for my people,
I serenade my fear to give birth to courage,
Fuse language and my soul in this verbal marriage,
I shine when gloomy,
I blend in when glowing…
I heed to the untold tale,
and when on stage,
I need to unfold a spell,
That cultivates in the mind,
These words are but a feeble extension of my might,
I say what I want to say and you listen,
You applaud,
I do not want your claps,
I don’t want your cheers,
I want you to listen,
I am sharing myself here,
I am telling you my painful secrets,
Letting you feel my joy…
Can you hear my silence?
Do you see my memory?
I have stripped myself bare for you,
I have swallowed my pride and I am struggling with constipation,
Hi there beautiful young lady,
Do you like what you see?
Are these words an extension of my skin?
For even when naked, I still hide an aura of mystery.
When you make love to more than one person,
Every moan bleeds poetry,
Every touch aches for a punch line,
Every ****** begs for a harder ******,
and when your eyes roll back,
and you splash your words on the walls of their minds,
Every skin begs to cuddle with your lyrical prowess,
I turn a blind eye to social injustice,
Yet I pray my people are treated well,
Do not look at me with that suspicious eye,
You don’t know who I am,
I did not bomb your brother,
I do not fight for any terrorist group,
I am not a representation of a stereotype,
You cannot blame me yet I fear just like you,
Hurt just like you,
I hide from the jaws of terror just like you,
You struggle to understand me,
I understand you,
In the face of fear, you know no human,
Your eye sees only who it suspects is friend or foe,
I understand you because I know,
On the third blow of the trumpet,
Even the son will abandon his mother…
Why judge me for the shade of my skin,
Texture of my hair????
I am who I am.
I love those who love me back,
In the dark caves of solitude,
Hidden on the platters of eternal euphoria,
I then found a loving embrace,

So I march on clinging to what I don’t understand,
Get confused by what I strive to understand,
Stand under my weak heart,
What attracts me I don’t know?
We find beauty in non-existent things,
Show me beauty and I will give you the flowers when you can still smell them.

I still rise,
For I am who I am,
A son who loves his mother,
Is driven by ambition,
Even Grisham knows,
it is past the time to ****,
onto the time to heal,
You do not need to understand this painless persona,
My words are my impractical scheme for social improvement,
I do not curse,
Because when it hurts so badly, humans’ mistake the truth for profanity …
I have hit my poetic falsetto,
I spill the last few drops of this ink…
I live you with this poem,
A temporary forever,
You do not need to understand this hopeless persona,
You don’t see the poem. It was not written for your feeble intellect.
I take center stage,
My words, my halo,
I speak,
I speak because I exist,
I said I speak because I exist,
You will always find me next to your conscience,
My words echo, my rants roar,
My whispers soothe, my cry begs for your embrace,
I sing to fallen angels,
I am who I am,
I speak because I exist,
Before I exist, I am POET

She knows not  
Of how sheer she lays in the corner of her bed ,phone one hand,void the other
Of how much from her world, in her eyes,you can gather
Of the pain her sore feet reveal,running from yet another
Of how bluntly her heart drips ,may these phrases bolt her rather

She knows not
Of light.gloomy and dusky is the shine her tears reflect
Of her influence,vigor,strength,flair and respect
That to another living soul, her fritter is their glitter
That to be a victor you cant be a quitter nor bitter

She knows not.
That her suitor holds on to her hand at the end of the story
That her journey already started in the midst of her worry
That her fright and dismay will soon be her glory
That her misfits are the brisks to the brush of her  poetry.

Hey, was the tremble in our bodies from the first magical touch, on the couch, unreal?
Or was I really a victim of the aftermath of the couch shakedown?
Hey, did our eyes lie to our hearts when they let their own raw ones open while they stared at each other?
Or should I have covered these naked eyes from the scorching effect of the glance, the stare, that stare?
Hey, did the embrace of our lips, chests close, beating together, finally put out the burning desire?
Or didn’t I have a true audience for the harmonious sound of our heartbeats and the dance of our lips?
Hey, were the long hour phone conversations long enough? Enough for our longing voices to match the hours away from seeing each other?
Or was I long gone in the radius of your diverse land of thought as I dived more and more into your pool of sweet utterances?
Hey, were you ever tired for running miles, miles and miles without long breaks in my mind? Were you?,
Or had I become a squatter,lost, creating a race that I foolishly waited a medal for? Was I to be awarded?
Hey, wasn’t parting shot the medication we both never wanted to take?
Or did I read a different prescription for every painful goodbye I had to make?
Hey, in the end, I wonder did you ever cross that four letter bridge between I and you?
Maybe I should have taken one last aerial view over the fallen, broken, damaged bridge that you left behind on your way to you.