My heart.

Was it always romanticized?
Does it show on my skin where these boundaries begin?
Does it show in my eyes all the un-cried tears from all injustices?
Can you see it?
When you look at me,
That deep within my soul I love,
Indiscriminately but for now that’s a word associated with death.



Can you see it in my nails?
The earth under my nails when ivory becomes more important than nature,
Can you smell it on me?
The stench brought out by all the corruption brewing within me,
I can see that you can sense my defeat,
When my knees are on the ground and my face upturned to the heavens.



Is that me?
Is that all that I am?
I believe am more than just “that other tribe”,
I am a heart,
A steady beating heart,
I am the blood that runs through your veins to unite you,
I am that air you take in every moment of your life,
I am the words of truth and hope,
I am Kenya because my heart beats for it

Let them express themselves

Must we treat each other like this,
Like we are all fighting some secret disease,
Passed on through means unknown,
Acting like we have the cure to it all.



So we hold our heads up,
Wrinkle our noses,
Knowing that we will never be like them,
Because we are special and they are different.


Different to the point they should be less than human,
Deserve nothing better than to be stoned to death,
Or be shamed for who they are,
Compared to dogs,
Yet made by the same creator


Justifying your deeds by holy books,
But altering it when you see fit,
How am I to trust anything you say,
When you can't even sacrifice for others,
Yet you preach love your neighbour.


So I stand up to say,
Let them express themselves,
Made this way by the Creator,
In His own image
We were made to love

Down a hill in heels

She put them on even if she didn't feel like it,
Sick to her stomach with this feeling of doom,
How did she get here?
When did life get so serious?


She had to go through with this,
The screaming and kicking didn't pay for anything,
After her worth was decided,
Like a piece of cloth sold to a rich merchant.


What had she kept herself for?
Pure for a fantasy?
A fantasy that would never be,
Rich young and handsome is what she envisioned,
But instead,
Fat old and at least the rich ticked out.


This purity for 26 years,
All for not,
They deceived her all her life,
Her a third wife to him.

Words

His words take up shape,
Rise up like mist,
Not afraid to take a certain form,
They roll out and spill out.



Her words swallowed back,
Afraid to peek out of the dark corner,
Afraid to cut and tear,
Her words crawl back in to the shadow where they belong.

Their words sang out,
Make a beautiful chorus,
The words sway back and forth,
Together rising and falling.


A chorus of whispers,
As you pass through a dark corridor,
Chanting a prayer for protection,
Your words against theirs

Fighting to stay on top

An empty encasing,
A shell that's all it is,
Nothing further,
Nothing deeper.



Shaken and stirred upon a dead sea,
Tossing and turning,
Fighting with the currents,
Fighting to stay on top of this.



One foot in and the other follows,
I start to sink slowly,
And as I struggle the deeper am pulled in,
This quicksand feeling.



Its like soldiers at war,
Taking cover behind trees,
Been blown into half by grenades,
Human emotions,
An empty encasing which is me.

Stroke

I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling,
Crap!is this the life I am meant to live, I curse,
Does it have to be this hard,
I want to get out of bed but I have no reason to live,

Am helped out,
This is devastating does it have to be like this,
Not even little tasks can I carry out,
I hate this!

It could be worse, they say,
Fuck!what could be worse than this?, I retort,
You could be dead,
Shit! I would rather die than be like this.

When teenagers say you don't understand,
I feel that hopeless pain, because in fact no one can,
No movement on one side of my body,
Paralyzed down to one side.

Stuck in a wheelchair,
Can't hold my grandchildren,
Can't give them the love they deserve,
And you want to tell me you understand?
Get down to this wheelchair and you will fucking understand.

Kind of love I was taught about

Inculcation's,
Not the metaphoric or the biologic kind,
Not the slide through and make your eyes blind kind,
Definitely not the shutter and flare kind,
Not the breeze through kind,
It’s the infectious kind.


Inculcation's,
It’s not the fair and kind kind,
But the grab someone on the shoulder kind,
The punch them on the face kind,
The kick them when they are already down kind,
The wrench them with a knife kind.


Inculcation's,
The set them apart kind,
The divide and rule them kind,
The manipulative kind,
The I will take all for myself kind,
The I don't accept the different kind.


Inculcation's,
Why teach love then hate another kind,
Why judge the different kind,
Why not embrace every kind,
That's not the kind of love I was taught about.

Jesus Was Not Colorblind: Racial Slurs and the Syrophoenician Woman (Lectionary)

I found this piece to be very interesting and thought provoking. It's made me look at things differently.Link here ---->>Jesus Was Not Colorblind: Racial Slurs and the Syrophoenician Woman (Lectionary)

Ecstasy

Into my reflections eyes I stare,
What stares back is a shallow grave,
Dug up by yours truly,
Inch by Inch it gets deeper.

Each hit makes me stronger,
Or so I think,
My heart beat races,
Clarity finally.

I feel every strand of hair on my body,
Colours and sounds are clear,
The strength of ten consumes me,
That's what my mind says anyway.

Breaths become shallow,
Head starts to knock off,
Ecstasy finally achieved,
Now for complete take off.

Date a girl who writes poetry

Date a girl who writes poetry because the human emotion is magnified to her. Not magnified in a sense of faked expressions and heavy sighs and gasps but in an internal lens only seen by her. Seen and held by her like a precious mirror encased in a locket and when she stares at you all she can see is a reflection of herself but a more attractive inspiring version. She looks for the best in the worst, for the highs in the lows, for the sweet in the bitter because when she pens it down the paper is the first to understand the impact of the situation.

Date a girl who writes poetry because sometimes you won't understand what she say, she might start to rumble on about a leaf, a smell,a tire oh yes you heard that right because you might see a tire but she sees an eternal fire that will spin and rise but only if you give her space to express then you will see what she sees and only then will you be let in to her world, her deepest secrets, her inner fears. Date a girl who writes poetry because with her words she is able to form scenes, scenes with you and her in them, scenes with dark bears in them, scenes mainly imagined and that show her biggest dreams whether its to lie in a stream or build a steam machine only her mind and her paper know.

Date a girl who writes poetry, because maybe just maybe she believes in poetic love, the Romeo and Juliette kind of love but with far less delusions that death is better life ,because having you there will be a reason for her to wake up stare at the sky and liken your free spirit to it. She may not be able to quote  Socrates, Plato or Diogenes but with her words entangled like a web she will be able to soothe your inner soul. If you are ever to break up with her she will mourn you and trust me there will be a poem or two inspired by the tears caused but that will help her build more memories and it's her therapy, her go-to safe place where she can be herself and move on better. If you are keen enough to never let go of her you will be her daily muse and a beautiful memory of you will be engraved in her heart like a wonderfully kept secret that only you two know the true meaning to. Date a girl who writes poetry

Schizophrenic

Everyday is the same,
in with the old out with the new,
Good air,
Bad air,
What's the difference anyway.

It's crazy,
Right?
Do this,
Do that,
Now what?

So far,
So good,
Do you hear the voices,
Ah!they are back,
What do I do?

So what do I do?
Fight them?
Of course,
And afterwards?
That will work itself out,
Okay!

Listen to them?
Of course,
What next?
Okay,
Here we go,
I don't like the sound of that.