Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

24.11.19 | Flamed Air.

Flame, I can feel it when you tell me that these two worlds are nothing alike, that I can still fall this far in and not catch myself here, too many times have I begged at freedoms air, I can see it how we are worlds apart and only here can we find ourselves more into us first, when you make words look so easy misplacing its reality into this world here first you’re loosing my sparked soul more each wasted breathe more inside of my world here first, this fire sweet type of intimacy is hard to lie into, those who understand the attention that fire brings burning in the rain know how it holds space, know a soul this unconditional you would never want to loose her telepathy, in her eyes, when will we learn more into mistakes, our pleasures deepest desires, minds of capable awakenings only to be silenced by themselves first have they forgotten their dream here too, have you forgotten how to be with yourself too, many sky’s ago I felt your warmth here, this is the first time I am truly giving my breath the permission it needs to what is means for me to let you go energetically, we are two souls bound to each other allowing and living different life paths, destined to smoke us alive depending on how we love unconditionally, we’re majoring about what it honestly takes for and from our soul within, deep down your inner child is blocked within walls, is still forced to look into their mirror and face their feared psyche of being loved or lover, how this is also finding its way to ground us both sometimes, I am a sparked flame to her own here the most, you were stolen air tightening around my neck, she is learning to ash what is left resting in her about you as she give my being to her highest self, I never want to stand still this way longer than I have out grown a type of love, you can not learn to waste your worth even when you feel it’s divine-. If you meet a soul that does not know how to choose themselves first, well, you’re walking into calculated direction, you’re only able to love the way you’re still unconditionally yours first, we know this too often, it is only until we read this out loud we are able to hear ourselves clearly, over, and over again until we are able to hear it clearly over and over again. -A Mantra.

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

28.09.2019 | Dreamspace September, 28th 2019.

In my dreams this isn’t our first time meeting like this, there have been life times of being awake here that have taught me what it means to let dream states like this stay this dormant until they are ready to fulfill their life intentions, in my dreams we talk without fear, without foolish ego’s, we become as honest as soul ships, I tell you you’re my last love, feel my wish into yours, my eyes lost into our dream space, I listen to your heart as you speak your truth here, wonder how blissful this could be with you, you talk about how you never knew love to be this filling, this heated, say it has learnt to take your own breath away, this connection has learnt yourself a careful soul, how each touch, these words that have been given purpose, learn to slow burn flames, believe that your air has never felt this breathless, this type of freedom is a dream like, an air realm of spoken dreams and endearing presentness, a wishful dreamers reality, I close my eyes tighter to stay here longer a love has never felt this real here, we have taught our soul to let go to what does not want to grow with us, we know the abundance of sharing, ethics that have been seen into our acts of how we treat ourselves the souls that roam our life time here, so much goes unsaid and we are left to leave it all behind so we can understand the truth about knowledge, how this campuses our paths, how each route is on purpose, we fear so quick what is not in our senses before we even realise what is in our senses, so much has been left to us to discover there is never not enough of us here, we struggle with placement of our souls some of us have past our awakenings and are rising with the new world ahead of us, this new age of beginning is a beaconing call to look at how well we have mastered our awareness inside and around us, how being at calm with our short comings is the answer that we have missed so long into our ego’s so well, life is lovingly simple, we have been learnt to make it complicated-. Will you choose your ego, or your awareness here too.

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.

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate (Emerging Writer from the West #EWF19)

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 – 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.