love is a knock on the door
if ever it comes unexpectedly, be sure to make it feel at home
it will be this stranger with a smile too enticing to ignore, yet you will give it your all, trust and love, skin and bones

love is the corner of each page turned
patiently waiting for the reader to fall in love with him or her
it is the beginning of every word written on paper, and to every beginning there must come an end, yet the ending to each story will keep you at your toes, with a desire for another chapter or even another word

love is the warm mornings of winter
it is a blanket enveloping every inch of your skin, ensuring you that haven is within reach and the spaces between your fingers
its kiss will be the taste of coffee or tea and its embraces will be felt enclosing the very palms of your hands, giving you the satisfaction you need

love is a child with scraped knees
no matter how many times they fall, no matter how many more experiences they meet and no matter how many times they have to land on their knees, they will rise eventually, whether with tears in their eyes or a smile too big that it stretches their cheeks, they will continue running and playing the game they never finished

yet love is not a game you can play, not with feelings
it is not a card you can trade, it is not something you can throw away after the game is finished
it is this victory that engulfs you once you have reached the other end of the line
it is this passion waiting to congratulate you on the other side, with a kiss, a hug, or even more love so divine

but love is not all about contentment and days numbered with joyous hours and time
it is also the taste of defeat, a taste that your tongue and palate will never grow used to
it is a wound that is never there, that stings with each touch and each word that reminds you of the other
it is inevitable and a moment that cannot be stopped with time
it is a journey that cannot be undone, a path that you cannot meet halfway, yet you will try with every ounce you’ve got to reach the finish line you thought was destined for you and the other
and even though that other started off with a smile, too enticing to ignore, you gave all your love and trust, to every bit of your skin and bones
no matter if they’re gone, along with your love and trust, at least they gave you back something in return

because love stayed up with you all night
talked with you for hours as if time itself was slipping away
love was an argument you couldn’t win
it was the only game that made you feel that you failed
it was a heartbreak away yet you pushed yourself to look past the flaws that made them frail
love was an inspiration to strength
a story that made you turn each page even though you knew the beginning to their end
and no matter what weather, love gave you the warmth you needed
it became the time that healed the wounds to your knees, the spaces between your fingers, the blanket that enveloped every inch of your skin

yet love was also the reason why the smile so wide it reached your ears, disappeared
it was the reason why you stayed up all night, waiting for time to slip away
it was the reason why your view on love developed into fear

and still, love was the reason why you were thankful, that you reached the finish line
it was the reason that kept you waiting by the door each night, expecting and hoping for another knock to come by
love was the reason why you trusted strangers with such smiles
and you knew that no matter what happened, if love still came knocking at your door
you were sure that you would still welcome it home

n.j.

as red lipstick on fat cheeks
it’d run down my face in streaks
and leak into a puddle on the floor
I’d mop it up, so it’d be no more

I'd like to wipe it clean
as chalk on the blackboard
my eraser as my sword
and be rid of every word

I’d like to wipe it clean
as a stain on my blouse
I’d douse it in laundry detergent
till the spot came off in the wash
and be rid of the big thick blotch

I'd like to wipe it clean
as the tide rolling in
knocking the sandcastle down    
as a bowling pin to the ground

Underneath the waning moon, a knight in shining satin strides, wandering through the waist deep tide, fish between his knocking knees, stroked behind his ears she sings, in ear canals and mountain steeps, he sighed in misty harshness, the shadows tied across his face. The sweetened sodden hair she stroked, miles away, he feels her raging though distance ever had a win, stroking his freshly shavened chin, he sighed like winding windy rustles, her hands hidden beneath the bustles, her dress so draped across her frame, he whispered all alone her name.

The post-man walks dutifully
from door to door
knocking first at
the worn front doors
      white paint peeling

Since no one is home
[no one is ever home]
he drops a note through
the mail slot, handwritten
   in sloppy cursive, it reads

            "I know the message came
             late and you've flown away,
             but if ever you think to come
             back to your old life,
                                           think again"

He does this at each and every
door on this side of the block

and when he reaches the end
      he crosses the street and
                                       does it
                                           again

Tar

Nothing will remain un-inked;
Wounds bleed and
feelings can ****
and that is why
everything must spill.
I can't keep this pent up fire
caged inside my mouth,
the anger, the unfairness of it all
erodes my teeth.

Your medicine wasn't
medicine at all;
more like subtle attempts of
mutilation than a velleity.
And your arms felt like home,
until all love left them,
and they felt like smoke
enveloping me;
you never made it easier to live,
right next to you I couldn't breathe.

I will not miss you because
there is no place safer than
inside the skin
I've slowly learned to love,
inside eroding flesh, eroding cells,
someday I will possess
a brand new vessel,
a stranger to your hell.

And when you'll come knocking
Your utterances will have no gravity;
You cannot heal scars
with a mouth that exhales tar.
You exhale and what your breath
touches falls prey to decay -  
*I wish to remain.

My heartbeat is a dreadful knocking, as if the devil himself demands entry.

It’s eleven at night
He lies down at his usual place for the night
At the doorstep of a closed Asian shop
With nothing comfortable to lay on
But that cold, hard floor.

He turned and tossed a bit
Shaking from hunger, fatigue and cold
He had not eaten for days
But still hoped for a better day tomorrow
As he drifted to a deep sleep.

At midnight
This avaricious, malicious drunk drove by
The streets were desolate void of mankind
Agitated by his own demons
With a wife patiently waiting his arrival at home

He drives by the Asian shop
And sees this poor soul huddled together
He thinks awhile and drives back
Smiling at his demons
For he had found a treasure
That would appease them for a while.

He grabs the sleeping poor soul
And does the most ungodly thing to his thin self
Too astounded and feeble to act
He just lays there feeling every pain
That came with every push.

Tears chocked him
This is too much to imbibe
This pain is too much to bear
He then passes out
Unaware of what happens to him later.

The morning comes
Bright and promising
The sun rises up
Shines and smiles down at him
As if it is mocking this poor soul.

The Asian shop workers arrive
They have to clean up the verandah
And set things in order
Before their clients come knocking
So, they have to awaken the poor soul.

He tries to sit down in vain
He can’t even stand up
He still had this terrible pain and headache
He had lost lots of blood already
But he had to move anyway
So he resolves to a crawl.

With nobody to turn to
Nobody to share with what befell him
No money or means to take him to hospital
With no family nor friends
And no food to keep him strong or alive
Yet he must live.

He has to fight against all odds
What is in the past must remain there
The determination to live must not be blurred
He still holds onto this one hope
The hope that keeps him going
That one day somehow
He will lead a better life, off the streets.

©Anita W.

Why are you here, my dear, sweet former interest?
Once, you were one of whom I wished to gain affection from, one I would have ultimately decided was worthy to love.
Once I could touch your cheeks and press closely to your body to remind you of how beautiful you were. Once I was able to listen to your conversations as raindrops formed over the both of our heads, making mad dashes to distract us with chilled wet bursts of falling adrenaline.
But it was nothing to us.
We would’ve been inseparable, body and soul.
You see, I knew that we were opposites. I knew that our minds would never match and I knew that we weren’t really going to go anywhere.
I knew this, and I kept going.
Why?
Why did I tempt the forevers and cause a tip in the balance of respectability? Had I really thought I was going crazy over you?
From body to mind to *** appeal, I thought you were what I could honestly think about…
I thought when you decided to give to me your body, that you were giving me your heart as well.
In my innocent mind, I figured it was a form of love.
I couldn’t and still can’t understand the grasp of how wrong I was, and just like casserole pans in an oven, when I try to reach for it, it burns me.
I figured we could let it ride like a joyride, I didn’t understand that you targeted me simply because I was a taboo to you, not that I was a good person, but I was just a cute face in this ugly world.
One finger to your lips as your other hand slinks up my inner thigh like a snake easing to helpless prey. Do you realize how confused you kept me as my mind fantasized about us talking, sensualizing, bodies making friction as we made a *** that had everything to do with love? Do you realize that I actually fell as opposed to your simple spreading of your legs?
Why did you have to change from what you were? Why disappear only to re-appear as a changed individual who I would willingly resent at any moment? Knocking at my door as I think of never talking to you again, I wish you to forever leave my life now.
So, please, unwrap the hand that has ensnared the key to my heart and give it back to me, for I get it now.
   You’d never use it anyways.

Got a phone call early in the morning?
Well, you've got to answer it, my darling
Listen to the sweet voice that is singing
But never surrender to that calling

Got a message with a seductive pic?
Well, you've got to read and view, don't make me sick
Don't be afraid to watch and make a pick
Unless you know yourself that you are weak

Someone's knocking behind the door
Would you open or would you hear some more?
Would you welcome or would you ignore
An offering of good food from a neighbor?

There are lots of teasing which come your way
But never entertain them, that's what I pray
A tease is just a test if you can play
Just play but do not fail, hear what I say.

It lurks in the shadows waiting to pounce
Knocking, knocking on the door of self-doubt
Seizing the moment when your mind is most frail
To whisper the lie that you are destined to fail

How to muster the courage to use your voice?
To stand one’s ground amid the deafening noise?
Fear claims that you have no power to influence
A wicked world flooded with malice and avarice

“Who are you to spark change?” you hear Fear say
A nobody, an impotent soul who wouldn't last a day
In the midst of pressure where all eyes are fixed on you
A slip, a fall, will mark your inevitable doom

“Silence!” you command the ghastly parasite gnawing at your heart
I am in control of my own destiny; I will not fall apart
I forbid you to discourage me from pursuing my dreams
I will not back down; I will move forward, you scream

Fear flees for its life, as if caught in a storm of hail and lightning
It cringes at the sight of your courage, oh so frightening
It melts into the shadows once more
Watching you take to the skies and soar

Part 1

Cheer up, dear souls faint not by the way,
For Jesus is here to brighten each sad and lonely day,
Here's an arm around your shoulder comforting you;
Whenever you need it, whenever you feel blue.

There's a song for your heart when  joy left you,
Here's sunshine for you whenever you feel blue,
Here's Jesus knocking at your heart;
Waiting for you to open it up to Him and make a fresh new start.

Here's happiness for you whenever you feel sad,
Here's peace for you whenever you feel angry or mad,
Here's gladness for you when you thought there was no light;
Here's day for you when you there was nothing but night.

Here's a hug for you one so warm and tight,
When you thought there was nothing but the cold embrace of night,
Here's a friendship for you from me;
When you thought a friend with you could never be.

Now wipe those tears from your face,
For soon you'll be showered in love and grace,
Let's join hands and friends forever be;
In a circle my friends, and you and me.

*~Marian~

Death has walked these very halls
Creeping and slowly watching
The innocent life which would fall
In the hands of its reckoning

Death would just wander about
Looking at the little fragile lives
Which could easily be taken out
As simple as throwing a dice

Time was on the side of death
For it had all the time in the world
No one could ever be saved
When it comes to collect your soul

Cherish every little moments that you have
All the happiness through joy and the laugh
Because honestly we would never know
When death comes knocking on your door

My mother she was one with palms pressed
                                                Asking for help..
Help to feed us,
Help to keep her afloat.

You listened, wait what was that?
                                     you didn't...
Na you played her, used her trust
in you like a torment, she looked to
the heavens and all you gave was hell..

Men were  less than what she saw,
but always too late.
            Married in your place
                                         of every prayer.
But you just kept knocking her down there.

Last time I went to church was
                    because there was free chocolate.
You see with me, my mother grasped  at
straws. She went from one form of you
to another like a ****** clinging to a new fix.

But you were just like before, same old ****,
                 different day...
I knew long before you weren't one to be trusted?
Why you ask? Because there where ones before you..
                      I read your book in the fantasy section.
This thing needed a
                    
                           Parental Guidance Sticker.

Some contorted morals, thrown in with what
                  can be only described as a  WFT's.
I knew that those at these places of worship
                   peddling there own version of this god..
Didn't believe there own words, so why the hell
would I be gullible enough to be a sheep in there world.

The last time I went to church,
                                         was for free chocolate.
                                    The last time she went was in a coffin..

Every Saturday for the past two years has pretty much been the same.
I wake up to the sound of my momma knocking on my door,
"Go watch your sister, I'll be back soon."
I stagger out of bed and head on over to keep an eye on my little sister, Raylin.
She returns usually an hour later,
It's 8 am at this point,
With five young girls,
Five very sleepy young girls.

The oldest, 16 now, Adriana,
Collapses on the couch most of the time,
Too tired to make it to another bed.
Roxana and Mariana, 14 and 9,
Will sit and watch tv all day from the moment they get here
To the time they leave.
Maritza and Marisol,
7 and 6, will sleep until Raylin wakes up to play with them.
It usually doesn't take very long.

Two years ago is when it all started.
Having to wake up early to get the girls,
Having to pick them up from 30 minutes away
So they could have a safe place to call home.

Two years ago,
my mother receives a call from my tia Cindy,
"Adriana is hurt,
Adriana can't move,
She went too far this time."

The entire family had been trying for months to get the girls,
Their mother and father a complete mess.
"In love", they called it.
They would show their love with marks upon their skin,
Bruises as proof of their undying love for each other.
My tia Perla would wear her blood and tear stained love upon her sleeves
for the world to see,
But she didn’t care.
This was the life she chose for herself,
And when she grew unhappy with it,
Her daughters would hide in fear,
Adriana and Roxana taking the worst of it.

Once,
I heard Roxana yelling at my own momma,
Who only wanted Roxana to listen.
"I don’t care, I just want my mom, I want to go home."
I couldn't understand the words that were coming out of her mouth.

Later that day,
after my momma and I dropped the girls off at tia Cindy's house,
I asked my momma what could've possibly caused
Roxana to say something like that.
"It's her mom, it's the only type of love she knows."

Two year ago,
These sleepy girls showed up at my house,
In the dead of night
when the bats would fly around,
Maritza and Marisol holding each others hands,
The older three with panicked expressions they couldn’t hide,
The beginnings of several bruises
Forming on Adriana and Roxana's arms and legs.
They slept huddled together on my bed,
Refusing to leave each other,
Shaking even when it wasn't cold.

Two years ago,
These five sleepy girls couldn’t sleep
without being scared of what waited for them in their dreams.
Arms and hands that were supposed to shoo the bad dreams away
caused them instead,
But last Saturday was pretty much the same as it has been
For the past two years.

My momma knocked on my door,
"Go watch your sister, I'll be back soon."
The five girls show up at my house,
No longer scared,
No longer shaking when it's not cold,
No longer so sleepy.

I have been knocking for a while
my knuckles are bleeding ,I broke a nail
and the neighbors are staring

i am confused

once you held me close to your chest and we smiled into each other
once you touched my hand and let my fingertips rub your arm
once i knew your scars and they did not matter

but today,
today i am standing outside in the rain and it is cold
today you pretend you are not home

the truth about partying


ya see partying isn’t about getting pisserd

partying isn’t about knocking people over

it’s about, joining groups in writing and art

it’s not about going out doing farts

just because you can do a ****

doesn’t mean you are good at doing art

i am,off off to a writers group, yeah i am a real writing nerd

you see i used to get ******, and i had fun oh yeah

but i feel better writing and doing art, yeah, how cool

Alert the Ankobeahene and Kontihene
To secure the women and children,
For the language is war,
Remind the Kyidomhene,
Nifahene and the Benkumhene
To caution their men
For a possible storm,

Men of war!
Fill the mighty *** of fire
With the water fetched
From the Godstwi river,
Do not forget to mix it
With the divine talismans,

For the pale-skin men
Who knocked our doors
With their good news,
Are now knocking our
Doors with their gun news,

Represent their commanders with stones,
And place them in the boiling mixture,
Has the omnipotent Kwame and
Mother Earth approved of this?

My servants, check on the ***
Whether it has disintegrated,
Then we expect defeat,
If not, play the drums
And blow the horns of war
In delight and strength,

War!
War!
War!
Who is to lead us?
For the *** on the fire has
Expressed our defeat by
Wailing and disintegrating,

Oh yes, nevertheless the
Gods and ancestors have chosen
The vibrant queen mother of Ejisu,

Ah, though we are fighting
A war of contempt,
Her Royal majesty,
Nana Yaa Asantewaa
Shall lead the entire Ashanti army,

Weep for your children,
Oh, great Krobea Asante Kotoko,
For they are going in
For an unpleasant defeat,
But for the sake of
The courage of Yaa Asantewaa,
We shall fight!

Fight!
Fight!
Fight! Till we see defeat,
For the moon moves slowly,
But by daytime it crosses the sky.


© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
Email: nanaspeaks@gmail.com

By my standards,
he is a ten.

I'm sure you're
laughing right now--
"ooohhhh, she think's
he's a TEN"--
but that's not
what I mean.

What I am trying to say is that,
on a scale from one to ten,
one being indicative of
experiencing little to no pain
and ten being indicative of
experiencing a pain whose presence
is capable of knocking the wind
straight out of me--
a pain that I do not
dare to fathom
for fear of prolonging it--
he was a hurricane.

My hurricane.

The eye of the storm,
his aloof ignorance
paralleled against the
violently cyclonic nature
of this heartache--
cacophonic in its impact
and blasphemous in
every context of the word
Love.

I don't think
getting caught in the rain
has ever hurt quite this much.

Yet,
I surrender to this hurt
the way the sea surrenders
to the Almighty Poseidon;
the way my feet surrender
to the rocks
tied round my ankles;
the way my soul surrenders
to its contusions
(so is a casualty
of a broken heart).

Still,
I imagine what it would be
like to kiss him
when I wake up in
the middle of the night,
lucid dreaming and
shivering against the bed sheets
(must be hypothermia,
I think;
the coldness of his
absence settling among the
loneliest parts of me).

I try to remind myself
that he was never
any happy ending of mine--
just an ending.
And something tells me
kissing him would feel
a little less
like thimbles
and a little more
like sewing needles.

After all,
he always did have
a way of silencing me,
my lips stitched together
into the most morbid
of embroideries.

Because god forbid
you dare question
a tempest--
even when he has
left you
to stew in your
own ruin--
for fear of provoking
his stormy wrath.

Part of me has
always been
afraid of him,
you know.  
Looking back now,
that should have been
my first indication
that I had been entertaining
an abusive relationship.

No,
he never laid a hand
on me.

But
I was terrified that
there would come a day
when he would eventually snap.

I can envision it--
ribs crack like lightning;
bruises congealing beneath
my eyes like grape jelly;
fingerprints seared
across my cheek;
my head held underwater
until I've stopped
breathing altogether.

Of course, there exists
more than one way
to destroy a person,
though he will claim
that he has done nothing
to wrong me.

Surely,
he would tell me that
I am just reading
too much into things.

S'pose it's your turn then,
darling.

Trace the brailed veins
of my shattered heart,
and feel all the ways
you have broken me so.

Let your eyes flit
across the expanse
of these water-logged stanzas--
and tell me,
does the poetry not speak
for itself?

Or does my drowning not suffice?

They want more than a thank you,
Always wanting more than they need.
It never ends with a thank you,
Just saying more please.
Where did we grow so discontent?
Burning desires that never relent,
Why can't we just accept a thank you?
As a satisfying benefit,
This world is always wanting more.
Greed always knocking at the door,
But why can't it just end at a thank you.
Instead of always wanting more.
Remember to say thank you,
And never always wanting more.

The ability to leave the past behind,
The mistrust, the hurt.. Just don't be blind,
Actions, not just words need to be a must,
A new person? You can learn to trust,
Build your self love, streghten yourself,
Then it will be easier to believe someone else ,
Do not allow frustrations from before to once again come knocking on the door,
You cannot compare each and every person,
Stop expecting the worst! It is never certain!
No two people are the same
If she breaks down them walls don't go insane!!
Accept things as they happen, go with the flow
Be cautious, no over thinking though!
What is meant to be,  will be
You have no control over this you must see,
Gather the happiness and strength on your own and keep it there set in stone ,
The power is yours, the happiness and confidence you shall own.

Dear Winter,
Depressing Summer is knocking at the doors,
After a long spell of rejuvenating cold,
After a long period of motivating zephyrs,
After a long refuge under warm quilts.
But I will wait for bubbly rains,
But I will wait for earthly fragrance,
But I will wait for walking flooded roads,
Wait I will, till the Sister Rain take the reins !!

They come in waves
I told my therapist
during a rainy afternoon on Tuesday.

Waves?

Waves of
police knocking on my door
of punches thrown between the lovers
hanging on to broken threads
of lies and cheating and drinking and drugs

they come in waves

The man looks me up and down.
I'm trying to hide my ******* poking beneath my old t-shirt
I'm okay I'm okay I was asleep I'm not a witness I'm not their parent I'm not their manager
They should be mine.

Crashing in uncontrollably these instances of depression, is that the word?
consume me

leave me hanging

left to dry
then forgotten
folded away neatly into a locked drawer

the tide is soft and calming,
eerily awaiting the next set of
waves.

Hacked
Every hook
Every cue
Every one of my references and internal pantheon
He's wired into it.

How did that happen?
He's a stranger
I didn't even know he existed two weeks ago

And yet...
He gets it so right every time.
~~
self referential
I like it when he writes of me. To me.
That curly feeling.
His revelations, and the mirror held up.

Tribute, affection, the wry smile of a stranger.
The slightly bonkers obsession and fascination.
Glimpses of a convoluted mind.
~~
Rib Ice
Standing on thin ice
Peacoat open, arms wide
I step into that hug

Burned by warm skin and hard ribs
Even more by his kiss

He likes to hear me moan
~~
Whose mindfuck now?

Are my actions consistent with my words?
Am I as I say I am?
Do I mean what I say, or am I playing you?
How's your ******* detector?

cards on the table time
abdicate or defecate
ante up
~~
headlong

He leads me on a scavenger hunt, insinuating, enticing, pulling me into dark corners to kiss me and probe me intimately, until we're off to cross the next threshold in this trip...

I have no idea how I got here. Turned round, disoriented, down the rabbit hole.
~~
Deep Purple

On the way out
Curious discoveries

Door handle sticky
Musk in the air

Who's that knocking at my back door?
~~
Goddess, lit**

I like this intimate touch I have on your mind and emotions. It makes me feel powerful and protective of you. And pulls me closer in.

When you say I am a goddess, your goddess, I suspend disbelief and nod in acknowledgment and agreement. Yes, of course. In those times, I know I am powerful, wise, feminine, and mysterious, And that you are before me, kneeling, clasping my legs, leaning on me, head against hip and belly, worshipful.

And sometimes, you clasp my wrist as I'm turning to go and pull me back, quietly certain and not to be resisted. Inevitable. And then what? Kisses? Your hand on my breast bone? Gently steadied to meet your gaze, interminably and for no time at all?

I begin to believe you won't vanish.

Girl with stitched lips, whats your name?
And who named you before you came?

Please tell me why are you oh so sad,
Is it because of the previous life you had?

From whom have you inherited your eyes?
****** and orange; the color of burning skies.

Your pale face taut and soaked with tears,
What lurks in your mind m'lady; what kind of fears?

On your lips; who did the needlework?
Dried blood glosses the black thread of the artwork.

O' who is the man knocking on your door every night,
For what reason does he give you a fright?

Who lets him in as you live alone,
Why don't you ever answer the ringing phone?

What are the secrets that you hide,
That has caused your lips to be tied?

O' what are these dark secrets you can not reveal,
That has given you scars you can not heal?

I can no longer sleep at night. The reason is unknown to me. Some nights I could sleep for days on end if my body would let me, but then there are those nights where I cant get a blink of any rest.  My emotions seem to run ramped when I am wide awake, no sleep to over take me. The demons like to come out and play then. The darkness is their playground and they will never pass up an opportunity to come out and play well with others.

I cry over you, you and you. The confusion when you left, the emotional wreck you put me in and the heartache when I lost my best friend. Three times I have fell in love and three pieces of my heart forever taken with one of them. One day I could see myself never loving another soul ever again. I may as well be a stone figure perched upon a grave, forever crying. I have nothing left to give to anyone.  I am emotionally numb.

I am falling back into my native roots. My old friends are knocking at my door, wanting to come in so badly. They want to help me. Help take all the pain away, but the reason why I don’t let them in is because once they’re in, they will never leave. Last time a miracle happened and they left but I know if I let them in for a second time, they will just barricading themselves in one of my rooms. So, I let them keep knocking. Their knocking begins soft, slow with sweet words escaping the lips of lies, but over time they start to get louder, stronger and harsher words. They scream now. I do my best to ignore them by distracting myself with other things but it doesn’t work. Curled up in the fetal position on the floor farthest from the door now, I clasp my ears shut with my quacking hands. Pleading to God that he keeps me strong.

Kayleidh. The name repeats several times with in my head, over and over. My day seems to just drag by in such a fashion that I think I may start to go insane. Thinking of the years I will be missing watching you grow.. kills me. It tears my heart apart, ripping it so painfully slowly.  I remember the day you were born, your first words, walk, friends you made at church. I hold the very few pictures I have of you, dear to my heart. I cry dry tears for you when I am numb. I know the truth about your real father. How he beat your mother, my aunt, when she was pregnant with you. How when you were barely three months old he threw **** at you, spit in my mothers face while protecting you in one of his drug rages. How we had to steal your mother and you in the night from him to save the both of your lives. But whats funny about that, I bet your mother will never tell you any of this. She will pin my family as the ‘bad guys’ and feed you lies.

Imagine this:

Sitting ignorant in your infancy,
In the place you call your home
Your father sits and comforts you
Saying "I shall never leave you alone".
Then all of a sudden a sounds erupts,
Knocking at your door.

A violent thrashing, consuming the joy that had once warmed your spirit,
Your fear kicks in, so you cover your eyes as you cannot bear to hear it.

Your father gone, nowhere to be seen,
You think he's abandoned you
You begin to scream.
Your screams echo the house,
Emotion not withheld,
But while your screams and cries occur,
The sound of silence begins to stir
The sound of what once threatened your soul,
Has turned out to be no more.

Your father gone so you begin to resent him,
And you fail to realise the sacrifice given,
For without his grace, now where would you be?
Buried deep in the ground?
Deep in the sea?
One day we all shall not fail to see
How much was given for you and for me.

The war is not over, but victory's won,
By the love of the Father
The love of the Son.

Before…

Before I knew you as Divine woman, I longed for your presence, In time i knew nothing could break our bond…

but that was before I knew you,

I know you now, and time is of the essence I was right all along, you indeed are my true sister. My confidant. I call you Mother.one of four souls highly blessed due to their grandfather's highly respected works through preaching the gospel humbly,
truly one of a kind, everyone loves their grandparents and deem them special. and I am no different,
To have known my grandfather Neo Garvin, is to have known what it means to be touched by an angel,
He and My grandmother(still young and beautiful as ever) chose to choose one another until death bid them ado,
The reaper comes to collect the souls of the ******,
God comes and gets his children, he sends special hands to aid in the process, he is always with me that i know is certain, unlike any other thing in this world, with every theory, every question,problem and solution is a percentage of dis-trust in it..
conflicting irony they call it,
how can you dis-trust and love, they are opposite.
we are made in God's image, we are made in the image of LOVE, does that mean perfection is granted to all those who are believers?
depending on how you see life ,
the pitcher there, do you see it as half empty or half full
what about your gratitude towards your parents how do you see that glass?
Would seeing the glass as half full when you believe it is in fact as empty as a sponged, squeezed?
just give it a  paradoxical shrug, these kinds of situations are difficult, but normal, bound to happen right?
God chose belief in my ordanement , redeemed aren't I ?
Redeemed until validated my the ticket holder of my life and heart, the judge of my doings, the criticism I openly accept, as long as it's through verbal or small practical eveyday spiritual acts . I accept that I am chosen for his kingdom, that his love has an actual warmth, sitting in a melting *** of the fireplace infused with the cold air knocking, like an unwelcomed visitor .
The irony sets in
we'd all had a good laugh at that, we'd laugh so hard and got it all on camera, I think we'd have a shot and one of those zestful family movies, we'd at least get a premiere on abc channel  and its got just enough of a zoetiec vibe for lifetime.
the dictionary's failed attempt at defining the depth and the vague imprint it left on my brain, torturing me to awaken from my cocoon and speak,
for my ancestors and the divine woman that is Deidra, Thee divine woman(along with the help of the divine masculine) who taught me to open my mouth if you've got something to say,
Who knew that those words were seeds!?
I studied her as she sewed them everyday religiously, even on the rainy days when life seemed to be in the midst of hurricane force winds, she watered that garden the best she knew how and to me it is perfection.I'd try to convince her not to worry about my garden so much that she'd forget to have her flowers bloom
The divine woman a natural incubator , genetically undeniable that we are the divinity this world needs. She knew of my reaping harvest and that it would grow to be my inner voice, that is love.I am wise
you know what zoetic means to me?
zoetic is the slashes against my back until the age of seventeen, i think zoetic are the beautiful dressings that hold us
capture us, in fear of  running off into something so beautifully damaged people might -pay more attention to the clown than the performance.
one of those and even the "non spitiual people",
what right did i have to be set apart from the world
an evolving theory that grows only in fondness and size of it's essence,
only air , unparalleled
you dare not have a speck of shame you, look in the mirror if you'd like but careful not to interfere with his creation, or its is a matter of time before your left like ...
adam and eve...
floating.
to have that privilege, to my mother

I imagined what our past-times would resemble, that you’d vacate my soul with a message, in times, I need, remember.

maybe it would be poetic, or wise in hindsight, something that’d force my mind to clear the mess in the backseat to make room for a new shotgun rider

an inquiry you leave me with daily, as our hands unmesh and I drift off into sleep, that is the only time you leave, and quickly appear as i awake, without you, How could i face the day?

A stone immortal you are, with no works of erosion, to seep through your cracks, your spirit un-touched, you are the concrete to my heart, unfinished knicks and knacks. i’d never put  youdown, divine in me tells me “reach for your crown, it’s time we take a break, I’ll never leave you but it is now my time, to clear the backseat and make way.”.

as i watch her tidy up the backseat moving chaos and fear into the far right corner, she hops in the back and sits where I can see her,

navigating me, acting as an GPS, divine in me I trust in nothing less.