Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

8.2.19 | Remix

Parts of me are still afraid we put on faces for not only the world but ourselves sometimes, we know how the mind aches when we excuse it out of our body this way and let the heart take over sometimes the questions are more than the answers and they answer themselves you’re not a presence here you’re are a guest in your own body, the unfamiliar way we treat ourselves trying to heal ourselves is so funny sometimes if you cannot see the humour in this will you be judged about your healing too, open mind with open spaces are both knowledge and a dream we want both for the taking we can not survive without the other parts of ourselves it is a discomfort that we have forgiven and moved onto the next traumer we are our own remedy now, the last the best they will say, I let some step foot into this home they disrespected my eyes and my mouth said nothing my mind was so loud they have all taught me things about myself that I have been holding back and fought for other homes, I don’t speak my truth all the time only when I can see misguidance in their eyes, I familiarize myself with their mind with how they speak and think about their home, your body is treasured force and shield it is always more than we bargained for which is how we say we are not sure or we don’t understand how these things have become to us, your body doesn’t make mistakes it creates unique lessons for everyone at home to learn and grow from, where else do you think knowledge is power also came from, think about it a littler harder, ask yourself a lot more questions this is your home after all, if you can not be your truest self here what else do we all really expect, where else can you really go, who else can you really trust, we’re our best and worst authority of love right.


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.

Entry #13: I strongly believe in humanity and self. Do you?

I’ve been thinking about how we see words instead of the world, people ask me about myself like I’m meant to have all the answers however I haven’t met anyone who has. I honestly believe life is about learning and growing forever, and I love that feeling the most.

It gives off an achievement of assumptions that you will know, and there’s an almost clear intuition. We go the rest of our lives trying to search for things that someone tells us we can’t find or worse ourselves, we bounce off idea’s that others have cast spells into us because they haven’t been brave enough and I don’t see this as a weakness just to be clear I see this almost as a plea, how often do we want to be saved by ourselves and subconsciously ask others to save us or even better ask our body, sometimes all we need is to be polite and honest when we’re talking about ourselves to someone or even better when we are talking to ourselves.

So much is already left into the infinite galaxies we are still trying to see life to almost decide, and yet I wonder why is it that sometimes we don’t choose to do something as beautiful as to look in the mirror once in a while, gestures to your body in the form of gratitude are as rewarding as healing. Remember this, when you’re feeling like you’re hopeless into this world, into this body, give yourself a break. Celebrate the littlest dreams, and be your most amazing self for you and your body.

There is so much we are capable of if we treat our body the we would like to be treated, and this is a fact.

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

Unfinished sanity.

An obituary, a proclaiming of myself its desires and teeth, over spilled secrets to the body we are the careless mischievous twins our childhood warned us about, this soul has been hidden too long, kept sacred sake from the mad hatter of this world didn’t see all the chaotic mismatched tones, our reflection has been undone, kissed away broken, I have allowed the attempted red carpet stained skin blushed shy of my blood welcomed love back into this being first, when you teach your body how to brake and rise each time you’re forced into your own chaos and to remember this healing, you’re rise from it all, a careful dreamer with black magic, kink royalty of unlearning and learning the mind, it has always been you and the mind, never the other way around, becoming is not new you’re the calm in it all heard time and time again over all the doubtful noise, your capacity was never the enemy, we glory preceptor to exist in this body together, harmonies our animate, create art from its process how many more can hear this type of healing too, we are the unlearned insomniacs with life lines that challenge realities, what it means to be this light and to bring us to the red table too, our fight been called down upon too long, those who underestimate the anarchy of the mind have not seen its true form, don’t know the strength it takes to at ease this mind when bad days become uncontrollably unpredictable and after your blood, we are the survivors of the past 27’s, the melodramatic panic manics that don’t know sleep, creativity rise wake with the sun and dawn the moon, we’re in constant rotation of solutions and impossible possibles there are no boundaries to this chaotic healing, when love, is attached to its meaning, we’re the cliché unstoppable, how many more rise to this reality and are able to call self survive of this captive psyche.

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

I gentley pick up the rest of what my depression has left of my body off my bedroom floor and tuck her into bed, I’ve been writing in code as long as I can remember for those who know the conversation, for those who are blessed with a mind that doesn’t know how to quieten down for themselves but for others, we know so well how the body likes to talk in cryptic behaviour, to see who is worth it, this is a silent prayer to the rain and to beloved kin, there are no words when I mumble these two loves, depression’s favourite 5 letter word each time, sorry, I’m the fire child with rain tendencies scared hiding from giving voice the things that still make me feel like I could sleep forever, how else are we allowed to communicate when we get lost in our body this way, when I find the fewer words to confront kin it becomes more than a one way conversation, in my mind I say, when I give up my pride to talk about a healing state I mean I am also giving me time, when I breathe in and out this way I am learning what it means to be myself and not my illness, when I lose touch of the the world around me and people it means I am in desperate need of myself so I will disappear into my own galaxy, sorry, I am learning not to apologise for my healing sorry, when I come back to you, I will not want to relive the trouma, in advance I want you to know, I am here, I see you, I am healing, self has been in need of my three super powers and you’re my last destiny.

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

I had someone who asked me to bare my truth for them in the south, so I read them my poetry, they listened, looked at me and asked why my words feel so sad, I could cry the amount of fight I give my narrative isn’t always this depressing I proclaim my innocence feeling my voice disappear at the very pit of my throat how was I meant to tell a starnger these kinds of truths are hidden meanings of how I survive, I’ve always been scared away from bad first impressions and how we first show love physically, my kin tell me biography of love, I tell them, this is exactly how it should be held and we fall in love all over again, see, when the heart is loved backwords it catches up clearly to the mind, gestrures and glances are not so overseen as heartbeats may think, we women of both rain and fire are a parade of intuition you will attempt to ghost wrongs can’t help put in check the smoke that has been done, cupid can have this cloute too, we women are blessed with sight that could split you two even halfs of each attempt you chose I gave you a chance, my silence for the truth, your silence for my freedom how does it feel you choose your sugar cane once, twice dare three times, a vision has never been such a clear momentum we’re soft worriors survivours of heartbeats when we become sweet for you enough to cavity us both, be careful with her boasting crown, she can very quickly choose you not even a memory, forgotten, like you did not exist in her path to begin there are no more suicides left in vain of your name, let this be truth for loyalty you never really wanted her you chasing sight and whip lashed necks of other crowns while she was searching for your hand, she was right there, take note, just because I do not speak everything I see, how careless, you’ve lost to a silent mind

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate


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

Ocean rain.

I want to tell the truth, want flowers to know that I loved them enough to know what this looked like, didn’t want them to see me in a light that was not a mirrored version of myself, this is not about me, this is the aftermath and before the truth, when you look at glances of yourself and flowers what is the difference between the mirror and yourself, you tell your words this kind of hope deserves the truth, if they represent a type of love and care that is most like its self-educated nurture they are royalty enough and you’re not to hold back the truth, when you light them up, watch their eyes soften in the glow of your warmth this is enough, when they touch your hands and never want to let go this is enough, when they show you their demons this is enough, you’re not to hide, when you find your words unable to come out, sweat in your palms like you’re holding all the waters in this earth, when all you can do is cry enough oceans, swear you never meant it to be this way and that they were the one, when you catch your breath, tell flower the truth, tell heartbeat, that you hope they know how much this feeling will never leave, that you will understand and respect their decision even if your heart breaks right in front of them, ask the sea to love you back when you have given your heart to heartbeat, tell the ocean you love him enough to cry oceans for him.

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

These nights I find my sleep has not changed, my problem has always been the difference between my remedy telling me that it could be my personality and not this illness, sometimes I get confused, I remember my heart broke somewhere between your personality and this illness I can’t remember which part took its own life first, I’m kept awake by the problems with myself that I can not seem to fix that stay with my breath and follow me into bad decisions and lost words that are careless and still know how to break even when they come from kin, you can still taste salt, you forgot why you thought elsewhere in the first place, these things just come out you’re looking for help and guidance most a mouth to band-aid them too, sometimes its so hard to stay soft when you’re this ill and lost, there is no beginning or end, it’s a mix up, a false habit you’re trying to erase out of your system these decisions are still plaguing the body and you’re trying to find the correct outlets but your body just will not survive so you give it what it wants even though you know it will hurt you, you become this light that trusts so tirelessly when you see a temptation a way out, and after all this, you’re are left with its echoing words of what you keep telling this body over and over again, what does self-respect look like when you’re ill and stop being 10g away, how do you get your super powers back when you’re watching a wreckage smoke from the inside, how do you save yourself, what does that look like from inside the burning building, you’re a metaphor for yourself how you excuse these decisions, swear you never meant to hurt the body this way, swear you will not do it again but where does it end where do you stop, where does this kind of harm end for you, have you given up, if not what now, what’s next for a girl who has lived until 23, writes from her bedroom window, cries her own love song, doesn’t change her mistakes, and is trying to survive her mind, what happens now, how does she not give up-. What is your answer? What would you tell her?

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

im i crazy to call identity love.

A self-proclaimed psychosis narration of formatted words to meditate the mind, and at ease the body when bad days are uncontrollably unpredictable and after your blood, breathe, emotion of space that moves within the body is to exhale this frustration of uncomfort attempt to sit with its unjust child like, like adulthood manifested trauma, crazy, another word that is meant for you but is misplaced in connotations, boundaries, and this mental, discomfort, is to sit with it, to watch your own unsolved chaos a black super woman animated hero, like woman like survivor, selflove, you, what is yours, selfcare, you, a super power, irritable irrational behaviors that maneuver in and out of this body like permission to self, like it was normal, what is normal anyway, self, who do I see myself as when and without this state of mind, an actual metaphor of this is the rain, a contradiction of identity and misplaced answers that hit this heavy are to never be forgotten, identity, notice how quick you’re to save your name next to love, identity has always been love, others, there are no others, they are my precious heartbeats each pulse is remembered into my being this way, relationships remind me of flowers in the spring, and the rain, three of my favorite human languages this, its no secret now, habits, loving harder is to admit its self in and out of me these heartstrings are internal external loves, fixing our broken hearts for the sake of our identity, souls, are both in complicated super power love and care, heartbeats is compassionate black super woman a pulsed warning of heartstrings words aimed like identity, self, relationships, always this, it is no secret now, a psychosis narrated formatted words to meditate the mind and at ease the body, when bad days are uncontrollably unpredictable and after you always, always this goes back to love-, lullaby. black woman. identity. heartbeats. and maybe heartstring now too.