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Best Poems Written by Kelumetse Ramonate

Below are the all-time best Kelumetse Ramonate poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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What Makes It Okay

I use my hand to write poems that will convince you that my soul has been bleeding from start to end. But this may be a poem for those who think I've been writing from the heart.
What makes it okay?
What makes it okay to bow for our souls when they cling to the pregnant clouds of tears and fears?
This is just me maybe running out of ways to numb this pain by reading old books with coffee stains and nothing makes it okay.
But the coffee stains are the reason I'm uncomfortably wake at three A.M trying to cover the holes I opened with the knife but the blood wasn't mine; it never was.
What makes it okay to see temptation in a blade, knife, or a pair of scissors? It's the fact that it's not my life I'll be taking. Maybe it's only now you see that the "be careful" note I left on your doorstep wasn't just one of my dramatic moves. You better be wearing two left shoes.
What makes it okay to know we're not happier?
What makes it okay to hide the misery with a smile?
It's me; I'm willing to go the extra mile just as long as you stay behind; I just want to make sure it's safe.
What made it okay for me to call you at 3AM in the morning telling myself I've had enough of this sadness. Followed by your voice telling me "everything's going to be fine and maybe it's that time of the month" and no "it's not me; it's you." what makes it okay? I do.
I've always had that "go for it" vibe hidden inside me I'd ask you to find it but I'd be uncomfortable.
What makes it okay to cling to a cloud?
That's probably the hardest shit I've ever had to do. After closing the toothpaste cap; I mean that shit is kind of hard to remember. Like replacing the toilet paper roll; i repeat that shit is hard; literally. That's why the toilet paper needs to be replaced.
What makes it okay for me to judge you without having to hear your pain and bleed for you? I'll take the blame any day; just make sure I'm going to be okay when I come back to you every night asking for day light.
I mean girl; the sun sets; why won't you.?
the sun rises; why won't you?
clouds move; why won't you?
What makes it okay to put bravery to test? You do.

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Take One, Take Two

Take one trying to put myself back together. First tries are always the worst tries, quoting "don't fix a heart that you didn't break" but I'm here. Fixing my own. Image, picture me imagining myself in a welcoming place and then take me out and put me on the rocks. Darkness speaks to me on volume hundred, so did you when you told me that the door of departure isn't for you but you arrived in the same door and spent hours deciding whether to turn back or go straight in and still weren't done till I pulled you in. You never voluntarily comforted me until I... took your hands and wrapped them around myself and forced you into saying "it's going to be okay". When there are still no signs of okay near. Each night, anxiety sweeps me and my emotions together to an amusement park called inferno. Where the fire feels beautiful and your eyes feel real after watching yourself burn, I mean we've been doing that for quiet some time now. Can I rest my head on your chest?
Take 2 trying to tell myself that I am better than yesterday when I know that each day feels the same. Without you around. All I do is shiver and question myself till sadness, and then decide to hop off the bus and walk to happiness where the same bus of sadness always finds a way of hitting me. "I am tired" is my favorite song to sing when "just sleep" is yours and I thought you knew me better than I knew myself, I thought you knew that sleep isn't for the broken-tired and it's only for the tired-tired. But you tell me now that you don't have time for my conspiracy theories when you'd draw unicorns under my name and thank with a forehead kiss. Take 2 trying to tell myself that I am better than yesterday when the 2nd takes are the riskiest.

Dear self, I am sorry for these many takes that never worked for us, that never protected us or loved us, just kept on teaching us the same thing over and over again. Wearing our misery, well at least we got brainwashed in style.

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Dulce

I always wanted a Spanish name sweet enough to push your buttons and alluring enough to make you hard. 
The morning I first felt hollow, sitting on my bedroom floor binge eating hotdogs on a rainy Sunday morning and of course, I was dressed in blue... to match my emotions. Your love came in waves, and of course just like a wave... it was empty inside, with a side of nothing but regrets and old mistakes and if only one knew... those were written under my name.
I felt it, creeping in the doors of my bedroom and how come heartbreak invades my home without a box of tissues to wipe off your name on my hands because it seems like they have forgotten to hold anything but your heart without dropping it and not apologizing, I’m afraid.
That not even these sweet Spanish names can put our love as a meal first classified as appetizers and I swear y’all, the first heartbreak felt like an opening window into the factory of love, where every little thing is made under your name and I wanted to try it all... I did. 
From hurt to damage to injury to wound... to, you, your name... yet again. 
I could taste you in all of them, so did I taste her... and not even a tear dropped from my cheek onto this mess you call guarding my heart... 
I knew you loved her, just didn’t have proof.

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Days Like This

i write for days like this, when the wind blows in the opposite direction and tables turn to face me, i write for days when my hands feel too stiff to hold anything but a pen so i freeze, then later cough words that have been caught too long inside my chest so i pretend it’s a mistake. i write for days when i feel too high or too low, days when i cry over wasted days in the night time and days when i want to rewind the time just to feel the sun on my skin for a few seconds then go back to hibernation.
days when i don’t have anything figured out, days when i feel like starring at my window hurting. days when i can’t tell whether i’ve healed, forgotten or i’m just a little bit distracted.
i write for days like this, so... i write every single day.