Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

7.6.17
Hurting.

What do you do when you can physically feel your body ashing its bones from the inside, you know this feeling too often always uninvited and doesn’t leave until it has made sure you have tried dying at least once, when you have this illness, that likes to eat your body from the deepest parts of its pain and you don’t understand where it found the courage to find it without letting you know first, this illness, likes to keep secrets and never tell this body how to fix its accidents, leaves the body feeling like it is ready to die from its own failure of not being able to locate its demise, how do you sit with something that is trying to kill you slowly, when you’re suffering on your own you are almost forced to witness a death right before your eyes without love knowing you were even there, without family knowing how much it hurts because this kind of pain doesn’t just come with broken bones crunched to dust taken by the empty in this shell of a beautiful body, its so much harder to breathe when you’re not sure if the air you’re breathing is worth living, I was 10 when I first wanted to take my own breath, not long after attempting to see what it would look like to show my mother what it feels like to bleed her words, I imagined flooding this room with all my pain to maybe understand how this body was feeling, to feel better, to stop the pain, I just wanted it all to stop, I didn’t understand why it was coming for me in this kind of cold and loving way, I was 20 when I realized that the words I wrote down were a ransom from this illness, this body is being held hostage, and the heart is barley fighting to stay alive, how to rescue yourself internally when you can’t even save yourself in your living reality, what kind of jaded mood stays for this long, I was 21 when I asked for help, wanted someone to come help me because I didn’t know how to do it first, I was so confused about how this illness attacks this body the way the word enemy comes to the tip of my tongue telling this body words that aren’t true, weakening the heart to confuse abuse for love, you are no hero when this illness comes to surface and claws at every single part of this good body, this bleeding heart, the ache, of numbing the body in a whole is to forget you’re even existing, that you’re alive, this illness likes to drag my body to its absolute and watch it scramble to get back up, and all the heart can do is tighten at the bodies attempt, scared this illness will come for it next, the souls are no where to be found, I am left to save this body alone, just me, who can save this body but me, I am the only one vacant every breath you’re not here when the body has whispered how many times it has given up, and how the heart weeps a flood of pain, you can’t feel this feeling to this intensity don’t sit there and tell me you understand help me, tell me you can help me, that its all going to be okay, that it doesn’t have to be like this, tell me I will get better, that I don’t have to live with this illness bruising this body enough to call them part of this body, I don’t want these wounds, you hear people talk about selflove and how they have not found it, people like me, have not found self love they talk about it like its so close, like its almost in their hands, where, help me find it, I need to find it, Im so scared that one day my body will have enough the heart will be silenced and mute to its own pain and this illness will convince the body to go to sleep forever, a solution, maybe, how do you fix yourself from the inside with an illness bearing teeth at each attempt you can not win this way, help me

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

17.04.17

Innocence: “..not weak, submissive shy, kind n gentle, all this, n much more, I miss the days where I could hear carefree whispered into the winter breeze, when spring bloomed with hope, sharing all our secrets to mother earth n, choosing to indulge ourselves in her beauty, I missed this, I missed being able to not give so much thought to dreams, enough to give it pardon free it’s possibilities n, not be scared of its what if’s wanted to be, the one who proves that dreams are worth never letting go that, when you feel defeated by it’s impossible alure this is, why its important to illustrate why you dream in the first place, being a dreamer n having a dream are two different innocences, dreamers are forever mesmerized by reason, for reaching the sky n, asking why the stars they see shine so bright, it’s finding answers when you have been told impossible, dream is, as simple as what you want it to be, I miss the days we talked about how fast we could glimce innocence in truth, rather bind to its opposite trait, not enough innocence, there’s, too much malice that fumbles without our own optimism, it blinding, catch this meditation, n…”

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

16.04.17 | 17.04.17

Struggling with reality: “..being forced to come to terms with being grown has a lot of constraints to its noose, they aren’t always the black jacks that fill your conciouness with clarity, with truth, being forced to realise that even though you yourself as a being have to choose some demise in order to grow, in order to change, back home, you’re selflove, you can only realise what reality you have as you watch it disappear before you desperately reach out your hands fast enough to catch its pace n allow it, watch it shatter into micro shooting stars, the way commanding wish to a content struggling reality, is it a combination of your worst fears, emotions, rainbows to fill in this mood, this grow, how do you grow without struggling in reality, pain manefests n changes people more than we would like to admit, it resonates penetrating so deep into our stream of consciousness until it awakes, until we’re comfortable with change, until…”

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

26.03.17 | 30.03.17
Black girls..(beautiful enough..)

“The truth about spring, it is a false delusion, a what you want to see photosynthesis what they, might tell you, that the sky cries too often into our bodies, that too much of its mood fixated to our feelings, understands the potential growth of each flower, rose, lotus, beauty, how it will double rainbow your extraordinary, give mother earth our time, in twin show our love, as more than, what if’s, but it could be, they don’t, tell you the truth about spring, that each season is a cycle of emotion, unsure about its casting, however, shares common traits of compatibility, wisdom, that your story is a forever told, forever being written, there is no end to its day dream, this is a, what you see what you feel educated, kind of hemisphere, rotation is a must, self love is a super power, the truth about spring is that, it is a false disillusioned dreamer, that you can be as you please, they don’t tell you that you’re beautiful enough, black girl, you’re..”

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

12.03.17
Depression, is an illness, not a weakness

Forgive me, sometimes Im not sure where to begin when it comes to understanding the way this works, I have given you so much of myself yet it doesn’t seem enough, is it really that hard to understand something that has been with you for this long, do you remember the feeling of how it felt when these souls left the body, are we on the same weakness forgive me, illness, this isn’t a cry for help, its an affirmation of this n so much more, its a resolution to this demise, at ease of this body, care to explain where this is all coming from, not understating the melody to its tunes, the lyrics to its song, but do you remember the beats, a meditation that is as distracting as this weakness, sorry, forgive me, illness sometimes I get the two confused, see, when you have been this weak, sorry, ill its hard to separate these two words from their conjoined sympathy, breathe, trigger words sound a lot like self care when it comes to the beat of this heart, the rhythm of this body to this mind the two souls its song been sang long before they knew its demise, memorize its lyrics to the right kind of melody, this song sings its anthem like it was the last calling for its demise, demise is another word for interchangeable, easily consumed, digest its ugly n regurgitate back its unwanted, this is self care in its purest form, pretty has always seen this ugly to allow this pretty, they won’t understand your narrative, if they they knew what ills, how it ills this mind this long, this whole time, they’ll call you mad, mental, won’t understand the way it has formed you into this beauty, catastrophically beautiful, the ones you can’t see just from looking, depression has this horrible way of teaching this body about its self in the most gut wrenching behavior, will never tell you what it is up to, likes surprises more than it can ever care to admit, n you have to choose to sit with its disrespectful beautiful until you fully become capable of what each miner unpleasant meant, comprehend its emotion, rearrange its narrative so there are no clear bias’s, n once again sit, n sit, with its uncomfortable until it passes, depression has a beautiful way of teaching this body about self, it manipulates the bad to be your shield n the good to be your conscious decision to always choose its demise, depression is an illness, it is never a weakness

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

17/4/16 – 18/4/16
A letter to my younger self
I don’t even know where to start, which wound to apologize for, will never forgot the tears that up to this day will never stop, if there was one thing I had to apologize for first, it would be for up to this day about the way you feel about yourself, that even when you were younger told nobody about your scars, that I was always there with you, for you, I told you I would never leave you, even that day when you fought with her again n you went downstairs feeling so much, you couldn’t tell which emotion came first, you took the biggest table knife you could find in the kitchen drawer, put your arm out, made sure your eyes were ready, took the knife helping it find its way over your bare skin, you were only 12, this is what you wanted her to understand, even though it didn’t make sense to anybody but yourself, you tried to make her look as you cried for all you insecurities, your broken body, the pain, the emotion that you didn’t understand, you tried to make her feel what you felt but she didn’t understand even when that knife scrapped your bare skin several times, she never looked back, she never tried to look back, it was at that moment you felt that she didn’t care, that it wouldn’t matter, that you wouldn’t care if your blood found its way to the floor, a puddle of emotion, when I think about how when you were little you tried to make sense of so many things, but nothing was working, nothing felt the way it suppose to, there so many things to apologize for n I’m sorry about them, I’m sorry that even up to this day you still cry every single night, I’m sorry that even though you smile its not enough to fix the emotional anxiety, anxiety, something you can’t stop doing, I’m sorry that there’s nothing to really be appreciative of, all I can say is that at least now, I’m getting help, I’m trying so hard to be better for you, I made a promise to myself to be happy, to try n be positive, its all so hard even now, but I’m thankful I’m here today, I just want to make us happy, make these feelings stop, I want us to move forward, to be happy, so I’m getting help for the both of us

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

13/4/16
Don’t disrespect beauty

I read the most disrespectful statement about my sisters, I just wanna let you black men who forgot your place, don’t know that a black body spilled herself for you, least you forgot the skin you wearing, disrespecting what god took time to perfect, how dare you forgot your place, how dare you disrespect like you don’t know that ain’t nobody but this black skin will always have your back, acting like black man n black woman ain’t the same blessed, ain’t the same sweet menlanin we praise, they praise, don’t you forgot your roots boy, don’t forget who brought you on this earth, don’t you forgot the colour god blessed upon your disrespectful self, talking like you worthy of so much she ain’t gave you, capable of carrying all this that society has given women with melanin bright enough, brave enough, strong enough, beautiful enough for you to act like you own, like you have the right to, how dare you, don’t you know disrespect when it assaults your narrative, never forget it is this skin that you are here, so best you know, before you disrespect yourself

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

4/3/16 – 5/3/16
M.B.A: Whats left

You struck a cord, turn me into love game, turn this jagged into self pity, look at what you’ve done

You play this game too often, I should’ve known it could never be this easy

Its moments like these, that teach girls that this is what they are capable of and it all stops right there, as they hand you themselves, you hand them blood thirsty, teeth, scars, wounds, trailing holes into themselves leaving emotional damage of where their trust in boys, men will mutate

Can’t  you see what you’ve done, taking broken and giving it a chance, her taking unworthy giving it a chance, look at this cult of broken hearts, pretty words with empty sounds

You’ll never comprehend, this is where and why us girls learn that our bodies are like diamonds, precious, before we even learn the meaning of our emotional worth

It is why they say do not trust, treat your body like you’re beautiful, you are beautiful, be self less, be blunt dager, be so much conversation, but never forget you are worth every worship, never forget it is them who suffer most when a good thing is gone

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

12/07/15, 5/01/15
M.B.A: This is a letter to the future

Dear Future,

Don’t let me down, my kin are going to be living for the change that is yet to come, lets just pray together, you’d think living in this life would have been far better than being enslaved, but in this reality its practically enslavment to silence, holding fear too close, no voice to reach real help, my brothers and sisters left for dead in America, their poems becoming a calling for anyone willing to listen, how dejecting, even in this era being black is still a problem, being treated like beats that roam around too freely, dear future, promise me that we’ll be safe, thick skin is starting to sound like the definition of melanin, I need you to promise me that just becuase its been too many years to count that you still haven’t givin up, dear future, please have thick skin too, I know its tiering to hope when there aight much hope left in humanity, but please do what you can, praying for another black boy, another black body, to be safe n not be left on the pavment is that too much to as for, their lives meaning nothing to this world, a mourning that we’ve been singing for as long as melanin has been spilling its blood, dear future, we’re tierd too, but I hope that you grow our think skin, so that even when kin is still being violated, assolted, murded, killed, draging their black bodies statining evdidence to show the world their sins, pray with us future, because we arn’t done, we still have so much to engrave, so much black history correction is left to do, dear our people, future says don’t give up, I will always give you more time, I know its hard, but I will always give you more time