Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

4.12.17 | royal temptation (this whole poem is a tease.)

I always find it overwhelmingly intriguing, when the heart gets tugged at this way, you feel it in such a raw and familiar calibre that its almost possessive, how quick the heart chooses a kind of trouble, knowing so well how forbidden it will taste, honeyed, these invisible chains are dangerous to a heart that knows no boundaries when it comes to who it’ll sweeten only for them to touch, glance at and tease, they don’t know this kind of willingness is so much painful and pleasure, so dangerously tempting, its really unfair to make the heart and mind turn want into need this much, watching the way heartbeat speaks only to fantasies about what heat can be done about thier throne to this body, how they can come and drink all of this hydration, to nourish them in ways that can only be teased by the sweetest parts of the mind until they are well fed, which means by me, until we are both full, and watch, how they comand this body, need a heartbeat that can dominate both, both honesty and this, a throne of all this woman and all that royalty, come closer, you can’t possibly be comfortable looking like that, let me help you become a little more familiar with the way I mean

Advertisements

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

8.6.17 | 9.6.17. Dreaming Fable (you’re..)

I mime fables that have been seen of this salem, silent in the dark, that sit with the night sky and watch the stars fill its vacancy, a distilled memoir, that glimmers awakened dreams, it has never been about forgetting how to love, but it has always wished on the stars enough to make it real, to never forget that this kind of magic is crafted into all our bodies and we are left to spell it back once it has finished manifesting into our souls long enough to breathe its wild back to love, a spell bound feeling, that is the mirrored shooting star reality of our distilled dreams

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

4.6.17
Black magic (hero.)

Cotton picked finger tips, skin kissed by the sun turning shades of this good earth, slavery is no forgotten sawn metamorphosis of its own history, how far have we come, even in these early future can black skin still feel lashes of words that sip poison down their bigotry with words that have been used by colonizers too vividly dose this black skin witness two souls when they gauge this kind of spoken evil, are we called too sensitive or too loud, can we not both exist and be hero in this skin, are we not allowed to praise what has been forbidden, do we become the punch lines, unapologetic has been, two too many times have I had to teach the learning’s of the word nigga, watch it leave foreign land, foreign voices do we adjust to its trend, which is to say do you mean the way black is still a casualty, when the world wants to wipe you out do you still abide to trend, must you become hero, god like powers must be mother earth, this tsunami of ancestry blood bitter sweet, to the pronunciation of the word nigga glocks out of their fingertips as I watch this mind decolonize friendship, the word nigga has only one heart brake, do not slay its vibe in the same mood as missing out on a new fad, these syllables have been engraved into so many oppressions you have no right to take it and miss use its pronunciation with that mouth concealed in split tongue  you can not have this blood, this good hair and this skin, we have been had, glock ready since we been watching hero from hero tear away at these chains and call it healing, these cotton picked tips, skin kissed by the sun turning shades of this good earth, we are not forgotten, you have not yet witnessed hero enough, watch it, we are roots that can not stop growing from our own pain, you have not learnt about this kind of unstoppable black magic, so watch it well, we’re not done bleeding ink to match our words

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

28.5.17 – 29.5.17
Note to self: love can lie

Note to self, doesn’t care, only hears voices that speak with dipped in poison split tongues, you were warned, by body, eyes, narration marathons in the form of false actions, disillusioned, told you to watch out for mishaps in the blank spaces that don’t match motion, too loud, what we’re you looking at, looking for, imagine the strength is has taken for body to watch the heart break at so many double edged knifes, the body spoke with shards of glass tip pointed to the heart wept and called the heart a coward for not letting go of what will hurt this body reminding the heart that it beats to unseen too often blurred lines and broken truths, weak, the body begged to not be taken for granted too harshly, that you’re both soft and honest and that is the perfect bate for sharks that swim this close to the shore, you’re to choose you, never forget that praying for the hearts guidance in both compassion and care the body is both heal and hero, don’t know no in between catharsis this is strength that has been learnt and undone from unlearning masks before it allows them to be seen of too soft, pretty first

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

30.03.17
Do you see it..(username)

When I feel the strain of how he has my heart, I think, so this is what it really feels like to desire as though your heart could, escape the body, I think this is what it must feel like to, be high, off love, the type to keep you wake, the kind that knows how each, beat, is as tempting as each thought, n how all you can do is dream, daydream about the delicate way their hands, tightly fit into yours, is what it feels like, to recognize heart beats, to sync yourself with its tunes that, its more than a pacing deception but, the, intense allure of both body n mind, the mind, its seduction, flirtation in its most vulnerable confidence, you watch, no temptress here this, is, what it super powers to know about the bodies secrets, how it will never let go, this feeling, must mean it will never leave, the way it thrives to its loyalty, mime the base of loves curves, do you feel it, how it will overwhelm this kind of love, tell me, do you see it now

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

20/06/16 
Minority Folk (this is for us)

This is me putting it lightly
How blasphemy gives insecurities lashes
This is where even god has given his permission
That in this lifetime, can you be you n unapologetic

Said that faith is a result of what is clutch
Given all that ugly has thrown back at you
Like it doesn’t know the whiplash of beauty
That it too can be much more than just its
Empty, ignorant, to what colour death looks like                                                                 Recycling religion with its syllables, so it has that ring to it

Doesn’t understand the melody that’s been sang by its oppressors
Understand that there is no longer logic left, once you take out ethics
Barbaric, normalize, dropping extremes while                                                                           Speaking like they know what oppressed stands for
N lets be clear, they don’t

Stance, defend that colour exists
That people of colour exist
Correct them when, if, otherwise so they know
It will always show you its teeth
Give their names to the scars n call them for what it was

They’ll put up a front, ignorant inconsiderate slurs
N you’ll twirl the kinks of your afro with your middle finger
N flip tell them, god sent you

Don’t you get it, as we speak ethics is still being violated
Morals are still being disregarded, calling them too sensitive
Giving them stereotypes too heavy
Segregating too lightly

Making our sisters feel like their beauty ain’t got a chance                                                   Telling our brothers their lives mean, walking too freely                                                       Bullets Zimmermaning their way as families loose family

Do you get it now                                                                                                                                         This is shackled                                                                                                                                             Victim being called wolf

Don’t you see, its all animated right in front of you
As you tune into this world, adjust your remote
Switch its channels, let them tell you what its like
When majority speak on behalf of minority
What generalized narrative starts to sound a lot like…

 

How will you choose to finish this poem?