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Black 🌸

I am black.

I am.

I am.

I am.

I don’t want to be constantly reminded that my skin is your least favourite colour;

I carry the aftermath of that war daily.

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Nobody Asks An Art Piece Why It Is The Way It Is

I haven’t written for a very long time and I guess it’s because I’m still going through the many forms of hurt and pain and I don’t know how to express without actually hurting.

And I guess I also realised that people close to me go through my work and ask about it.

It’s uncomfortable.

I Hate it.

I write because I don’t want to talk about it.

People don’t get that.

I remember why I actually started writing,

I had a lot of heaviness, I felt neglected and heavily betrayed by the only person I knew how to love the most.

I could have been many questionable things at that point of my life,

But I turned to my notebook.

Now here I am,

With somewhat of a trembling pen just trying to get my life together again

Because living half a life isn’t worth it anymore.

I just want to be

A L I V E

This is Chapter 2 of my life.

No Good Comes From Loving A Person Who Doesn’t Love You Back…

He has a constellation of freckles on his face and you’re busying trying to figure out how your name comes into it.

The words he utters puts you out of place, yet you still try to fit yourself in all the spaces he has created.

In the mist of everything. You try teach him how to love you, because you have loved all his imperfections, he was almost nothing without you.

Now you are the one out of place,  searching for affection in a shallow space.

You patiently wait for him to break out in a poem and utter sentimental words that make you feel at home.

Because you gave him bits of you, that he didn’t even deserve, now you consume scraps of love that you wouldn’t ( on a normal basis) even accept as a reseve.

You hug him like his hugs will protect you from him. But all it really does is break you. Because, you’re not from a broken home. So there is no way his hugs will fix your childhood.

You are just a fixer, loving everything that is broken. Like pebbles and stones, you collect broken people like tokens.

Their flaws, are the things that you desire. The same things that destroy you.

You tell him you love him, and all those words do, is bounce back, and cut your heart much deeper.

And you begin to believe that he reveals his love like he does his flaws, in secret and the dark, right between the sheets where he is most vulnerable. 

So when will it stop?
When you’re too broken that you no longer love yourself?
Or when loves someone else, who evidently doesn’t love him as much as you love him?
Or perhaps when he chases the 100th skirt and actually doesn’t come back?

See, no good comes from loving a person who doesn’t love you back…

♥ Kamiz

When I Became A Man – Caleb Jones

When I became a man
I put away childish things
But before I became a man
I didn’t always fit the shoes of a King
I was a child trying to find his way
The toys I played with kept my eyes occupied
And left my eyes in a lustful boyish frenzy
My playmates had long legs, short skirts and soft skin
They cared enough to lie down and wallow with me often
Jezebel turned out to be my very best friend
I’d look in her eyes before ever seeing the sunrise
Every time I paid her a visit and slept in

Before I became a man
I saw how God made Adam from dust
So likewise I tried to make love out of lust
I didn’t know any better
I was taught by example
“Let your mouth spit game, but never let your heart say much, ”
I treated his daughters like beauty pageant contestants
There would be zero return on their investments
Proverbs 31 was never a criterion for my selection
Keep in mind this was before I became a man

Before I became a man
I would unlock my curse and throw away the key
I allowed anger to set up a construction company inside
Bitterness never rested
It left no time wasted
Whether Father loved me or not
All I could regurgitate was hatred
I became allergic to showing any form of compassion

Before I became a man
I was much shorter
Not just in height but in spiritual insight
Because I never had a picture
Nor did Pixar ever have a film
Showing me what God’s man really looked like

But when I became man
Oh, When I became a man
I learned how to love Father God right back
Even though I’m good at falling short of the glory
I reflect on my story
Through my praise I’ll self publish a testimony

When I became a man
I learned how to cry
Because I’m not ashamed of my tears
Since I became a man
I’m not longer afraid of the dark
I’ll wrap my hands around James 5: 16
Confess, Pray, and Heal my Heart

I have discovered something
That there are medicinal qualities
Right down the corridor of introspection
When I became a man
I learned how to love her
My Esther, My Ruth
I learned how to honor her like she was Jesus’ mother
Because one day she’ll be pregnant
With the seed that will transport my legacy
So that my God and my name will both have longevity
Even after they bury me

I could not love her before
Because I was not able
My insecurities and my perfectionism had me
Looking in on the next best player
That was checking in at the scorer’s table
How could I possibly be her covering?
When I was an umbrella with holes in it
But I learned to love her like I ought to
Because I want Him to be my Father and my Father-in-law
Since that’s his daughter

When I became a man
I learned to love my brother
I’ll share my heart, my hug and my hallelujah
Because a hug and a hallelujah without my heart
Leaves room for his spirit to respond with “I never knew you”
I became a man so that when he became a man
He would know a man
Who picked up the gospel and put the toys away

When I became a man

Words…

image

I wish I could live off more meaningful things.

I wish my poetry could keep me warm at night.

I wish I didn’t need people like I usually do.

It would be so great if metaphors talked back,

Or similies could hold deep conversations

During midnight hours,

Till 4am,

When my mind finally agrees to rest.

If words had a chest,

I would lay my head on it,

And use it as a place where I can rest my insecurities.

If I could cry on Word’s broad shoulders…

I would cry away the pain that love has caused me,

I would cry until my heart spills out and lands up on its sleeve.

I wouldn’t have to worry about unanswered calls or unread texts,

Because,

Becacuse words truly speak to me.

I know, even when I don’t write in a long time,

My loyalty will never have to be questioned.

Because my love for Words is deeper than human relations,

I have a supernatural connection.

Even in sickness,

I would be restored to life,

Because even when Words aren’t around,

Their presence resignates deeply in me,

That I feel them inside.

♥ Kamiz