Throwback 

   
I came across this piece just now and I was completely unaware that I wrote it, until I was half way through. 

In those seconds, it dawned on me how unbelievablely easy it was for me to write about topics I had absolutely no idea of.

Now, that I’m learning to be aware of my emotions, writing has become such a foreign talent of mine.

Long story short, I can finally relate to what what I used to write about and now that I’m experiencing it, I find it difficult to write.

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Between Nothing

This title carries so many uncertainties I no longer want to keep

Distributing my loneliness in every man I seek

It’s hard for me to admit to myself

And it’s not because I thought he was the one

I just chose him over many ones

And I assumed he’d do the same

I’m very certain this isn’t heart break

Because, my heart he didn’t take

But a part of me has feelings that I can no longer

– Still Stuck On One

Dear Destroyer

You took a huge part of me & ran away,
When were you planning on telling me?

In your head, I was just a phase.
You should have fucking told me.
 
The only reason I don’t let people in,
Is because I hate how they always up and leave.
No goodbyes,
Just up and out as they please.

I was honestly on the verge of blaming myself, thinking my emotional flaws pushed you away.

I thought maybe those couple of days weren’t my “Fully Me” days.

But is wasn’t me, was it?
It was you who pushed yourself away.

Unfortunately I’m not the type that forces people to stay.

You got me so close to letting my walls fall down, so many times I felt them shake.

Labelled you “too good to be true”, now I can see your Knight and Shining amour Silhouette was fake.

Okay, no I’m lying…

But I can’t believe that you used the oldest trick in the book as your bloody bait.  

Better yet, I can’t believe I fell for it.

It was a matter of time before your dirty colours escaped.
I’m glad I didn’t witness the kaleidoscope of your chaos.

I guess it’s not much irony that the climax of our in betweens was the actual climax between the sheets.

Or I guess it was dramatic irony, because as your actress to a play I didn’t even audition for, I was never clued that my character was foolish and lacked self-awareness.

I would have never taken the role if you didn’t present it and under false pretence.

But honestly, I wouldn’t have let you hit it when you did.

I can’t help but let the little laughs escape my breath when I realise that you’re mature act was just part of your masquerade.

Never in a million years would I ( under normal circumstances) thought I’d ever be at the receiving end of your childish outburst.     
    
Ohh, and that thing you took from me? You’re welcome to keep it, in fact, keep this little poem as your damn receipt. No returns though. I want you to keep it.

P.S
If you wanted me to write warmly about you, you should have acted better.

For The Body

It never crossed my mind that taking my clothes off for a couple of sweet words was beyond unethical.

You see, Prostitution is a trade-off between morals & money.
But what do you call it when you trade your morals for attention?

Society taught me, who I am, isn’t good enough,
Since then, I’ve been in search of validation,
& in return I left my body in complete annihilation,
Because I’m too busy living to give a damn about my education.

I’m too busy putting on make up because I don’t like the sight of my bare reflection.

My mind & body are in some sort of bittersweet altercation.

I seem to allure strangers that may never be properly introduced to my spirit but land up getting introduced to the demons in my head.

Their naked bodies creep in my bed smelling of another woman’s stench.

They, fondle my breasts,
And I effortlessly part my legs
Like the red sea spread for Moses
With each deep stroke leaving my sheets a bloody mess…

Their patience for me,
Proportionally inverse to their dick size.
And…
After the hot sex,
Their emotions for me evaporate faster than the sweat in between our fully satisfied bodies.

Situation left sticky…

So heavily drenched in lonely that they don’t even bother to hold me…
Scared that my loneliness might linger on the follicles of their skin.

Fuck bitch! i’ll call you back in 2 minutes
wounded up being a few weeks,

Mind heavily impregnated,
Fueled with a million assumptions & insecurities …
Because they forever make my body a vessel that makes them come, & at times on my face,

But won’t be around when the bitter tears race, like my tears are some sort of kryptonite to their manhood…

They’ll never know the million scars that hide the very pain I scratch in their back.

When they come back,
They bite my lip so hard,
And suck out the bitter taste they left lingering on my lips from the last time.

I’m so damaged, that I’ll probably only be able to recognize my own reflection when the broken piece of the mirror is used to draw lines that satisfy my addiction.

The voices in me don’t sound like me anymore, they sound more like demons, demons that sound like them.

At this point,
My body is well acquainted with every position in the karma sutra,

We don’t even bother with foreplay, because I’m already wet,

Then I hear a careless whisper

“baby girl, this doesn’t suit ya”

Thing is, I’m not doing this to look good, I do this to feel good…

All I ever wanted, was to be more than a wounded 2nd option

I heard
“time heals all”
But what do I do when every day it feels like the hands on my clock also suffer,
But with arthritis,
Barely moving…

See, I’ve been looking for God EVERYWHERE,
everywhere but the bible,

Trying to figure out a lil better about this thing called man…

Because Adam was easily manipulated by Eve,
But all my pussy power can do is manipulate men to leave.

They pulled me from their chest, put an apple in my hand & blame me for their mess…

I lay in bed crying for invisibility because when I look up, the reflection I see of myself, is the god in him…

I know that the story ends in sin…

Many lifeless bodies who could have been lawyers, doctors, pro athletes lay breathless suffocated in latex on the pile of tissues left in my bin…

Mrs Blue Black Purple

She looks at me through blue, black and purple. 

Heavy rings around her eyes.

No ring on her finger.

Mentally enslaved.

Temporary bruises beneath her clothing.

Permanent scaring underneath her skin. 

The colours of her pain have substituted her friends.

He left her to choke.

She can no longer see his face.

She seems to have forgotten about grace.

She runs back into his arms like they’re her refuge.

I never understood the notion of looking for happiness in the same place you lost it.

She can no longer identify love.

Her solitude must taste like freedom.

She down plays her hurt…

Discredits her logic.

She no longer sees her beauty.

She believes loving him, is her duty.

She no longer loves herself.

It’s evident by the way she carries herself.

I watch her from the sidelines, and wish that I could erase every bad memory of hers, but I know those will eventually build her.

She looks at me through the colour of bruises and I hold her tightly because I know I’m the only one who sees this side of her.

And forever I will hold her as tight as I can.