Words are enough.
They don't some overdramatized definition of them,
Don't be a fool to explain it to me.
I'd rather die a lonely and cruel death, by my own hands.
Words —
They don't come easy, do they?
The blurry effect on my left iris left me partially blind.
It tears my other eye to see it in the mirror.
Words, they are spat out like fetid, rotting chunder,
Why do they taste so putrid and smell so obnoxious?
When I try to let them out, they escape through my eye,
Leaking and spewing festering dross.
Technicolor yawn mimics the man in the mirror and then
He would call in sick the next day.
As the pus decay in the drought and barren land of my eye,
I was recommended using Ciprofloxacin.
Words —
Words like "I need help" and "why does it hurt so bad?"
I wish I never knew how to speak.
Instead of the infection of my worm-eaten and vile eye,
I desiderate it be my mouth rather.
Words like these are what made me feel how I feel now,
Enervated and debilitated.
There was a girl in a night club,
Who tripped in that crowded pub.
She bruised her left arm,
But laughed off the harm,
And danced while a dog ate her grub.
He was a canvas...a beautiful sight,
An expanse of white, so pure and bright.
Not like the moon that graces the night,
Nor like the clouds that drift in flight
Unlike anything else... but like a swan
Engraved in chiffon.
My feet drew towards him,
Each step etched in the dim,
Crystal chamber of love.
My fingers traced him,
Stroking with hymn beneath the moon,
Coloring a secret wove.
I drew back to esteem,
Stumbled, feeling light-headed, lost in a dream.
Dropping to the cold tile.
Glancing through drowsy eyes,
My gaze stared at him, painted in red.
My blood, my soul
…lost in his stead.
Her soul was starved of acceptance
An aching hunger wanting to be fed
Her body weak
Not from the lack of food
But for the lack of love for her skin
Being black meant a life where no matter what she did
She would never win
She couldn't control her race
But she could control her body
She wanted to be invisible
And the only way she could make that happen was to disappear
Her body, her skin, her mind
A place of imprisonment
But she could control how she decorated it
To her that felt like a rebellion
Even if it meant she lost herself
Deep down she knew this wasn't right
But she just didn't want the fight
She was willing to make that sacrifice
With every meal skipped
She got weaker and weaker
Not realising how she was getting closer to death
Mistaking it for freedom
She had got everything she wanted
Just not how she expected
She realised a little too late
How true this statement was
The world wanted her gone
And she had finally given them what they want
She always hated the sight of blood
But now it had become her greatest comfort
She felt her blood was the only one who understood
What it was like to be judged
Both hated on for their colour
Both wanting to be hidden
Both wanting to be invisible
Each cut sent waves of euphoria throughout her body
She wasn't a masochist
She just loved being in control
It was a distraction
From all the racists
Who consistently punished her
For her skin colour
She didn't know if she could deal with it anymore
She didn't want to be here no more
She had always wondered about life after death
What would happen?
Would she finally find peace?
Or would she forever carry the weight of her race for eternity?
All she wanted was to exist
Without being discriminated against
Without someone bullying her for her skin colour
She was tired
Whilst she was stuck in her mind
She hadn't realised
How deep she had cut
She saw how much blood she had lost
She wasn't sad
She was just numb
The last thing she thought of before she succumbed
Was freedom
To be a good father You already have to be a good man But apparently he couldn't be either guess it was just easier For him to be just like his father
Him being a black father Made it harder The stereotypes That followed him around That policed He probably internally agreed He felt it must've been better for him to leave Or Maybe he just doesn't love his kids enough to stay It must've been his generational way
His children understood As best as they could That his father was ed up They just thought he would give them a better childhood
They weren't mad just disappointed They felt neglected Felt unprotected By someone who was supposed to love them They felt stupid They felt empty, like they shouldn't have existed
As they grew up They saw all the other present fathers The pain Of it all began to hit harder They began to wonder If they even mattered
As the years continued on That pain grew stronger Their fathers absence Constantly haunted them Their self hatred grew deeper No amount of therapy made it easier They would always feel inferior
They would never forgive They would never forget
my dear friends,
i am writing to address
a memory of sorts:
a lovely barbecue,
evening, on the beach.
you all brought
ingredients
to pile on my barbecue.
you all brought your onions
your palette knives
your cutting board
and one of you were
cutting onions.
at the beach.
the juices, they pricked
pricked my sockets for droplets.
oh, it was lovely,
the sizzling crackle of veg.
and i took my chair,
i examined the burns.
the sizzles, the pops, how the knife had painted
the onions
onions!
red onions in the sky .
it scorched my eyes
oh! the taste!
and you were all so thrilled
to share your creation
the meal was fantastic
filling for the night, but for days after
i couldn't rid myself of
onions
without cutting them away from my eyes
so i vaguely remember
in a dream like state,
one of you took your palette knife
and scooped them out for me.
i cried and shook for hours in relief!
and, oh! what a time.
and, oh.
onions.
(Naani Poem).
Seeing life's stuff through,
Cheerings all champs, we are
Surviving, thriving
Thoughts, love for human race.
(Naani Poem).
Seeing life's stuff through,
Cheerings all champs, we are
Surviving, thriving
Thoughts, love for human race.
A gift of perpetual silence,
from a deafening scornful frequency;
Eternal tranquility, we chase,
so is it considered victory?
Victorious it must feel,
for the one who departs abrupt;
In the halt prior to mine,
leaving a chaos in my heart.
The little beads rise to the surface of her skin.
The skin that seems to have
'gotten scratched by the cat'
One too many times.
But as she goes to erase all evidence of her deflect
She feels it sting.
A sting she knows all too well.
Her blood feeling the tension of the gleaming blade against her skin
The sting comes and goes,
But here comes the hell hot waters,
The little voices in her head screaming for her to yell in pain, in anger,
something to tell people she's hurt
But she just sighs as the
demons come from the shower and cause havoc on her skin
Her fingers graze against her
scars as she is reminded of the the pain, the agony.
But she will sigh, as she know the hell hot water demons,
will soon meet her skin again
Heart of glass
Once transparent and clear
Shattered
Love drained , disappeared
Porcelain spirit
Crumbled , crushed
No longer soars
Trust turned to dust
Crystal soul
Cracked and chipped
Time needs to restore
Damage from harms cruel grip
I see the lines, I trace the skin,
I swear this time won’t start again.
The pain fades fast, but not for long,
The ache remains, the pull too strong.
I see the lines, I hide them well,
A silent scream, A private hell.
If only I could yell,
Help,
But if I reach, if I let go,
Maybe someone else will know.
Maybe, It's my time to go
I guess we’ll never know…
If only I knew
What all this would do
I never meant
To be broke and bent
I try and try
But its never enough
And just like that
I call their bluff
Im broken and hurt
Blown off like dirt
But I hide away
The emotions I face
As if put on a hidden display
And the only one who will ever see
Is me
My heart is shattered
My brain is dead
But secretly
I pray and I hope
That maybe this slope
Will come to an end
Maybe one day my heart will mend
But the scars still remain
And so does the pain
I whisper my fears
But no one can hear
So now Im trapped in a cycle
Of blood, hurt, and tears.
Mind desparate for hope
desperatley searches for something to cling onto
something to quiet down the endless cycle of repeating thoughts
that haunt it every early morning and every late night
In a symbolic way the only way to quiet down the pain
is to lose something that makes you human
the humanity within you
once you let the blood from your tired wrists floow freely onto the floor
everyone will look at you as if youre an animal
all you can do is try and reclaim the humanity you´ve lost
along with the whitness of stained floor
Its not your fault
its your mind desparate for hope
desperatley searches for something to cling onto
something to help you survive this unecceraly hard life
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