Confession Tapes.

Today and only today,
I agree, I’m choosing to explore,
What it’s like to feel the tremors and do it anyway.
I’m willing to make room for more.

Tonight and only tonight,
I’ll confess, I’m scared.
It’s true that I’ll voluntarily fight,
For a connection that remains undeclared.

This moment and only in this moment,
I’ll admit that I waltz around the concept of fate,
Being the single unifying component.
As I pop my ego and watch it deflate.

A.

Would You?

Would you come lie next to me?
Just one last time?
I miss how it used to be
Before this war crime.

Would you ring my number?
Just for today?
Peace was hearing your voice fade away
As I fell into a deep slumber

Would you shorten my name?
Just because I’d do the same?
To one vowel and a consonant
Everything else sounds so distant.

A.

I’m Getting Help.

You called me guarded,
And I laughed while subtly denying it.
But I lied. That shit was true.
Because if it wasn’t,
I would have laid my heart out on the table.
I would have pinpointed areas where it hurt,
Acres of muscle dead from the pain,
Incapable of permitting planted love to grow.
It rejected grains of affection intended to germinate into love.
I would have allowed my deepest desires to roll off the top of my tongue,
Learned to relish in compliments;
Those said and sung,
Whispered and typed out.
Maybe we wouldn’t be here.
But my fingers twitch and my jaws clench
At the thought of openness,
The idea of vulnerability.
Confronted with the fact that I still consider you my serenity.
Home away from home,
A sweet relief,
You, my dear, are my honeycomb.

-I’m getting help so I can get you

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.

An Insight To My “Creative” Brain.

I often receive questions about the inspiration for my poetry and I’ve never quite known the perfect response to give. Today however, I’m going to give you an insight to what my thought process is like most of the time.

A few days ago, I had switched off my lights to go back to bed at 6 in the morning. One would assume that as a responsible member of the society, this would be the time where I hit the shower, grab a cup of coffee and embark on the new day’s journey. I’m sorry to completely destroy your perception of me. The truth is, you couldn’t be more far off from my reality.

Anyway, my usual bedtime ritual includes going through my half written poetry/prose/stories in my notes aiming to either complete them, delete them or be inspired by them. On said day, I didn’t do any of the above, I went straight into my notes to write about switching off my lights. See, I recently got glow in the dark stars and so my favourite thing to do is turn off the lights and just lie in bed smiling at the ceiling. This time, I wasn’t just going to smile at my stars while I let my mind wander, I was going to write about them because that’s what creatives do…right?

“You lit up my room
Like you light up my face
Like you light up my world”

Those were the first three lines that came to my mind and I quickly typed them up. Could this be the beginning or the end or the middle of my new poem? Is ‘light up my face” a better phrase than “light up my eyes”? Shall I say “light” or “lit”. “Like you lit up my world” does this mean he is dead? Or have we broken up? Was this break up smooth or rough? Was this an agreement we both came to? Did I love this person? Of course I did he lit up my world. Okay but did he know? Who is he even? Do people need to know him or does that move the focal point from my stars to a man? Do I miss him? There’s no point reminiscing if I didn’t so yes, I miss you and I could also be sad and empty – a possible continuation. Hmm…

“Do you think about me when the lights go out?”

Another line that comes to mind so I quickly type it up. Damn how do I make this relevant? It does sound like an appropriate way to begin a poem. It’s a question, I like questions, do you? Right so at what point do I talk about my room being dark? Do I have to mention switching off the light or shall we just infer that? What other poems have I written with similar starts to them? I’d hate to sound repetitive. Hmm…

“Twinkle twinkle little stars
Of course I don’t wonder what you are,
I acquired you, protected you”

This sounds like a new start to me. I better move “do you think of me when the lights go out” to a new note. That’s going to be a different poem about nostalgia. I’m excited now. What exactly did I protect these stars from? At what point do I tell my readers these are glow in the dark stars? Shall I allow them come to that conclusion themselves? Could I just make this one of those abstract poems that don’t really make sense but make sense at the same time? Once again, how do I join this up with the first three lines I came up with? Also, if my stars are “you” then it’s got to be “like he lit up my face, like he lit up my world” but who is he? How did he light up my room? Shall I explain this too? How long is this poem? Hmm…

“Sheltered you away from the light
Because I wasn’t ready
For you to absorb and illuminate back
I’m afraid of change,
Please cut me some slack”

Now I love this because at this point I don’t know if I’m still talking about stars or a man, genius. Although, I don’t see how this is related to my first three lines but I must use that by force. What am I even doing writing about glow in the dark stars while my mates are writing about nature – the sun, prominent in the skies and the gradual increase in temperatures, an invite blossoming flowers openly accept. But look at me and my fake stars that literally steal other people’s shine.

Okay one last semi complicated line before I go to sleep. I’ll deal with this on a different day.

“Random array of stars with no real hmm…

Stars plastered all around my slanted ceiling
With no real pattern, no actual hmm…
There is no method to this madness

*look for a word that ends with ‘ess’ and make a semi sensible line here*

I’ve been taught that light could be a particle or a wave
But today and for a while now,
Light was him
He lit up my room like he lit up my eyes
Like he lit up my world.”

Time for bed. I’ll deal with this on a different day or month or year. My eyes are shutting now and I hate when I sleep off half way through a sent…

Goodnight,
A

Reluctant.

I don’t want to write
Or sing or read
Don’t want to create
Yet another piece or poetry.

Not one of love
Or lust or affection
Not while I crave
Your undivided attention.

I don’t want to feel
Or long for or need
Temporary moment of comfort
A blessing and a curse indeed.

A.

Unspoken Requests.

Hold me close and teach me how to count to 10 one more time
Like you taught me to heal,
From pain in its prime.
Like you taught me to crawl,
Through my heart break and into my soul
Withholding the release of my salty waterfall.
So I hold back my tears,
For as long as is required.
While my heart grows weary and my eyes become tired,
I beg of you to hold my hands one last time,
Just teach me how to cross my t’s and dot my i’s.

A.

Addiction.

Roses are red
And violets often appear to be blue
Totally unrelated but,
I’m a slave to my addiction
And that addiction is you.

A.

You.

You are my 3am thoughts,
My midnight fantasies, 6pm concerns,
And the reason for my stomach knots.
In your departure, I await your return,
not because of lust or comfortability,
But pure amicability.

You are my Saturday night live,
My Sunday’s rest,
And my incentive to thrive.
The reason I feel blessed,
Motivated, Assertive,
Worth the while, attractive.

You are my tamed imaginations,
And my wild thoughts.
A special creation,
From our Saviour’s precious mould
You are gold,
Diamond, riches untold.

And if this is all I get
In this life of sin,
Then it’s the one thing I won’t forget
One piece of memory that’ll remain within.

Me.

Today. 

This wasn’t like every other day
The silence sounded different
Like a knife piercing through these eardrums
It burns because for the first time in years
There’s something selfless for me to say
Me to convey
Me to show
Me.

This wasn’t like every other day
The empty space felt different
And these sheets, so cold, I’m shivering 
Begging for the warmth to stay
Silently praying for you to explain
You to convince
You to profess
You.

This wasn’t like every other day
The sun shone different
And the wind blew in reverse
The clouds smiled down at me
Like it was waiting for us to converse
Us to interact
Us to exist
Us.

Love,
A
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