Melody of being animate: Poetry

4:44 what I saw. | 30.08.2023

I hear you, loud and clear, you watching the tree’s talk to each other and blame it on the wind, its fine this way you think standing feet rooted to the door step of your home you take a deep breath, –knock knock.– Come in, and kindly leave your shoes by the door in this household we like to feel again, come in, respectfully gage my attention I have been known to follow my heart the days talk, come in, and let’s talk about why gardens are metaphors for ours this one is for bodies that feel their souls as they succeed themselves, –come in, leave your mask in that fish tank you won’t be needing it here. This home has been known to challenge what you think you already understand.– I hear you loud and clear, knock knock, the door opens and it’s her, the one who we do this for she is here, I walk over to her she must be scared, she tumbles in grabbing at my finger they talk about roses out there but they leave the part out about the thorns, -she ask’s us why do they leave the thorns out, don’t they see that without it there isn’t, don’t they see how delicate we hold them so close to our bodies-, we all take a deep breath as we do our best to keep her safe and ready for the first world.

My heart, we have been here so long sometimes we forget that there have been others even before her, I hold her right hand and we walk towards her eyes, look at the beautiful garden we have created with everything we have accomplished I know that we want so badly to be seen it could turn tears into oceans, -the mind has a ways about her eyes I think to myself-, I can’t help but wonder about the ways we have spent of us pouring, pouring, pouring, pouring until you have to learn when to stop and look at what is in front of you, I tell her never mind because I don’t want her thinking more than she already does it has a way of making it heavy, -the mind cups her left hand guiding her through the garden she has grown for herself- I want everyone to see the good things take time, they whether faster then they grow you’ll see, as we are walking we stumble upon mind’s memories thinking about how we learnt to let go of parts of us that thought to keep us safe rather kept us hidden, -they don’t talk about how we are all learning to survive ourselves then live- my heart, I’ve been wondering why you think this way of the first world, this world has taught more than ourselves and what we are willing to do to keep our justice, it has taught us how to love harder even when we are being screamed at why do you do this to yourself, it has given us purpose to live in our truth if we surrender to our choices, I’ve heard how they make fun of peoples homes these people are learning how to survive their homes, we get to choose how our choices unfold it teaches us language such as mauwa ya akili the art reads flowers for the mind already we hear the waves of memories and feelings it streams, -we laugh together take a deep breath as we take time to be present again, doing our best to keep her safe and ready for her first world.-

Melody of Being Animate: Poetry

My name is Fatma, but you can call me Guye. | 24.02.2024

I hear you loud and clear, you watching the tree’s talk to each other and blame it on the wind, its fine this way you think standing feet rooted to the door step of your home you take a deep breath, —knock knock.— Come in, and kindly leave your shoes by the door in this household we like to feel again, come in, respectfully gage my attention I have been known to follow my heart the days talk, come in, and let’s talk about why gardens are metaphors for ours this one is for bodies that feel their souls as they succeed themselves, —come in, leave your mask in that fish tank you won’t be needing her here. This home has been known to challenge what you think you already understand.—

It’s not Spring yet, so I’m having to find a reason for the lilac roses and rays of tulips from each exchange I received for good behaviour. —Funny is me accepting it thinking is this what it looks like to be among the living.— Come in, she explains your thoughts have been wondering where you have been, you can’t help but feel guilty about not wanting to stay in silence in the pit of it all, they don’t warn you about the living, instead they say come in reminding you to smile at every opportunity this is how you also make it here, I have been taught to navigate a world that does not find my intelligence important instead I hide it away in public, in environments that are flawed with systems that benefit to take. I want to be able to live without people grabbing at my being thinking they are slick with their blood dipped hands pat my back, laugh at me I mean with me, think it must be the food we are eating slowly rotting us from the inside so we forget what nourishment looks like, so our body stays shiny sick.– I have been counting headaches, my body aches from making choices that feel like they are attacking my body, I am attacking my mind, my mind in my heart and my heart on my mind, this is how we see them for who they really are, all of us navigating a world that was not our first home to begin with. —My name is much sweeter when it leaves your mouth, she reminds me.—

Melody of Being Animate:Poetry

It’s over a year old and still makes sense. How do we make sense of love? | note sure just read:2023 (Actually <edited> 22 May 2023) me: oh thats today, great! *adds to time stamp Also me: Oh, not today okay cool.

Chaotic sweet melodic voice that finds its way into dreams in the deep blue black silvering nights, did she ever tell you why she knows the whisper of your heart calling their name will not let you rest until they have heard you speak your mind say love I have come to tell you about a feeling unmatched that have been keeping light awake in the early night, yet — here we are, everytime you close your eyes we see to cross paths you hear the most life has a ways of putting us on pause we do not like the disturbances but we appreciate the visits after us, asking you have you understood the significance of its affairs I want to tell you about a love story so kept it felt itself to share, I talk about love but I do not talk about being loved I wait in silence I am afraid of the times giving and the hearts spent giving out chances like they were wild sunflowers growing in my garden, my home, a safe haven I still think about the moments in memories astounded that this is what you might just be, — isn’t potential a funny word, I could ask when loving became this challenging but I already know the answer to that, speaking to you like this has never been easy I imagine you as we were the clouds, and the blue sky and the stars in the night hidden in the day light awake just a fall asleep with the rise your voice your eyes your hand holding mine feels like an intimate scent familiar, here, that I can never forget no matter how hard I have tried I wonder, when you question love what does that mean, it’s confusing being filled with emotional logic, it’s confusing making sense of words such as love whelmed like they’re so close like you could touch them, —close your eyes, and smell it whisk the air beside you but you know it’s more than that, this does not have an adequate meaning, Love is an ambiguous compassion, it’s not something that can be understood apart from the two individuals involved humorous isn’t it that love can make take on any shape desires, any form but also special, almost heroic, almost, — brilliant.

Melody of Being Animate: Poetry

Food and Love. 22.05.2023

In the name is blasphemy and those who feel obliged by women, individuals, and have more to say on me than mirrors past, present, and future. Being woman means being whole bodies that walk in rooms that learn her light, we do not ever bend our back for those who see us in anything less, when we as women have been taught throughout our lives what it means to be women we grow tall green trees roots heavy on love, our garden grips us so well in ways that teach us to our soul our home leave us wanting more, so when we are called on unconditional beauty and watched as she followed us and never left this home, a woman’s home is filled with so much angst and unconditional love you think to know her bounds she has created for herself you think to know wise to stop putting her in boxes that mirror your home never hers, — my body is never ashamed to set rooms on fire with her presence, the choice’s in my home have been a care to her first and never yours, you can not bother us knocking at our door and call upon our name in snake tongue full on your home green, –Women,– are not sacred, blooms that gift themselves so much you will never come to know my love it is too deep to see with your eyes caked, if you leave this body with scares she will teach your soul a lesson in true meaning of silence, you will never know her sweetness a nectar tongue so dangerous it has a way about your senses, she is sweet about her first, watch your worth, question your worthy ask you about her space, touching her ears, soft as her lips she does not kiss just anybody. –She is flamed from ancient spells. You are not her to tell her story. You have your own story to tell, listen to her femininity, and trust her words women who have experienced life in second worlds don’t hide as well as masculinity, energy never lies,– Does your soul talk about your body in the spirit realms? –You tell me. By this time, you should already have your answer ready to go.

Melody of Being Animate: Poetry

22.5.23 |Affirming my reality is my superpower.

In my second world, I look however I want, there are no boundaries to my being, and I am living freely. I am living spirited and in lights, I am feeling the waves move through my body I can feel again, –I am allowed to feel again–, I am free here, I am relieved of all the earthy pressures I am in dihurnment to myself and my way of life, I see how we live here nowadays, I do not wish it upon any of you, I see how we scurry, how we drown, the way we perform to cheat the mind to air out the heart unattended because it does not fit the pressures of the world you have created for it’s vitality. You’re responsible for her heart. ‐She bleeds more water and you watch her drown in her own sea, there are fires about these stories, there is nothing left to survive in the second world we choose life over things we canot touch, in this world we do not settle our hearts we release its chains and watch them save the mind, here we encourage our body to understand its cells and make connections with its reality we do not form aliances out of favours we grant them for ourselves because we understand how the laws here work–.

–I am my most freest light here, I do not command anything. I make choices that aline to my greatest garden and I make moves–, I follow my path earnestly, I am ambitious about my soul and she watches our body grow from the experiences we have had the pleasures of becoming, we see clearly, we accept abundantly, we move freely, we are accepting of letting it all go, we do not hesitate our power anymore for those who choice to only see parts they have misunderstood in our body for their own pleasures, –this is not for us to decide–. Our power has a much grander cause of demand in justice and compassion. –I am as calm as tress, I am as calm as the water, I am, ease–.

Melody of Being Animate: Poetry

14.3.23 | Love meets Loving.

I haven’t written about her since our last conversation with blood since we walked away from our light to face our shadow since we blindfolded our mind(s) to the world and shut inwards. We haven’t felt this world since we were reunited with our second, our heart has missed our care and sensitivity to self, our mind has been busy learning to unlearn itself and together we are teaching her about free will, she has waited o long to be here. –I don’t think we have met. My name is divergent. It’s nice to finally be seen.– Realizing your mind has never looked this loving, it has never looked this respected we have found our respect for self and are passing it down to the generation of our trauma in this world and the second, we are actualising a life we have known in the second home and finally living in its light, we are not ashamed of our intelligence we are not suffocating our spirit and we are intentionally unconditionally-zing our life of choice, we have worked on our body in this home long and honest, we have trusted her path for us and she has held our hand through every hurt, we are no longer giving chances to those who do not present with empathy, love, respect, boundaries, gratitude, and many more extensions of a successful life. We are living a successful life. We have lived past each day, and our mind has suffered silent battles, and we have held her hand through every breakdown. We are her first love. We have fallen in -love with ourselves again.–

Eve of spring to summer. | 26.12.22

You can’t take back the things you said, when I spoke my dreams to life you flicked them away like they were black girl fairy tales, I had to catch myself which made it mean I had no choice but to have strength in my words, when I begged for your love it was hard for you to understand this will always have a part of my childhood, –now I am able to grow my own garden, I had to teach myself what it meant to love truly, I was forced into depression as though my life depended on the prescription I taught myself how to live instead of surviveing I did it alone.– When I was breathing under my second world for my own love first, you can’t mask your words without it using them again, so you use them again, this time I feel my heart break this time I can feel my mind go numb at blood, my body has left me she has saved my soul we are existing in our second life this is how it has always been, since flowers, since third home, since I don’t want to look at people and be disappointed at their words for me, when it comes to this skin, I am always forced into spaces I do not belong in, how I see myself I can show you if you let me, how I choose to present and be present is slowly becoming my super power Honey is teaching me about puzzle pieces and I am thankful about the –meet-cute–.

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

The undead. | 16.11.26

Russ sang (2021) “Misunderstood, you only see
Pieces that fit your view of me
Your mind is made up, my hands are tied
Misunderstood time after time.”

I missed this, grape dreams high as grape trees we are the undying melodramatics that sit in the evening sky to hear if the world sounds different now, we see so much of its life on our bodies, the lines that curve our palms to the light hairs that gaze at the afternoon brief sun, welcome to Spring. During this time of year, we are most of everything and anything at once, we prefer to be called Spring in late November. I can hear the chants louder now, I can listen to our bubbly life crush like waves against the currents, I tell you I can feel it all. I mean I can listen to how my hearts feelings break with every gas-lit, I can feel my mind see the shuttering of possibilities of loosing who I have worked so hard to become at the sight of undying love, to watch as the operation in me the 33 reason just to be forsaken and granted otherwise; have we not died enough? I often ask myself now was there anything to save if there wasn’t anything wanting to be saved, burning more Cole, more Russ and Russel we have been finding ourselves too long they say to me -you have been anything but what I want you to be-, screaming with their mouth closed I think to say screaming with my mouth open. -I am no one but myself first-, reciting citation of nothing but mad mouths and not my mouth we have not been each other around each other, we have been hesitating to bare truth knowing this will not work for us. Our love does not stand a chance against our truth,- and so I ask, have you heard of the Spring in late November? Have you read her words and yielded their power for truth in front of fear? Have you witnessed to brave Spring bring back November from the wake of realms to present then you have not lived long enough to witness the rebirths of deaths. -A fearless spirit guided by untamed compassion.- There is nothing to fear here -I tell her, love.- Loves come in great forms and leaves a Spring in late November, we are the prophecy of its legend.

Russ sang (2021), “I’m tired, I’m tired, I’m tired, I’m tired, I’m tired
Of overexplaining myself when you don’t want to get it
I’m not responsible for what you don’t understand
Just for what I say and who I am.”

To my defence I missed this, grape dreams high as grape trees we are the undying melodramatics that sit in the evening sky to hear if the world sounds different now, we see so much of its life on our bodies, the lines that curve our palms to the light hairs that gaze at the afternoon brief sun, welcome to Spring. During this time of year, we are most of everything and anything at once, we prefer to be called Spring in late November.

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

Its Spring time again. | 7.11.22

When I close my eyes, I ask us about the pillars we have held in our life, against the dark blue skies and thirty-three moons I am met with so much majesty, I close my eyes —again—. I can see now that we have come here to teach me about how my longing has to always be at our states of peace beck and call, that when our embodiment is of the lights we care to see into the silver sky is when we come to know of such words that hold into our blood, that have the nervous system to call onto our love for words, how they cradle our inner child and call at self some more. —We have forgotten how she felt about love—, almost forgot we are love. Our body has not had the greatest of love stories yet but I am told she has thirty-three wishes. We have love to thank for this, love was our saviour is our coild strand curl, yet she too calls upon tranquil serenity to bask under its light just to show more gratitude into my body so wr can make space to talk to our soul; And —right here, is where my worlds collide again.—

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

Child. | 28.7.22

Thinking about the time I first learnt to dream, thought about how my dreams felt in my mind and watched them carry my body into different lives, at the time though to be linear I was balancing two life’s, thought about one demise, then I thought about how I first learnt to dream again and again and I felt my body melt at our persistence for a taste at a life, I felt safe here, I felt heard I could hear our home choose words that did not break our spirits here we learnt to dream, at the end of our beckoning of our pit fall we looked at the hole we dug and dragged our dreams up with us, we carried everything we wanted to be and gave it life in the form of our second life which presented as our first, I say blessings are always at the pit of our mindset, they take form in many smart I mean careless, I mean look what I have done with all of our work, I worked hard for us, for our dream look at me and all I have done to work hard for our dream, I have started our dream in oceans and rose them from the seas wet sand up crashing with the wave as they find their way home, I have to remind our home that it resides here too, that our realities may coldie however in this one we are the most how far we’ve come, —I tell her we have Matchbox Twenty our life into a simple plan peaces of me and this song saved my life, my memories of my life are still in motion in my mind we are the Ever Lasting Friend who chose to pick up the parts of herself that rested her inner child we speak of her less and less here this way it is most needed, each day we are in remembrance of her oceans that brought us to these shores we are her safe heart her gate keep, we are her protectors she has many that come after her we do not run at the sight of danger we root our feet into the wet sand and call on our home as loud as the dark sea’s crashing upon dark wet sand we are here to protect our own for all the meddling creatures that think to dampen our fire disguised as the great sea’s.—