Temple

I spent hours at the mirror

Surrounded by silence

Admiring my body

Not for anybody

But myself.

I marveled at my beauty

With no intention of

Capturing the moment

Or sharing my body

Just embodying who I’ve grown to become.

A woman.

A well carved sculpture

Embodying love,

War

And growth.

Destroyed inside

By the men I let enter

Take pictures

And pull away from me

what was sacred.

What is sacred.

How dare you

Make me kneel before you

For your mercy.

For your pleasure.

When I am the Temple?

You leave me drenched in your burdens…

Yet you leave the same way you came in.

Did I not move you?

Were you now elevated in my presence?

Zhengzhou, Home of Shaolin Temple

Sunday, 07:30

23 September 2018

First poem I’ve finally written in God knows how long

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Moonchild

Because I am just a moon
And among you,
Are many stars
Shinning far brighter than I ever could

In the midst of the brightest one
I fall
And stay away
Until she leaves again

Then I creep up with Rest…

She even shines her light on me.
What I did I do to deserve such grace,
Because all I bring is darkness
But yet she still awaits..

I do nothing
But wade across the sky
And very frequently
I collide with her-
Eclipsing
Once in a life time for some.

I am darkness
And in that very darkness,
I am
A resting place.
A hiding place.
A place of hope.
A place for peace.

I’m learning to appreciate people more, in words and in gestures.

Truth is, I am surrounded by people whose sorrows I can’t understand or fully comprehend.

My natural instinct is to respond and solve the problem rather than show compassion.

I am a natural born problem solver…

I’m more comfortable resolving the issue rather than providing comfort.

I’m learning to listen more and respond less.

I pray God grants me the power to truly Listen,

Be Still,

And present,

whilst someone entrusts me enough to pour out their heart.

Let them feel safe enough to drop it, like they did with their guard, knowing that’ll definitely catch it.

Also, the wisdom to understand and fully comprehend the words that they’re dying to escape gripped in the cages of their mouth.

Because a shoulder to lean is so much better than a chaotic tongue; eager to fix things, rather than hold a person who’s breaking with every breath, just praying to be held together.

[Featured Image: lenception, published 08 October 2013]

Roses From Men Who Scarred You

It pains you…

You’re well aware that you’re digging yourself a grave just to fulfill something completely unrelated to this man, whom you share a bed.

Concealing a hurt you were once too young to fathom or understand.

Because at that point, all you knew was joy. Pain was just something you felt when you lost balance and fell off a bike and was never really an emotion.

All you could recall was feeling empty for a while staring at the world, as it spun and you finally catch your breath when it eclipsed with your smile.

Unaware that planetary shifts are no different from spiritual principalities and warfares, drastically shifting while you remained stationary, unable to detect the areas of your life that were constantly under attack!

And it took a while for you to see it… you began to see the patterns of the unapologetically toxic men, you could not help but attract, and they happened to look attractive and you happened to be attracted and ultimately attached.

Attached to a string of men, that literally led you nowhere, and No, they were NOT stringing you along, you were dead weight, to men who had witnessed you digging your own grave, in their presence, with presents that they used as tokens of apologies to just buy more time with you, until they got lucky.

And after the pain and sufferings, of you witnessing death in the eyes of the men, you once thought you loved, you sought peace.

And finally, it hits you,

You reach utopia,

A moment of solitude that leads to solace.

And you finally get it…

“You were never enough to make your father stay”

And that you never feel enough for the men you beg to stay.

There’s a connection.

The first is the root, and the latter, fruits that are bared.

It’s the same pain, except it was planted in your youth and it’s been growing and It has outgrown you.

The same branches that reach out to these men, push them away, equally as quickly… and it grows and it grows.

As you feed it apologies which are not meant to be said and lust to men who are not worthy; men who do not require refuge but seek it for the sake of curiosity; seeking asylum in sacred parts of your body.

A temple which was never meant to be toyed with to begin with, simply because you didn’t end it.

My solitude grows out of my clothes…

It knows no bounds

I am unable to shake hands or give hugs to those I’d love to hold.

I then create beauty in spaces which I no longer allow them to occupy,

Because my art does not derive from human interaction,

but rather the hollows they leave behind…

Quote

Emotion is not meant to feel like war

words deployed during the hardest of times, when butterflies and tongue ties wouldn’t allow me to let you know how I feel… they don’t even bother to last long enough to form a sentence.