Blisters

Cut out on my feet –
cigarette burn rounds–
from city streets
that used to greet me
with imitation fireflies
and flights of fancy –
dizzying and glorious.
Now cracking and porous
my heels no longer
enough to support
–me –

Lo, lost, in this city
I knew –
So well –
It’s a hell

from the second you left
familiar became terror
and all I could want
is to escape –
walk away searing
in the heat –
I burn my feet
on the streets
that used to love me.

Absence

I strip inconsequentially,
hiding myself in insomnia midnight.
Your eyes aren’t here to see me.
My body’s outline
isn’t traced by your fingers,
it’s met by a queen sized bed
and cheap linens that drape
like disappointment.

Dreams of you.
Perhaps the consequence
of your disappearance,
fleeting and wonderful,
the morning light
will open my eyes
only for disoriented dust motes
and silence.

America is my Daddy

America, old and erected
pierces the skies
over New York.
From his towers
he cries out orders
and sets the standards
for ruling suburbia.
He gives me the dollar
for new toys from China
and stamped on my forehead
is where I’m from
and I’m not his son.
I’m not his favourite,
he turns his back
while I eat cold soup
from a Campbell’s can.
I try to talk to him,
my voice is squashed
under the darkness of Africa.
I reach out to America,
because he has stardom,
golden gods and goddesses
of the silver screen.
I breathe in his smoke
when he grabs his lover’s ass
before he leaves
for his work in the machine.

Daddy don’t leave me,
Daddy listen to me.

He came, he conquered,
he fathered the world.
Master of the house,
his house of whiteness
and discipline and order.
He likes it in missionary,
His missionaries invade
and take gold, diamonds and gods
for his mistress.
He thought I never saw,
distracting me with new toys
and things that sparkle
like Hollywood’s stars.
Those new age storytellers
liars and tricksters, his fools.
My Daddy is cheap,
I heard he steals
and bullies
I heard he doesn’t love me
and he never will.

 

 

Fallen God

He lives in my mind
in a very strange place,
a sacred space,
that I first desecrated.
Where I got on my knees
and worshipped,
screamed to gods,
bloody heart on altar.
Now he’s free, far away.
Ganymede in zenith
immortalised, cold stars.
Ancient Greece
in the present day.
Please, don’t let them in
to take your treasures.
They’re shooting-tourists,
don’t know you
like I think I do.
Maybe you’re fantasy,
a myth to me,
a collapsed colossus.
In slavery I built,
whipped and chained,
that never happened.
You’re ruined now,
in ruins laid down,
so they prey on you
where I once prayed.

Wonderer, Wanderer, Icarus

I will not be bound
by blood, cum or spit.
I will not be kept
by unkempt linen on a bed,
or passion-thrown to a floor,
by light-filtered cigarette smoke.
By knotted umbilical cords,
and strained Christmas dinners.
Untie garden hose and fly,
from nest, from home
when I know my wings
haven’t quite yet grown.
Call me not Icarus
if branches break and
my branches have broken.
I’ll be bound by will
not water that leaks,
or tries to drown,
into this sinking ship.
I’ll jump, I’ll fly.

I feel so full, and so does my soul

I love days like this. Days when you decide to have late afternoon tea with some of your closest friends. The whole scene is spun like dreamy cotton candy, it’s so sweet and nice. You’re laughing, and not, but even when you aren’t you just feel so good.  You can’t help but wonder whether you’re just about to wake up, stretch and say to yourself, “ah, what a nice dream”. Instead you’re stretching out on your bed, feeling full, feeling satisfied and in more ways than just physically.

I really needed this after the week I’ve had, tests are coming, assignments are being given, and even a relationship that’s just hit the road has it’s bumps. Yesterday J (which is what I’ll call him here) and I had quite an intense conversation. We had spent most of the day together and it was great, I was in such a good mood. I sat on a bench with him and asked if he’d like to be a couple, as it was coming from my mouth I already regretted it. It was way too soon, his answer confirmed it, “I’ll think about it.” I looked into his dark brown eyes, which usually made me smile, that had seemed so warm to me, suddenly had caused this sinking feeling. We walked away in silence.

Later that night we spoke over the phone, it was very emotional and it’s the kind of gritty details that I don’t want to recount openly. We came to realise that we just need to slow down, calm down, and go back to being playful and light-hearted. I put my fat pants on and decided to spoil myself, the ice cream came out the freezer and the kettle was put on, I was going to eat my feelings and not give a damn.

Today the air was cleared. It was like a sudden summer rain had just broken and drenched me, but all that was left was the electric in the air, warmth and that great smell of wet earth that holds potential of growth. Today I just basked in that wet warmth and the electric afterglow.  Stuffed myself with the dropping of walls in a relationship, relished the great company of friends, savoured being with myself. Of course there’s also the bread, cakes, coffee and ice cream. For the first time in a while I just feel so satisfied.

Robbery

I’m sorry if this post is a little soppy, it’s about a relationship I was in last year that really got to me. This is me trying to take all of that and turn it into something. It become a sort of narrative poem. somewhere between a blog-post, a short story and a poem.

I swear he was standing there, moving with the bass of some club song. In between the smoke, flashes, lights, I was caught by him. There was something about him, I turned to a friend and called that boy beautiful, because he wasn’t like the others.

He slid his arm over me in the bed, pulling me closer. Maybe it was a cold night, maybe he’d been waiting to do that for a while. Turning around my heart was so fast, unbearably quick… You know I haven’t felt that since. Quickening as our lips crossed a chasm of possibility into something that was exquisite.

I remember how he trembled in the car, parked in a strange place, because he had to ask me something. His words stumbled and cracked, he wanted me, I agreed. We tumbled into an avalanche of memories that seemed so picturesque.

It was a good story, a journey. The places we went, clear oceans crashing against rocks, faces lit in the flickers of candle light, whispered nights next to each other as we secretly held hands. How did I not realise it was a dream? That I was just enraptured in some scenic story.

Scratched out roughly all of a sudden, as if the ideas had dried up, they had hit a wall,  Chaos, darkness, trouble. He fades out like a spectre, like some fantasy I dreamt up, some fiction I wrote while the real him wasn’t there… The words were being read back and they didn’t make sense. It wasn’t beautiful any more.

It was as if the love was being sucked out in reverse, the places went cold, the faces were strange and the boy was faded. Back in the car… This time I’m the one trembling. More than that, I’m cracking, breaking. Staring back at me is someone who looks just like him, except this boy doesn’t love me.

When I look at you now I don’t see that boy, you’re not him. He’s gone, transitioned from this world and now his big eyes, the way he smiled after a kiss, his embrace exist only in bitter-sweet memories…

A memory. Lying with you in the soft morning light, smiling, kissing, the world doesn’t matter. A flash, all I have is a picture of me, framed by ethereal morning glow, smiling at a boy that doesn’t exist.