Melody of Being Animate: Poetry

Ocean24 | 21.02.2024

My mind is racing and I am hearing what it looks like for eyes to begin to flood his office, I see the way he looks at my pacing hands I wonder if he can see my thoughts, I shake it off and answer his question, then he asks me about my life, asking how I like it breathing here, I tell him alive, I look into his eyes and ask him about my life he shrugs and asks my mind to stop calling for its name, to ask for help in ways he does not want to hear me speak, he wraps my mouth with what has been told to him even though he knows nothing about my mind he tells me to stop complaining, said am I always this impulsive about my environment I tell him yes, asked do you always just get up and leave I say yes, he asked me if I was anxious, as though he could see me avoiding his eyes because they lied to me as soon as I stepped foot into the room not meant for me, he called me dramatic and asked for my evidence, I froze and told him that when I was 14, 15, 16, 17, 18 I needed help in school, explained to him I was always lost, I couldn’t figure out who was lying anymore and I could feel my body want to run, could never find my way to the same answers as my class mates so I learned to stay silent, when I was 15 I was told to put that book down, I was questioned about my understanding standing up head down I could create oceans about how the education system has failed to teach me, I was left behind or laughed at I felt helpless for myself, my home was a wreck I quickly learned to keep her safe and this is when I first met my masked self, I took a deep breath and said nothing, I watched him talk about me as though I didn’t just spill myself into his hands as he wrote his notes into the computer I remember thinking this is why I don’t talk to you people about it, I left that empathy and cried about doing something good for my home only to cry about how my health was mishandled, checking my body to see if she is okay she was not so we cried together until it stopped, then we promised our home to not give up our mind. She deserves her peace, too, even after all this time.

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.-

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

The undead. | 16.11.22

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

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.—

Melody of Being Animate: Poetry

The goddess of love and passion. | 18.3.22

And so I tell them, I am more than you could swallow, —I make my own bones shake, we are not the same.— I tell them, my existence is to experience me and stay full on my own, I remind them it is not my responsibility to inspire your flame the way I walk upon this self couraged confidence I have crafted fates we are not the same, I tell myself you’re the goddess of love and passion you imitate your power so loud some may think it to be for them and selfish yet selfless you stay three burning flames, selfish like the way your love has learnt to share more into our home before she agrees to bring her waters and bowed head to the cook out of celebrations, dare her light be selfless as though her power be the only godly gift about her. — We have always stepped into our shadow so we can turn into calm water and earth, we are the garden of ease. We displeasure of temperaments here to break our necks and not our backs, say I Will never be responsible for your happiness I am building my legacy too high for my emotions to lay bare for my worth of anything taste emotion from another’s lips first, I am the goddess of love and passion.

Melody of Being Animate: Poetry

Imba.| 2.10.2021

Existential and forming,— how we cling to unimaginable phonology our way to communicate with ourselves has evolved us and those finding comfort into our words too. —We are in strange ties as forms and we can not for life of us begin to imagine where to start when we become challenged by the world so out of sorts out of our control so we leave it, we let it go and focus on the means to mass that follows our shadow like our protector we have built many of these to give much peace into us from worldly phonology visualise letting them get near our armour dare be the day we curse them with our words so carefully placed into magic and motion, crafted by the depths of phonetic dreams made into hands we are the —serial tranquility to our own —lip bitting serenity let it be said we be the —undying love commanded our —playful gratitude we have been carrying this message bashful too long to get it back to the hearts of minds rightfully throned these words come with of great legacy, it is our legacy here, we have been waiting for a life to be given to us once we —understood the strength in aching we greeted it with courage and called it to sing, called upon our smile and song, gave it our name and recognised our phonology is our existential forming— never conforming to existential phonology it is here we understood our unstoppable keen for dreams matched to phonology, —a type of language that is formed by the minds emotions and the hearts mind.—

Melody of Being Animate: Poetry

“Must be nice” said fire. | 19.8.21

It must be nice, to sit and think in silence I wonder what that could feel like, I wonder if it feels like a realisation or a thought. Sometimes I like to sit in silence with my thoughts and wonder if this is what it feels like to wonder and realise in silence; then I say out loud, how could it be this, how can we measure silence without bias we can’t understand its body let alone find it however we know its worth we have seen its values and we are wanting it for us too, –so soft, I think it must be like watching fire dance alongside its smoke, it must be something about its solitude in its own silence measured by an instinctive nature I wonder what that could feel like, I wonder how our thoughts come to us in a dream time and we sit in silence wonder at its values and measure it along side our solitude, I think our solitude is like a fire and we are the smoke that builds to rise and fall as we breath to allow instinctive nature. –Play with me.

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

She has fallen, for Present. | 8.2.21

I swear this feeling is here to stay. I swear it is the best way about being human, that we get to experience to share vulnerability, so often we are glanced at by looking glass eyes not enough by sunflowers, we understand the sentiment but we also understand that we have outgrown glass cups. The memory is, that we have lived long enough to know unconditional love enough to have fallen for it’s worth, capable of its respect and caring about it’s safety into our caliber. Our chances now are matched in opportunity, our opportunity is chimed in soft tones of our most lush feelings, we have mastered floating amongst the full moons. — It’s been a while, since I’ve been here. Been thinking, about my reality. — How it’s matched to my dreams now more than ever dreamed, and the fear, of losing sleep has never felt so bliss. — I am bound to my soul first. —She is learning how to walk on her two feet flat against the earth healing, teaching to be present has never looked this dangerously charming.—

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

Her Garden. (Spring is upon us) | 19.5.20

Stop me, I am about to make myself make the biggest best mistake of my life, if I do not take this chance, I am seeing evidence every where its exciting yet it questions my every motive, I am unsure about its presence not only here but here to come, 3 years going to 4 is a long time to have wanted, I’ve learnt a lot since then, changed right before I could even make sense of existence itself, found newness in everything I envisioned, I’ve made my share of mistakes without you too, I’m starting to think in ideas, in details of wholes, worlds, the mechanics of questioning the details the time it takes is its unmeasurable, it never stops-, I am having the best time of my life lone in two worlds but never alone, I know about companionship, what it offers, know that it can taste both bitter sweet the way I like my hunger to more knowledge, food, tug and pull at things enough and you can have a power, there, in that magic plot to change its perception in your mind, which is to say are you okay even today, how do you explain that your thirst for more about worlds is connected to skin ship, maybe even made love more passionate, there is something so breathtakingly wholesome about experiences crafted of knowledge and later also learn to thrive into the threads of intuition, the weight it lifts off your shoulders and takes stresses away from the tail bone, able bodied, like it disappeares so the next conversation with your soul isn’t that much more speechless, that you can listen to your own voice and feel a sense of comfort, a calm of growing gardens so beautifully radiant it gleems with the sky a patient blue talks into your two worlds, words you didn’t know you needed to hear and again you start to feel the less of unknown pains you did not know you carried all these years, then a beautiful thing happens, you’ve made it here, came aliened your two dominant elements, now let the healing really begin.

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

Air work. | 20/4/20

Imagine meeting love again, imagine they speak the way they smile and you could almost take it all back. -remember, remember how their charm invited you to being here, to stay, how love said we belong together, that this was more than the way he looks at you-, remind you they have bruised this body so much turned it into soft enough, your home turned into something consumed by heart break, shy of love, dagger into them, sometimes also the mirror, I’ve told the universe to leave me out of their eyes this way too, I have prayed times that know I have turned my body into soft flesh, easily bruised my home when did it become this naive, who said love me, locked their eyes with mine, softly took my hands into my heart, spoke like they knew what they were doing, I thought love was their twins too, they become familiar with words like they don’t know the body is home, love resides first into me, a carefree careless air about their hands, their eyes lost into mine, this air who comes into a life and says words like hi, how are you, you look happy, as though to mean the opposite as though to mean are you happy without me, as though the eyes spoke for the second time that shift, as though I thought it mean anything but, I am left out of this conversation, I hold my hand to not be back here again, I have called onto my home told them to lock all the doors, said stay safe, they tell me the key is not under the front door it is in your right hand.- and I realize how often I have handed them the key when they filled my space instead of adding to its legacy.