Truly Untitled

Iridescent. My eyes were exposed to all colours of creation. From silver, to turquoise, cerulean, orange, tangerine, red, maroon, rouge, yellow and gold. The beautiful ensemble of colours that adorned her lower body could bring tears to even Samson himself. Yet again, Samson was easily weakened by beauty. This was both scary and beautiful, like standing by the sea on a cold and wet day as the sea crashes upon the soaked and already abused sand and you let the waves crash towards you, leaving behind the residue of adrenaline and salty water upon your brow. That thrill of excitement and fear as she exposed what was both precious to her but what was also her burden, gave me such a thrill. She once told me, in her golden and honey filled tone of voice, “I wish to be amongst the daughter’s and son’s of the air”. She spoke so poetically constantly. Her vocabulary, consisted of archaic words. She was clearly well read and well bred. Her timeless beauty captured me, as well as the Cantonese twang she had in her voice, she spoke like a Victorian English women, who had picked up a slight accent, whilst visiting China. But she was Chinese! Born and bred, she said she had traveled a lot, so I could understand why there would be a slight twang to her accent. She had told me of the different countries that she had traveled to. She spoke of the beautiful ocean floors, of the places she had been. She loved the Indian Ocean specifically though. I asked her about the people of these places and she replied, “I have never come across any human beings.” I found that odd, I was dumbfounded by that response. “What about the architecture of certain buildings”? I had asked her, she replied “I did not visit the world above during my stay at these wonderful places. I am an alien to the world above. Poseidon’s world is much more comforting”.
Again, I thought she was being poetic, little did I know.

Each scar he shows me,
unveils to me
a little bit more
about his soul.

As is his outer shell is cracked
by glass,
penetrated with blades
and screwdrivers,
a bit of his soul
shines through.

His scars may heal
But the imprint of his inner character stays on his skin.
He is a survivor
a warrior.
Each and every scar
lets me know this.
Each imperfection upon his skin holds narrative
in which I need to know
in order to
really know him.
Scars to me
are keys that
unlock different layers
of a person.

You undress
yourself before me
with your words.
As you explain
how you attained
your spiritual
trophies.
Spiritual
battle scars.

Scars.
Whether emotional
or physical,
are the gateway drug…
to poetry.

Rebellion rebellion
Deep in the belly
Of the beast
Are the
Creatures
That feast.
On the telly
In our streets
They creep
Fallen children
Of the gods
Each one emasculated
By the law.
In their eyes
they are gods.
Only titans.
They fall.
Re-defying “rebel”.
Going against no cause.
Except the norm.
The norm.

Chromatic adornments
Colouring their hair,
With the ink of the puzzle
The puzzle the leprechaun created
For you to seek riches.
Blue. Pink. Green.
Hair that raises eyebrows
But still
Low
Their self esteem.

Steam.
Deep in their belly
And their chest.
Exhale it out.
Inhaling harvest of the earth.
Puffing O’s
And crop circles into the air.
The aliens of this planet,
They infest.

Widening their ears
Gauging
Stretching.
Connect.
Connecting to their alien ways
Trying to make contact
With their home planet.
The net.
They create a web
They make it their home
Home.
These creatures…
Born from gods
They Deserve Olympia.

Rebellion rebellion.
These creatures.
This creature.
They speak the same.
Interest themselves
In unearthly matters.
Wear a uniform
That consists of
Outlandish remarks on a shirt
Jeans to squeeze their genes
Trainers
But they train for nothing.
A look on their face
Nothing.
Because emotions are too mainstream.

Damn hipsters…

She sits and she waits for the right words to come to her.
No poetic or flowery language comes to mind so she stops.
What can she write for him, that will make him forgive her.
Being a poet, she is able to woo and win the hearts of men by the words that she recites.
This master of words cannot master her own being.
She’s an insecure, impatient, dyslexic, diyscalcula failure of a being.
She knows nothing about love, the cosmos and all that other mumbo jumbo she writes about.
She can’t explain why she is repulsed by her very being but also very attracted to it.
She can’t explain why she hates her existence.
She hates that she feels certain emotions she has never felt before for this testosterone filled being.
She hates that he doesn’t understand her.
She hates that her independence was delayed by a year.
She hates that she still wears her clothes from over 2 years ago Although she is not materialistic, he has forced his views upon her.
She hates not being able to have off days or wanting to be alone
Because her mother requests her presence. Being an Aquarius, she wishes only for solitude, so that she can think.

She is free in her mind. The realities, countries, cities and universes she has created in her mind keep her sane.
She doesn’t care that her poetry isn’t deep enough or she has no word play to draw attention to her.
Everything she does is an extension of her.
She hates extensions and wants her bush to be out all of the time.
She hates that time exists. She wants everything to be motionless. She hates her emotions.
She hates her mind process.
She hates that she is writing this poem in the third person to detach herself from herself.
There is a whole lot more she could say.
But these feelings stem from love.
She hates that she isn’t perfect in her attitude, mindset, spiritual and physical form.
She wants to be his perfect 10.

I tend to forget that males talk a lot of shit.
The gases that leave their mouths are the reason for global warming
You’re the reason for the world coming to an end.
And I bet the Miyan calendar was written by men.
Ha
No surprise there.
Mistakes are intertwined in your DNA

Why do you they feel the need to make promises that they won’t keep.
I wish I could be best friends with the 18 year old me and listen to the advice she gave.
“Don’t enter a relationship. Not ever”.
The selfish attitude I had towards myself protected me from my worst enemy, turned lover.
Loneliness was my favourite companion. My best friend.
Loneliness could do no wrong.
If love hurts this much I’d rather turn against love and use all the passion love has given me.
Become a Benedict Arnold towards my benefactor of life and living.
Love is the reason I’m here today.
But I’m straying away from love
For sanity
and extra change.
The chariot of sanity awaits.
I’m the judas escariot of today.
Turning my back against love.

Maybe it’s me.
The green monster that lives within my river of life and infests my waters with piss that produces a cruel mean and envious creature. A jealous creature.
A greener me.
It is true. Yes. My own insecurities block me from seeing clearly.

Still waters run deep they say.
Try saying that to the green monster living within my waters of life.
Making me think lesser thoughts of myself.
Because he admires someone I’ve always admired and wanted to be.
Her figure so perfect
That skin….
A perfect shade of ebony.
But still a pauper I say!

The 15 year old me would disagree and say “No! change yourself. Become what the object of your desire wants you to be”.

To be honest, I love me for me.
I’m too lazy to change my image in order to stir this man’s desire even more.
Why should I want adoration and to be admired when I am the definition of that.

He likes bad chicks. Should I Rihanna myself up so that he can get a clapback?

I’m too lazy to impress.
I was fine being by myself to be perfectly honest.
No offence…
I love you and all.
But we’re not living in an age of bigamy.
You’re reducing the size of me.
I was a bigger me when I was alone.
Love is lovely, but like all drugs it wears off and begins to kill its host.

What a parasitic emotion.
Feeding on its host.
Claiming laughter and applause from the audience before it.

I will not bow before it.
I’d rather have a tapeworm living within me.
To accompany that lovely green monster.
At least I’ll be skinner.

Do you like that?
Of course not.
I’m trying to put you off

You’re cool and all.
But I’m not ready to let you control my already unstable emotions and stir my living waters even more.

Oh…
I do love you though.
But why do you reduce the queen I am into a beggar by raising up paupers.
You like the best of both worlds?
Well let her be your daily bread because her majesty will not be reduced.
I will not envy paupers when I am a queen.
I will not be the first slice of bread that own but choose to ignore
Until all of the better slices are gone.
Quite frankly baby…
Fuck you.

Visions of success

I realise that they are a mirage

An oasis
The harsh realities of life blur this sweet image before me.

Struggle and seek. 

The two snakes that forbid me from entering Arcadia. 

The sins of my species bring me down. 

We are our own critics. 

We seek acceptance from the broken hearted

We struggle to see the true beauty of our very being Because of the harsh realities of life.

Break the image before your very eyes. 

And that image blesses you with broken silver which flies in every direction.
Blinding you from what you once saw.
Those visions you have of success. 
That mirage. 

That oasis

Arcadia

Utopia

Euphoria. 

Olympia.

Heaven.
You seek it.

Yet you struggle to see. 

That it is within you. 

It is you. 

Stop criticising and BE. 

BE your success.

Quench your own thirst. 

Be your own saviour.

Be.

Not a dream
Simply
A physical manifesto of my theta waves.
Speaking truth into existence
I need not to
I sculpted you.
Words are not powerful enough to project
Pixels are to weak to capture
Your statue.
Nor create
You

An architect of the mental
A weaver of dreams
My creation is in its solid form.

Before

Nights were filled with dark coffee,cigarette smoke,
Creaky apartment floor
In Lacey underwear and vest
Imagining your face
Imagining your presence.
Sat down at my messy drawing board.
“Slam
Dunk!
In the bin!
I need more perfection”.

Typical artist.
Chewing on pencils
Taking sup of from the elixir of the dreamless
“Wait… YES!”

Finally
The blue prints are complete.
I sleep
Hoping never to get a kick back into reality.
Inception
The beginning
Blue prints in my mind
I finally have time
To perfect my Narcasis
Make you Love me.
Yes
A weaver of dreams
Maybe
An architect
Definitely
But not of emotion.
That one flaw…

He forgets me as soon as he saw that dazzling silver
Upon my cupboard of adornments door.

Wasabi nuts and green tea
Made
in the Far East
Both
are the centre of my world.

The gates that open up the passage to my soul reverberate
Your country retreats
Leaving only the vibrations of what was there
A memory long gone
Do you still take the route down memory lane?
That route drives my entire being insane.
Being with you is sane.
A spritrtual entry into human flesh
We became one again
The first two beings in a new world
Man and Woman
Man and Girl.
Chocolate against Caramel
Skin against Skin
Flesh against flesh

The Moon’s light is bright enough to illuminate The beast with two backs’s silhouette
The silhouette dances upon a wall adorned with objects of her imagination
Her creations.
His oblivion.
He sees but he is blind.
The wall is not a wall, but a realm into her world
Her mind.
Instead he focuses on entering her.
Not her elan vital
He touches her vital force
Does he feel it?
No, he focuses on letting the seeds inside him escape
The seeds almost become one with her beautiful soul.
Dieu Merci
Entrapment.
Then again…

My gates shut.
His country retreats once more.
This time leaving one of their own soldiers.
This solider has found a home in my soul.

In 274 days her gates will open
And the soilder will leave.
Mon Bébé
Son Bébé.

They have created art.
No longer will he ignore the wall that was adorned with her creations
My creation is now a being.

Ours.
Love me? Leave me?
Enter me? See me?
You wanted to enter my gates and not my heart.
Now we have a work of art made from love.
But not of it.
Mon Bébé.

You’re a scorpion living in my mental
Killing off parasites and other annoying insects
But inflicting pain upon your host. 
Your intentions are unclear
Your eyes communicate nothing of what’s going on within you.
Venom
The poison within you brings excruciating pain to your very being
Seeing
Looking within yourself is destroying your mental
I ask you to be kind or at least be gentle
Instead,
You allow the poison to ooze from your body and attack my animal spirits
Messing with my spirits flow.
Oh you fluorescent Scorpion
I must let you go
Inserting your pain into me one drop at a time
Your attempt is to free yourself
From yourself
My brain turns black and then blue
When will my mental heal?
You enjoy the darkness of my mind
Because through the darkness
My florescent scorpion
I allow you to shine.