A POET SPEAKS.

Everyone thinks it is alright but I know it is not. I know that something is wrong. I have given up on those things that makes this world bright and shiny. I am not depressed but I am done dreaming my dreams. I know that I am broken somehow and no one can fix me except me. I know that a broken spirit cannot foster anything beautiful except there's healing. The more I try to heal, the more broken I become.

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_{pixabay:Activedia}

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I have stopped going to church, cut contacts with people not because I hate them or have issues with them but because I am not a good influence around a lot of folks. I remember this movie by Tyler Perry; I Can Do Bad All By Myself. I think I have managed to be the architect of my own misfortunes. I think living on the sideline, in the darkness is better. Nobody knows and I don't care.

These two poems could mean anything to you or nothing. For me, they are just cathartic. What sort of dreams do you dream? I hope they come true.

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MAYBE ONE DAY

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Maybe one day,
I will tell you all my secrets,
Skip them like smooth pebbles
Through your soul and
Make you shiver and ripple
Like troubled waters.
Maybe, I will peel the layers
And let you in to sit and read
My sordid tale.
Maybe then you will understand
That I breathe, sleep, eat
This pain and I fear
That if you draw near
You will burn with me.

Maybe one day, some day,
I will grow some balls
And pen my tale.
Maybe I will make you tear
And flutter in the wind
Like ripped soiled sheets.
Maybe you will understand,
Maybe you will not
But will you still hold me close
When you know that
Inside me is nothing but dust?

Maybe one day, you will,
Love find within the arms
Of a man who is still whole.
Maybe you will find happy ever after,
I hope you do but in that,
There are no maybes for me
For love is a sour taste on my tongue
And I will not let you burn for my sake.

Maybe one day,
Maybe someday,
You will hear of me
Like the breathe of a whisper.
Maybe you will remember my name,
Maybe not but you will note this
That you did not share my wounds
And for that I am ever thankful.

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I FORGOT THE NAME

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Me and me woes.
Step into my shoes
And drink from my cup.
Kiss my lips and taste my deeds.
Peer into my soul and read me
Like a pretty nice novel.
Listen to my heart thrum,
Listen to the music sing.
Watch me stand, my head high,
Alone at the bus stop waiting
For no one, watching the sky,
Listening to birds gossip,
Watching a puddle throw light
And ask me my name.

If I remember, I'd tell you.
If I don't then am at your mercy
Like a lost cub in the veld
Running, running from something,
Waiting to be used again,
To feel important, needed, abused.
Watch me yell my silence
And pick my nose.
Call my name and I may turn
Or not for my name changes
With the sun rising and setting.
I become a skin, a religion, a language,
A gender, a sexualised content
Like a fish in the deep
Drowning in the sea of changes,
Labels and sides to take,
Opinions to defend, beliefs to amend.
Conceptualized conceptions
Without words, without fruit
Just labels, names
Ha... Just call my name.

Or not for a lonely man is angry
And a bus stop is not a home.
I might hold your lapels
And question your temerity
Or I may whisper my name
Like the taste of the last piece
On the plate before hunger returns.
You should walk past me
Like we have never changed roles,
Never smoked weed or rolled dice,
Like we have never kissed
Or thought about it.
You should sway wrapped in warmth
And pretend that I never danced
Your dance with your hips in mine
And your lips in mine.
You can swish your skirt,
Juggle your breasts and glitter
Your fourth left finger.
I am lost, what do I care?
This bus stop is taking me somewhere.
The question is where?

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©warpedpoetic, 2019.