Curses For Freedom.

When I write about past experiences,
I hope that no one notices.
And when references are made to moments that I cherish forever,
I speak temporary memory loss into past lovers.
The same kind that made you forget my worth,
The same kind that allowed you neglect sacrifices made and emotions brought forth.
I speak a lack of care,
In instances where the mind is aware.
That you remember but are nonchalant.
So I can write without withholding,
Information capable of causing a spiritual uproar.

A.

You Write Because You Can’t Speak.

Have you ever had so much to say,
You settle for silence?
Because your hearts is too full,
And your thoughts too complex,
To relay on to the simple minded.
And so, the weight of your words,
Rest heavy on your tongue.
It’s impossible to lift.
Impossible to speak.
You are hushed by your own mind,
Verbally crippled by your own thoughts.
Afraid of how much dept you may go into.
How many tables could be shook?
How many elders brought down to their weak knees?
How much tears would be shed?
Because even though words are just words,
They cut deep.
Into a realm that only exists in some people’s reality,
So only they comprehend,
And only they are consumed by emotions,
The type you feel when surpressed memories resurface.
You know this because you felt it.
So rather than speak, you write.
Convincing yourself that it carries less weight.
But those are lies that you would some day cry about.

A.

Solitude.

Solitude doesn’t ask what’s wrong,
She lets me be.
She doesn’t reach out,
Or hold me when I’m down.
When emotions get the better of me,
And I’m left in a puddle of my never ending tears,
I don’t feel solitude looking at me through pitiful eyes.
She doesn’t pat my back like they do with helpless kids.
There are no constant echos of generic words intended to encourage,
No tight hugs rendering me fragile.
So I don’t feel shame,
Not like I do in her absence.
But my solitude eats me up,
More often that I care to admit.

A

What Fear Does To Me.

It’s 2am and my body jolts itself to life.
I’ve been drinking, I’ve been smoking,
Hoping that these chemicals would numb the pain,
Mask the anxiety,
Do something other than drive me insane.
The fear that I know,
Transits through my heavy heart.
But today, it’s come to stay.
Like a spider in its silky matrix,
Or a child in its mother’s arms.
Shall I cuddle it? Nurse it?
Reason with it so it knows how to perceive,
Negative emotions causing my body to grieve?
So it knows when to leave?
Or should I give up on fighting?
On arguing on negotiating,
With dark clouds of fear poisoning my lungs.
If I can’t breathe, I can’t speak in tongues,
Or call on my saviour, I can’t cast and bind.
Not while I’m spiritually blind.

Someone plead the blood of Jesus on my behalf.

A.

Lost And Not Found.

I had lost my innocence trying to persevere,
Misplaced my happiness by choosing to stay,
Given up my voice listening to yours.
Most of all,
I lost my compassion trying to guard my heart.

I’m not the same person.

A.

Don’t Love Me, I’m A Writer.

Please don’t touch my soul,
Not with those hands, black as coal.
As I would relive every single moment,
For years on end.
And in my poetry, you would see your name,
Like it was mine to reinvent.

Our memories would stay trapped in my heart ,
As I am dramatic; an exclamation mark enveloped in mortal skin.
So I would turn our love experience into a hundred different stories told to the world,
I refuse to keep it hidden.

I would find a way to describe you
Your smile, humour, wit;
With as many nouns and adjectives as the dictionary permits.
I would paint pictures of your eye watering physique,
So engulfed in your masculinity, my legs felt weak.

I would throw in hints of past times indicating nostalgia,
Hormones burned hot, even our drinks were up in flames.
I would throw in inside jokes;
Mostly dry and somewhat impenetrable,
While reinstating that it’s a me problem.

I would drag our few seconds of love for as long as I can manage:
For as long as my heart can endure
Because the moment I begin to lose my memories,
I lose my melodies.
I’ll have no stories to tell, no inspiration,
No paintings to create, no blood drawn illustrations,
No poetry.

So please, leave your mark on me but not painfully.

A.

Desensitised.

I close my eyes so my body can feel,

Shut my heart so my mind can process,

Bitter truths my stomach cannot digest.

If this wasn’t me, it would be someone else,

Somewhere else, maybe something else.

So I draw the blinds shut and kill the switches,

It’s impossible to think while engulfing all these inches.

I’ll try again tomorrow
A.

We’re Millennials Remember?

We’re millennials remember?
No strings attached.
Just an air of attraction,
Etching us in.
Pulling us closer,
until we’re skin to skin,
Chest to chest.
Whatever this is, I feel it within.
You’ll hold me in your arms,
And I’ll never say,
That everyday is a good day,
As long as you’re on my mind.
And you are.
In the mornings, at night,
And every hour in between.
But my lips must remain silent.
My back must stay turned on the possibilities.
Tempting as it may be,
I must be void of all emotional responsibilities,
Potential insecurities.
The idea of the idea,
The possibility of the possibility.
Because like I said,
We are millennial, remember?
It’s a culture,
We both gotta stay woke.

A.

Persistence.

I’ll keep refuelling this worn out battleship,
Until you promise to love me the right way,
Until you believe that lie.

I’ll keep pouring life into our relationship,
Until I begin to fade away,
Until I begin to die.

Love,
A
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