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.

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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.

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

Burning Spring Love. (fell from the sky.) | 15.5.19

hey love, kiss me, tell me you can bring down the sky for me, tell me the stars ain’t nothing compared the way I make you feel like without this love there is no other matched to what I am with you. tell me how you found us, tell me all your hidden secrets, tell me you’ll listen to my silence even when its raining, tell me how much you love spring, the way it leaves us to love harder, how talks like this are the best kind of kink, I remember when you asked me what passion was to you, how you could taste it near my lips, how close we are to sparking these flames, nothing like spring in late November, write me away, use your words, tell your fingers to stop misbehaving next to flames this bright, tell me again how you can not leave my burning spring, how you’re not afraid to lose me, how we ache apart enough to close any lost words, sometimes we may burn buildings and ask the spring to leave, the way you understand how I love, how my hands are the place you feel the safest, how my voice is reason for it all, learn me more of your scars, tell me how you keep that voice, how you love so hard, we are both this way, both melting into each other, you don’t agree with me, we fight about how our voices both hold our love, how they cradle something this inherited, how we wind each other up, how we love to hear our love out loud, there’s nothing more dangerous than love.

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

Moving on, and letting go (interlude ver) | 6.3.19

Adjective proposition, in narrative motion, both a bold statement and a wish or three away, this is a sitcom of stolen words to help with heart on love, I don’t think there’s a word for what that is, actually there is a word for that, its love, when you care about someone beyond all rationality and wanting them to have everything they want no matter how much it destroys you its love, and when you just love someone you just, you don’t stop ever, even when people roll their eyes or call you crazy even then especially then, you don’t give up, because if I could just give up, if I could just you know take the whole words advice and move on and find someone else that wouldn’t be love that would be, that would be some other disposable thing that is not worth fighting for, this open dialogue I tell myself then remind them who I am of all the affirmations is this true love, also, in this begins a strong heart is needed, a mindful presence of identity customized self worth bring out the two souls roam your body and feel its presence, the thoughts and emotions you’re are looking for are all surrounding your emperor nobility take it, it is all yours, this whole life time, fall in love with intangibles and show off its love, boast about how close you’re to a feeling that is learnt through a soul, you know exactly what I’m talking about, your body has a wellbeing of untouchable enticement, you say you love, let go, you’re a dependable flame to this fire oxygen first, people say they are going to change and it never happens and people go back to old ways and old habits, move on, its not that simple.

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

Gratitude of love (healing us ver) | 6.3.19

How careful, we steal hearts and glances the way we breathe, we use words to never use them in front of each other and sometimes ourselves how often do we wish to stay this soft a greedy us, are so misguided even to our own who gives us permission first, do we only ever seek words that gratify us from all the misfortune we confine our selves in, could we cry us all the oceans in our blue planet the irony is both intended and a learning effort, how determined are we to fail at love until we understand how close we are to its warmth so we say always, want this kind of love first from the beginning before we give it control, when we are a disciplined flame the smoke carries our sky and we get whispered away by worn down hearts trying to heal themselves too, what are the selfish rules we must come to closure within a body that has both bruises and love, they say what they want, there is no wrong way to love someone, that letting go clears the air, the date spent with a returning body, do we devour in perfection our existence close, in order to let go, how much does it really have to hurt until its all over, how do you let go and move on when oceans are irony of a false affirmations, is this human enough for me, how long does it have to heal, is this way of confrontation in narrative too, from healing people too, healing people with unsure love can they only still heal too, I swore I would not repeat him again so why does it still hurt so much, the catch is either you or not them don’t fool yourself any longer, leave this karmic air alone, set us both free, this is how we belong together too.

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

3.3.19 | For sad girls and lonely boys, the uncut version

For sad girls and lonely boys, a dedication to hearts that are left uncharted, sweetly melting away at rituals of beauty marks that divine themselves, a meditative state of how our minds ethics work the honeyed ways our hearts chime are we the lost and found within ourselves first, follow paths that bring out the worst of ourselves only to heal ourselves, for those who listen to their heartbeats on reply, those who pay attention to the mind and wonder into its spaces only to find themselves, who easily get lost in silence and smile about all the awkward sensible times they have stumbled into self-love and smiled at its wonders, that have confessed so many times only because they follow hearts that also remind them of sad girls and lonely boys if not most of all the time, the ones who write letters to themselves and throw away all the evidence in trust of the spring breeze, who sit in cars on rainy days falling at ease and sometimes asleep in its comfort, who chase the sun in warm transition days only to wait for the rain to also join in, drink homemade ice tea without the straw, leave the light on at night and watch the dark silver sky, swear they know bliss, know who they love first, the uncanny of winter is not the cold weather but the way it also cradles, a broken love song, has a reason for it all, will tell you love and life is the same but not really, doesn’t understand rules, will say things that have been felt not knowing where to begin first, will let you feel your mind then allow you to speak your heart and ask you the opposites of what has been said, understand we are all mindfully different and still try to help you understand her heart, and mind, are the only addiction that is ever in the centre of her whole existence, will say to you do you see the beauty in everyone too, believes empathy is more than its definition, has an attention spam of a gold fish or two on most days, on good days I am enough, I will always return to this moment right here, this is where I would want to exist ready for all the oceans I am not ready to admit my name.

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

1.3.19 – 2.3.19 | CO2 + H2O + heat energy

You speak harsh words with my pulse with my heart tucked behind your tongue a few words there is no entrance, there is no more space for that kind of dependency here, you’re lost air, we travel so far for hearts that trick fire into needing them, brave blue flames that circle its vicinity I have burnt everything that does not serve my highest being, we do not settle into breaths, loves air is enough to share, being empathetic is not a weakened thing for lost souls that have struck enough times in the name of love, blue of all these hearts learned to ash them into the air, magic tricks are not new here, we know to cast spells mantras to self this way you burn flames that have mastered fearless freedom who would even dare no young dumb shit here, let them come, come correct, let them come to me even then when flowers are not enough and you crave something that was so hard to live without, I remind myself that I have lived without air for so long they are no longer welcome into this home, I have wished long enough for this season to love sick out of my home, I can feel the way my body still craves air like I could need hands that are not mine and familiar about the places air has touched, air takes my breath away and I am a willful prisoner to his strength, air doesn’t know this yet but I meant every love potion I said even when air was not ready, who could love you so hard this way anyway, find your way back to me, I hope you lose yourself the way I once did too, I hope the wind takes you under its currents and you fight for your way to me, funny is me trying to write you after you had gone your taste still in my mouth how careless a lost presence flowered weeds burnt at my feet, a rainy spring is air spell bound, carried away by this home, there is smoke where you used to touch, these days I can not feel your breath here if I tried, I tell myself do not leave the door open this way this is how flames get put out easily too, all that’s left, is all in memory of a feeling.

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

30.01.19 | My wish.

A conversation with my father and he is telling me flossy words I wished I heard when I was listening to his, wondering if this was the same care he would give the other half of his heart, he always tells me comfort and pillow talks of its okay wished he wishes he could do things differently with us and I want to ask him how it feels to have half of his heart, wishing he praised her the same way he praises god, we’re from two different generations and I wonder how he got to being here, want to see where all this came from, he talks in his own reality and I am still left with questions of where half his heart is left in him, is he okay leaving that kind of warmth this way, where would he ran to, he tells me mental health is important because he found me still up the top of his house one day, I remember it so well since then I wonder whether he knows it is two and not only one, 10 grams away from unstable stability, the children in his life are in half and his blood line is nowhere in this house but in half, I wonder what he dwells on, he talks about death so often I can feel the way he repeats it, this is not the first or last time, I know what it feels like to repeat death into your being so it becomes a familiar taste around here, wonder about his lost and found demons so in half about these waters, the fire in me is blazing bright blue while all the waters try to calm me from the outside, Im not sure if this is the right way to go about it but I let it happen anyway, a panic hits and I am in half most days, wondering what my whole see’s me as, I am half fire half water, whole, where thoughts go when they are misplaced in its home too, my truth is a natural disaster unsafe and serenity, a contradiction of human kind, I take my shot of Kenya coffee close my eyes and whisper mantra’s in the name of love and think, maybe its not so bad here, being a misfit this way too.

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

asleep.

What happens to the body when you’re emotionally invested in yourself, you’re a sleep walking wake from assumption of how this mentality operates and its been years now who’s counting anymore, I think about ways to brutally grow, then I overthink its outcome, always, something that feels like its right, a place for your heart your mind to rest sometimes, caught sloppy on high ceilings in so much of what is real and what isn’t, this is not to confess that you’ve lost touch of reality, it is to assure you that you have been able to do both, I used to think I only had one touch but I’m quickly realizing all of these self proclaimed one gift is a false limitation, my lack of creativity has been circling my inner universe its exhausting, this is where affirmations are made, spending time with your mental is a portal to an impatient part of not only who you are but what you could become, self-teaching to understand why your heart feels so strongly about love and who you dare let close is a crucial act of selflessness, admitting to your eyes that what you saw was real and listening to its truth because we live in a world where our eyes are not always seen as the truth or the norm so we’ve been taught to see no evil, my body is heavier than I have given it reason, sleepless nights that feel the warmth of the sun rising is both a beautiful capture and an exhausting reality is both a blessing and a demise, I feel so strongly about things that I could cry all the waters, its exactly as dramatic as it sounds I wouldn’t lie about with my bodies worth, there is always flames brewing here, this is just one way to hero my chaos

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

its nearly spring.

I’ve always seen myself in different lives, thought about how I could really make a difference in my own way, I’ve thought about what are the chances that we all get into a state of mind that motions our existence how we like to see ourselves how we really see ourselves I think its important to not take opinions that even from our purest depths that choose to eat at this body in sorts of manifestations that are not in correlation of present but past tense and unarmed sometimes, I think balance is a solution to a lot of outcomes, when I think of the narrative surrounding identity its forever entwining with my variables, I’ve learnt that I don’t always have to be strong and who I am is not afraid but has uncanny behaviour that revolves around making kin and those close by my breath feel unbothered by breakdowns that I forget my own body in this space, it had been so long I keep almost forgetting what its like sometimes, when you have tendencies to be cold because you do not understand your own mental you’re practising what its like to be okay forgetting that you’re are an emotionally intelligent being and yes that sometimes means that your smile, your eyes will not match your words but you will still try because you care about how you make kin feel in this presence, you’re trying to break away from the mind and be present, what a contradiction, a life you’re living that is both complicated and compassionate in the same body-, a breakdown. for who. the rain.