Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

14.8.19 | Dove.

How do I love now, I write you into the places I have found you into my soul, a part of our whole, a beating heart that feels a lot like a home, its a lot like the way it feels watching the rain, its something like finding a whole that speaks my love language and we match intensities, that part might just be the water Venus in me, its nothing like these flowers, I need a worthy flame to match, its being able to surrender to the air around me and liking it, the way it feels with you is the same as when I get to spend the day with my soul surrounding myself with my favorite words, its the feeling of the days where I am silly happy for no tangible reason, moments where I understand the feeling of touch, and stop making love out to be so matter of fact, truth is love isn’t always as logical as we may love it to be, when emotions are involved no matter how much we fight its feeling it will still rise the only way it knows how best, honestly, my love is how it feels to kiss you without any fear, how it feels when you take my hands into yours, its looking into each others souls, loving is knowing my worth is matched in energy and high vibration, they say the way law of attraction works is easy, yet I’m not sure its so easy to know what you want and know what you’re willing to love about souls no matter how much you realize you fill each other, maybe this is also part of being enough into love, I guess I understand that a love connection is something like creating a whole with each others honest selves, like a whole new world, like hearing words like we belong together spoken out loud and remembering that love could be centered at courage.

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Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

13.8.19 | Lit up identity.

Imagine a soft voice of rain, imagine a warm space with two chairs sitting across from each other, I have this theory, that if I can’t sleep when its dark it means I am waiting to dream some more, there’s intentional placements about the night that gives me the most comfort, I can’t really quite explain it all for myself yet, I find the silence asks me about my most intimate desires without any judgment, I have come to crave the way it creates our intimacy, teaches me to ache for my own soul this way first, its an anticipated gentle conversation with my body care free of interruptions, I multiply myself the most here too, and rain candidly here in love too, these nights are my dreaming fables true alter ego-, But I do not judge her process, I make room for her passing, create necessary space for another type of love another type of me-, Night dreaming is a soul mate kind of home, it doesn’t always feel like anything yet just being seems to be enough, this is reminded into us both, sometimes gratitude, some affirmations, strings that held us back watching them melt away from our tree house warmth, life seems much easier in the dark for me, much lighter up here too, the familiar Melody of Being Animate breathes much intense in here, its as though I can know the true lust of words from this silver sky, this is the wake in my care that I can burn the most present, its a cold flame displaced near others without my really knowing, an air like there shouldn’t always be answers for everything yet, I am told my body adores my soul so my path is in everything that aligns with its patience, I’ve been seen to become watchful of my own, a mindful fixer upperer mad of loyal devotion, extensions of you don’t always have to make sense of things that bewilder your identity here yet, sometimes its enough to just let yourself get carried away by the rain, its not fair on your soul to deny yourself the will it desires the most even when it doesn’t match what you need, -More than often having what you didn’t want, is having what you didn’t know you needed, what our body needs is what we want-, This is my warm Smokey candle lit essence warped dreamer in the night-, Her only penetrated fear is herself.

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

To date. 5.8.19

I confess, I don’t want to admit this too loud, so won’t you come closer, I want to madly share with you what I have found to love as hard as you wish you wouldn’t, I’ve been holding this in so much I am not sure why my heart had began reaching for yours this restlessly now, it feels like for so long we may have thought we would not make it here, and now we may be two souls that have found each other yet again, so my heart is breaking asking me it has to be more than fate, believe that when you have felt like you can’t remain without this feeling too you start to believe in dotting motions like love again, you start to understand that whole bodies are more than a specific guise of a person, I read somewhere that destined to meet mirror each others reflections and I think this might have some sight to it, I never really stopped believing in love I thought love stopped believing in me, funny how love likes to find us late in the morning, likes to wake before the light of a new day, how this feels like long before the beginning of time, strangely uncanny how some of us are as dreamy as passing clouds as hopeful hearts, how we have been found to believe everything happens for a reason, thought you left these floating feelings when you stopped looking up at wishing stars, I find myself writing you into my existence even when I don’t mean to, even when I don’t cast to love you this hard how does a heart loose a love this blue planet of ours, -I gave affirmations the way I breathed into this 3D reality, how canny is spring in late November meeting such an air about her fire-, she knows about what it means to be scared while in love with wounded hearts on paths damned with self, she is living proof, knows we don’t need anybody sometimes we are still scared of being lost or running away, for her much like her anchored planet, for him much like a brave placement into compassion about matters of the heart, a type of softness that doesn’t believe in love anymore maybe they have this in common, her a future and him a past, how cycles learn to repeat its intended sucker, this is all her luck, she can feel all this impatience into her and his hand soft on her heart, he will never know this secret season is so typical, seasonal love ended with him some time near her high feminine vibration she claimed to feel his heart some time ago, a home that is not here, a patient masc with high vibration, his air is a speechless sent and shes back to where she had almost began-, The thing with energy care when it comes to love is that they are the almost explained without mantras, without being motivated by knowledge, reflection and intuition-, A love without being intuitively self aware is a love manifested to be karmic, and maybe this too is still, maybe I am madly wrong and I just can’t seem to let go as much as I think to will it.

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

26.7.19 – silver. (Observing) Rain (fear.)

Lately I’ve been thinking about clearly understanding my freedom, how this integrates with my interpersonal relationships, I told my heart I wanted to see this for all it had ready in place knowing I may be asking for too much, when I think about the connection between people I think about when I was ten, I think about what I did to learn how to walk with my mouth panicked, back then I was left to believe that this is who I am and that being quiet was being naive, that being naive was having no voice of my own, I used to write myself into a place I was learning to fit into and more of myself here, I was being taught about how the world works and what it could be without my being existed, I started writing dreams of observational moral sanity, this is where I began trail and error of my true identity, I wrote into worlds that only I knew of and how they could teach me about being here, I found so much ease into myself this way, it wasn’t until I grew into my own world and outside of the reality present that I learnt what a panic attack could look like into me, the nights when my heart was racing and I silenced it without asking about its ache I lost my pree years telling myself to stop feeling, the following nights where I suffocated on my own tongue exhausted from existence right hand on my heart I was telling my breathe to swallow its own hurt, I was never taught what it meant to live through panic attacks and each time I have one now, I use words into myself the way I love, the way I learnt to use into my dream world first, I constantly reminded myself that we have always seen the world for it’s honourable potential, that this is a rare gift, on most days I beg my body for its affection the way I learnt to walk away from heartbeats that know how to break our heart,- On my 24th birthday I wished for my own life and more dreams, I wished for growth and more courage, when rainy days came I counted my gratitude’s so well kept, I told my body look, look how far we have gotten, I remind her that we are stronger together and the artist in me is the child who survived her own volition and fear of out of control-, Sometimes, I will do nothing on days that have learnt to cripple my mental state the most or my mental state or me, having this kind of imbalance reminds best of my senses, it reminds me that being this self aware is worth every drop of our magic, to be live on survival with depression and anxiety into us promises our ability to feel the world this intellectually observant.- With this Spring in Late November, and the help of this worldly reality I will have broken myself tirelessly timelessly to reach my soul, and I would do it all over again.- it hurts.

Entry #15: I want to tell you exactly what happened to me today, while trying to leave the house + you should know this was not the first also psa I usually cry about it alone..

22 july 2019 at around 2pm – 230pm – Spring in late November.

I had built up frustration for months and feeling unsettled within myself, so I set out on this day, a Monday to self care by going to Dymocks at collins st book store to have coffee browse around, read and walk back and forth wanting to buy more books.

My morning started out pretty alight. I was still stuck with that type of uncertainty and off mood/ irritation but honestly I had been waiting for this Monday for a few days now and I was determined to leave the house and head into the city. So I meditated with the headspace app for 10 minutes before I did anything else, gathered my energy to getting ready for my self care day as planned. It took me longer than what I had decided on, I kept doing small things like changing what I was wearing, feeling conscious about how my body fit into my clothes, and wanting to take advantage of the winter sun I put on my make up looked at my eye shadow criticised it so I took it off and applied my foundation over it unhappy but still hopeful, and I packed up my bag pack ready to walk out the front door.

As I closed the door behind me, my headphones in walking to the station I started getting into this mood/ energy that was so strong it started to take over my body. I kept walking and thinking I just need to get onto the VLine and I’ll be fine, I just need to get keep walking I’ll be fine,once I reach I’ll be glad I did this for myself. I needed to believe this so hard. Because I had been staying in my own environment and started to feel stagnant and too comfortable with despair. I walked about nearly half way stopped in my path, looked down I wanted to turn back so hard, its as though my body was begging me with all its got to please turn around and go back and try again with another day locked into my mind. I felt so compelled, I went into the side turn not far from home, stood there and calmly walked back home. I opened the door and I remember thinking I miss seeing my dad, I missed his voice and his big hugs, his laugh and being next to him. So I walked into his space and sat on his chair positioned right outside a window facing our corner backyard. I heard my mum make her way into the space and ask me what was wrong unable to answer her I eventually started crying quietly with my headphones in and her hands wrapped around me. In that moment I knew why I was so upset, I heard words say “I can’t even leave the house” “what’s wrong with me?” my mum asked me again what’s wrong? this time with her eyes red and I just sat there and cried hearing “now you’re worrying her for no reason” I cried some more settled down and walked upstairs sitting on the floor with the sunlight beaming inwards. Mum asked me again something must be bothering you, is it a feeling talk to me I’m here for you is it a feeling she asks again. I look at her my eyes ready to cry again and I say “I don’t know, I don’t know. Im fine, I don’t know what’s wrong.” and I tell her it’s okay I’ll be fine for the fifth time, thinking and knowing I just need time to be alone for a while. And then I got hungry, so I went to an all you can eat with Nadren.

Fatma.

Poetry: Melody of being Animate

17.7.19 – Making decisions for the life of you.

I’m thinking its left for interpretation, I’m thinking be assertive this way in other parts of your gratitude, I’m thinking we are human so no one is safe from broken connections, gusto waves that do not serve our highest beings are simply interchangeable, I’m thinking we all have a default, we all come made unknown, how some of us are curious about what closeness is and some of us couldn’t care less, how our values could be so different we are not human enough or merely human though we see the world in colours, taste in numbers, how some of us couldn’t care less about honesty and others care more about their own hearts, how there’s a way about it all, and there is, we are all the courage to be disliked and some are consistent on using words that change their lives, this way is how I also feel the world, the choice is both a conflict and simple state of mind, nothing makes sense or it makes too much sense and the fear to cower is shown into us, of how unknowing has never been so apparent into our homes this harshly first, suddenly the thing about self is that we are all living proof, some of us haven’t awakened our beats and the rest, well, they are dormant, some sleeping along side them touching heads and who are we,- I’m thinking about being locked up in libraries I could read here forever, this small daydream of mine, I am not afraid to brake or disappear one day, I have to accept this will happen with or without my energy well protected, I don’t ever want to stand still stagnant in how my life is lived, I want to remember my life as the protagonist that lived her own nightmares, the girl who battled her mind and chose life instead of existence, I want to be the person I know I am capable of resurrecting she is dragon bodied belly full blue flames and purple magic re-birthed alike, a brave act each time she faces her self she it met with forms of darkness, her life is the constant commitment of unlocking her own downfalls her courage is the fussy ability of turning them into weapons of intuition, she likes the intensity of the pain that comes with this type of healing, most will not see the importance of this healer, she does not shame her scars, it is the will of her that scars her skin this way the most, this is how she keeps the spark in her life, every word, narrative can be flipped she knows this too well,- So that when I die, I can say I have lived a dangerously envious life.

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

14.7.19 – rafiki yangu.

Mother tells me you’re too soft, she tells me her love for me is so abundant that she fears those who I allow into my space, thinks I only see others in magic lights and moon dust, and I want to tell her that yes she is right, tell her that my body has known too much to give up on others and myself, I can bare the pain, told her I can forgive most anything but dishonesty, said that there a many of me protecting my home the ways her and dad taught me second, the first is in my choices, when someone asks my home for my care about advice I am a warm lit room that can not refuse their visits, we have also known these types of vulnerabilities so it is not in me to never listen, my voice has been unheard for as long as I am aware, always known as soft, and not fire, I make sure I look my mother in her eyes and say I have always been both, when you feel your home being misunderstood its this pent up battle you have been having with your past and future self, it is not words you can say without carefully observing about its receiver, it is a misfortune of amber blue flames, the words just don’t seem to come out the way you feel them to, is it not enough to exist through these hardships and come out alive but to furiously bury them, you do not remember yourself to be this way, this is not how your light shadow deals with conflict, there are versions of myself and all of us living amongst these happenings, depending on your spirit, watch your lessons well, when you understand your own down falls and raisings first you understand places of yourself you have yet to over grow, your way of keen for knowledge in the most turbulent consistent way it is not for everyone to grasp if not for yourself only, you do not answer to any being first if not for who you’re healing from first, knowledge is becoming of us all it is how we use it and find its access that gives us purpose in the first place, I can truly speak as someone who allows room for others first it is never an easy task to put myself before those who have had space into my heart, as a forceful dreamer I can honestly advise I am not a home that carries predictability well, so when you come for my soft spots I will gladly return the favor in ways you did not know possible, this is not a warning, it is a gift for your home, and your next choice of honesty.

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

When asked to write myself into my home, I can feel my anxiety flow through my body, the twins are awake now, my home has welcomed versions of myself, I am proof enough, those who know about this soul also know how it loves back, how it speaks softly into its name and firey into their homes first, I am a protector of heartbeats and each time they come to me I brave into a healer, a type of myself I have wished for the younger me, when I was younger, I cut my 4c the way I learnt to cut into my skin, learnt to fluently speak in poem then into dreams, it wasn’t until I forgave myself here, somewhere in my mind I had found a way into self love, taught my mouth how to care for my body, my body than taught a secret ritual to the soul, a half introverted half extroverted me, and in the middle of all my chaos, there, I found myself too, I was a born self taught dreamer, when I began to choose who I wanted to become I learnt the meaning of words without its terms, I closed my eyes, and changed the way I heard my blackness, changed the way I was being seen into a careless world. I swore, I swore this way was the way to never be, I swore to remember words like solitude in justice and how they meant out of my mouth, a black woman learning metaphors for the life of her, I swore to never miss mirrors, to never miss the way I stared into my 4c, it was never who I am to soften my hair, it was who I was becoming, to burn its roots, I learnt words that birthed bright colours, passed down recipes and double meanings, felt them in my mothers hands to my fathers voice, I saw my path crave words like carouage, like love, words like enough, words that meant more than skin deep, words that demanded my attention and more of my blackness, I found myself into a reality that taught me about nourishment, how to care for my 4c, how my coiled curls run so deep my mother sings your hair is rich and beautiful, how each time my mahogany was stripped away from me I claimed in right back, each time, and every, other time even, when my voice was chocked out of me upon stolen lands, I was a vision, claimed memories, learned them the ways it streams through me, my existence is the art of many seasoned generations, you can not fake this identity, you can not simply fake how my mother cracked her voice every time she cared to my 4c, watching her take time for my hair was an I love you, is was a take care of you, a forever feeling, her hands care taught me to love my hair even when I missed wash days, when I think about how it feels to have gotten here, how it feels to be this black, and this women, when I think about how my identity is questioned into me, like a locked home being forced open, their mouth speaking into pressed ego’s, like a joker game, I go blank, there is a truth heavy into me, when it comes to putting my soul into absolutes for them, it is only when I remember that each word are extensions of meanings I remind my soul that our home has never been one to follow rules or spectrums, rather acknowledge that they are there, and never the end of my written, I am a home that feels with the mind and listens with the heart, I am someone with contradicting senses there is always another way about my every extension, I know what it feels like to not belong, and to feel like you belong into a type of extension, I speak in only my reality and dreams, sometimes, a better me is growth, is spring in late November, meaning I can be this intangible too, is to accept me, is soft, is a love without trapped chains, there is always a way about everything, I know this, I know this because I know what it is to heal like you want to save yourself from yourself, I also know how my hair welcomes her texture into a room, how their hands have no welcome mat here, when I see my people being shamed for what they have had their whole lives appreciated first outside of my skin I remember why we speak so highly of us, why I speak so highly of us, why we love so highly of us, I know this, I know this because I know what it holds to be self and fire, my journey with my identity has always been becoming, has questioned my existence, a six part better self that begs a better me each day I am with, or without my depression-, let me sweeten your tongue for a life time, I am a Fire in the Rain, saga moja, in collateral beauty publication of me first, first, who I am, second, what I am becoming, third, when I become, forth, where I will become, fifth, how I will become, and lastly, why, I am becoming. So you see, my journey is a forever written.

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

7.6.19 – 8.6.19 | will you count me in

When asked about my more of blackness I am filled with emotion and blood, can feel my palms get sweaty a me watching their tone to my skin is me remembering that I did not miss any mirrors on the way here, this is a soul that is learning about her body and how it allows to take up all the air in a room, like all the elements of this blue planet done gone blessed her with so much ache, with so much love for what is becoming to be both black and woman, to be this black and woman, I am a black woman that has no shame into her own mind, will bare you her depression type 4 that has taught her how to love when death tries to do us part, be the squeezed hand held so tight calling out to soft hands look here, will count you in mississippi’s like, one mississippi, love yourself first before you love other homes, two mississippi, love how it feels to care for yourself first this world will not apologize for what it has done to you and when you have chosen a path that has reckoning of both identity and love it will be a gentle reminder of who you’re allowing yourself to vine into, it will be a prayer, a kind solitude that needs no reaffirming, a gift for the next gratitude into your home, three mississippi, do not force a you that is still healing, you have yet to unlearn and this is more than okay, in this world it is a must to hear your own voice with your eyes, touch your fingertips and watch your ambiance dance this is anthem enough, is to hear your voice and feel you’re enough, to love my 4c from a generation of royalty, of history and passed down recipes is to love me back harder, is to love this body, is to love me back into this body is to mean to know how to love back harder, so the next time someone asks you about your blackness too, pour them a cup of chai, welcome them into your soul, let them meet everyone at home, let them know this here knows what it means to dedicate a whole day to her 4c, let the guest you welcomed into your home know this here is going to be a while.

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

7.6.19 – 6.6.19|my name.

The truth is I thought about this so much, I re wrote it to be perfect when in fact we are nothing but, the truth is when I am asked about where I am from I say black I say Kenya I say Africa and nothing else, sit and watch their mind make me a mistake like I shot gunned so hard like I pulled out that chair so they could fall flat on their ass, like so they know that broken taste sentence be the worst punch line in replacement of who am I, like waking up from a bad dream, the truth is, this question does not intimidate my existence, it ignites my fire and I am watching the question burn alive into my voice I have engulfed its existence full stop, set it alight into the sky told the wind to drag its ashes right through black twitter ready to be asked again full stop, I will not stand here for this I am happy about my blackness so when you fix that mouth with that tone and say things like the n word is derogatory, I am reminded again that you know nothing of what you think your savior dressed skin looks like, the truth is, when I look around me about how my blackness is seen in a room covered by eyes it does not feel good to been seen by these thoughts I mean what I’m saying is passive racism is to be seen by their own thoughts, a savage waste land of my blood my hair dry from all my heat, damaged, I am attempted to set them on fire and this time I choked on my tears, the truth is, when asked about my blackness I say beautiful, I say look how much of my parents, I say love and blackness and enough, and then I say my name too.