Not Quite Soulmates

Here’s to how it should have been.
To that kiss we had once in a dream.
To that lily, white, tall and green.
To that waterfall, that set the scene.

Here’s to how it should have gone.
To my family’s hearts, you would have won.
To your sisters and I, getting along.
To the morning texts, sent at dawn.

Here’s to all the things we prayed.
To the fairytale our story made,
To the happy ending, years delayed,
To the wedding vows, we’d one day trade.

Here’s to everything we lost.
To our unknown fate, in the air tossed,
To what began when our paths crossed,
To friendship, perhaps the greatest cost

Here’s to giving up the fight.
To all those feelings that weren’t quite right,
To expectations too great a height,
To trying too hard to change our plight.

In the end, it had to be,
The way we’ve left it,
Finally.

So, here’s to you.

And here’s to me.

Here’s to letting go of we.

He Was Here

He came, and I unraveled,

My dreams no longer mine.

My mind is where he travelled,

As we lost our sense of time.

He came and learned my secrets,

My hopes, my loves, my fears,

Flowed without resistance,

From my lips into his ears.

He came, and showed me magic,

Truer than my flesh.

And in his gaze, my knees grew weak,

And my life began afresh.

He came and I was gone,

No part of me remained.

Our souls revolved as one,

And no more was left to gain.

The faintest sign of darkness,

I denied that I could see,

Holding tight to the harness,

Of all that we could be.

But fairytales aren’t factual,

And neither was this hope,

Falling apart, habitual,

Til no room was left to cope.

The earth began to tremble,

And our truth began to shake,

My sanity, turned rubble,

And I watched my own heart break.

I’d say he’s like the others,

The ones who walked away,

But in all my life of lovers,

He’s the one I said to,

“Stay”

He came and I knew love,

For the first time, what it meant,

He came, sent from above,

He came,

And then he went.

Slave

How do I begin to put it into words? If I write it on paper, that makes it real.

But I have to admit that I’ve dug myself into a hole. Far away from any feeling. A pitch black, lonely existence, where all I know is more… More. So I scratch the itch but there is no satisfaction. Only nothing. Even the guilt that once upon a time would creep into my mind, slow, deep, consuming. Even that, is an old friend, long lost and forgotten. Now all I have is need. There is no longer want. The power of choice was left behind, lost in a gambling game, between me and my vice.

But I don’t care. I don’t feel. In the beginning as I walked the green mile, and my destination became evident, the fight in me was strong. I delayed the process. I deluded myself, convinced that I was in charge, that I had control. That I could just hang around, not leave entirely, yet still remain free.

But I got lazy.

I got sad.

I got bored, hurt, lonely.

And so I found escape in my old friend. The crippling feeling of shame, defeat, worthlessness, would be dealt with later. After. But not then. Not in that moment when I was more okay than I knew how to feel on my own. And so I soared and I fell, and soared and fell, and soared and fell again. Until now all that remains of me are remnants, unrecognisable pieces of my former whole. But falling doesn’t hurt anymore. It’s like I broke the part of me that felt pain. The part that wanted to fix myself, and was aware of consequences. That human part of me, that cared. It’s gone, dented and non-functioning.

So I drown. Silently. Sinking to the bottom of an ocean that I dove into.

And I just don’t feel.

Between Us

“It’s between us,”
she said.

Her smile, reassuring.
As her hand caressed my face, and her eyes began searching.
She felt everything she could, as if taking me in,
Confirming I was real, by the feel of my skin.
Her fingers were warm, as they slipped beneath my blouse,
That’s when the faintest of whimpers escaped from my mouth,

“Shhh,”
she said.
“Everything’s okay. It’s only a game, honey. Don’t you wanna play?”

She made it clear that I was wrong for feeling like I did,
That’s not the way the game was to go, I was ruining it.
Kindly though, she showed me the ropes, and I did as I was told,
And when the game was over, her dead smile, returned gold.

“You were perfect,”
she said.
A tinge of fear in her eyes.
“But Mummy and Daddy won’t like it, if you go around telling lies.
So keep this to yourself, because no one will believe you.”

“It will be our little secret, honey, just between us two.”

Dear A,

Thanks for freaking out when I get mad,
And for wanting to punch any boy that makes me sad,
Thanks for listening, and showing that you care,
And for making it clear that you’ll always be there,
Thanks for acting like I can’t cross the street,
Your over-protectiveness, though ridiculous, is sweet,
Thanks for laughing with me and at me,
And thanks for being so damn funny,
Thanks for dragging me around on your missions,
Using me as lookout, despite my poor vision,
Thanks for being my partner in crime,
In wandering the streets and wasting time,
Thanks for forgiving the times I am absent,
For being the same as soon as I’m present,
Thanks for offering a shoulder to cry,
And thanks for promising never to lie,
Thanks for the conversations that flow with ease,
Thanks for that time when I ate those cookies,
Thanks for the birthday present that you stole,
Thanks for that t-shirt, printed gold,
Thanks for the sweatshirt you never bought,
Just, thanks for meaning a whole damn lot.

Sunflowers

They blew in the wind,
Majestic and tall,
Vibrant in hue,
Unaware of it all.
Oh, how I so longed to become one of them,
An untouched creation,
Of no interest to men.
I’d know not of the evils,
That plagued this same land,
My stem would sway calmly,
My roots in the sand.

The site of the jets,
As they cut through the sky,
Would cease to exist,
If I did not have eyes.
The roar of their engines,
I just would not hear,
Pure silence would reign,
Screaming and clear.
The smell of the smoke,
As the bombs hit the ground,
Would not make me choke,
I’d not make a sound.
The taste of my blood,
I would never know,
Just as that of my tears,
That would never flow.
To touch a dead being,
Would be simply unlikely,
And to have known them before,
Beyond my ability.

Oh, what I’d trade for the serenity abound in that field,
To simply just be,
And not have to feel.

Low Tide

The warm ocean water caught up to where my feet were in the sand as the tide came in.
She loved the moon. She always imagined it as some beautiful mystical creature that the sea was hopelessly in love with. Desperately, every day trying it’s best to call out to the sky, bulging, growing, making waves in hopes of just a moment of the moon’s attention. The moon would notice, yes, it would, but too large a distance separated them, and that was that. Two star-crossed lovers, one tirelessly striving, one silently observing, both eternally divided. A melancholy tale, really.
Looking back on that night as she retold that story, her head on my chest, and our fingers intertwined, I can’t help but think what a twisted thing life is. There we were so engulfed in our love, oblivious to our fate, as she spoke of a tragedy that would one day be our own.

Weekend

Driving home, the radio on, feelgood jams on blast
Been waiting for this, for way too long,
Free… Oh, free at last
Call everyone up, like,
What’s going on?
Who’s heading out?
Where?
Text, text, til the plan is set,
Just 5 hours for hair
Doorbell rings, girls are here!
Everybody grab a beer,
Dance, talk, makeup, stalk,
Heard he’s gonna be there…

Step in the club like, yep, we’re famous,
Got that good feeling, we run this town
Oh snap, my song!
Move out the way people,
It’s about to go down.
Greek god over there, can’t help but stare,
But hey, I’m all about giving
One wink, three drinks, two bodies in sync,
Baby… Ain’t this living?

Wake up next morning like,
I definitely don’t know you,
This was crazy, I should leave.. Right?
But, props to me, this guy’s a ten,
Even better in the day light
Walk of shame, same old game, every damn week
Nothing unique, too hoarse to speak,
All the neighbours out to get a peak
Screw y’all.
Off to sleep.

House party tonight, feeling alright,
Lost in a haze of smoke
Not sure what I’m breathing,
But I’m dancing on the ceiling..
Haha.. This stuff is dope.
White girl wasted, I’m hella cross faded,
I won’t even lie
Your jokes are too funny,
But now I’m getting dizzy,
Guess that’s it for tonight

Blacked out at home, quite the step up,
Pat on the back for that!
But what.
The.
Hell.
Is this a headache?
Did I ram a baseball bat?
I’m done. I’m done. I swear, I’m done.
I’m never going out again.

Oh, look.. A text.

Greek God from the club: “See you next weekend? ;)”

Beauty

What was near magic,
What was clearly a crown
Unashamed, untamed, the richest of brown
What sprouted with spirit off the top of her head,
Undeniably free, gorgeously spread
Appeared in her mind, a mangled mane,
Coarse and unkempt, impossible to train
Every coil an enemy, every zigzag a curse,
She was slave to a culture that ranked her curls as worst
And so she hid them, best as she could,
And instead paraded in hair that they said was “good”

What was dark, and chocolate,
Vibrant and silk,
The colour of coffee, before the milk
What was night sky and earth, at the same time,
Coated her skin, a hue so divine
But she was blind to her beauty, and so it seemed, were the rest,
In the midst of her own people, ranked second best
Living with the burden of her obvious imperfection,
She wished every moment for a paler complexion
Just a little less pigment, to make her fit in,
To set her free from the cage of her skin.

What was beautifully shaped,
Intricately crafted,
Hauntingly detailed and uniquely constructed,
Did not at all match what was termed as attractive
So he hated his thin frame, his confidence it subtracted
She couldn’t stand her waist, that was so grotesquely expanded
His short stature was a quality that no girl had ever wanted
Her breasts were too small, his teeth too slanted
His acne disgusting, her wrinkles a disadvantage
Her body too hairy, his facial hair too scanted

What was once innocence and acceptance of all,
What was once confidence and oblivion to flaws,
Was distorted and wrecked by a world so cruel,
Where comparison and judgement are the masters that rule
And so beauty exists, it’s definitely here,
But to recognise it is the part that’s unclear
When one is told daily, that a part of you must change,
You forget what it’s like to feel unashamed
It’s a pity, really, a sad reality to have been,
Part of a world where beauty is stubbornly unseen.

Her

A wildfire, she seared all she ever touched. Many were left aglow, the warmth of her personality, childlike and zealous, could endear the hardest of souls. She seemed to be everybody’s friend, the rules of cliques, groups, separation, completely unbeknownst to her. She would travel through the packs, but still managed to remain significant to all whom she encountered. Yet loving her wasn’t in vain. She had enough heart to feel for you just what you felt for her, and mean it.

Those were the lucky ones. The ones who merely experienced the warmest of glows at her presence. For, if you loved her too much, and if she loved you with her fire, it was sure to consume you both, setting ablaze the world around, and sending ashes into the sky. Rationality was extinct in the wake of the passion that ignited and anybody that touched her for just a moment too long was the enemy. She was yours, she was everything. The smoke of your infatuation clouded your senses, the universe non-existent except for the space in which you and her were one. But those were the good parts, if you could call being lost to yourself in the midst of an inferno, “good”. For she had the the power. She had the power to burn down your walls and expose the most fragile remnants of your heart, engulf them and claim them as her own. She could boil your blood with a single word or scorch your pride with an action, and she knew just how to make her flame dance so you were too entranced to leave her. If you managed to look away just long enough to think the spell was broken, gone would be the firestorm and her warmth would draw you in again. A moth to a flame.

And then it would die down, but it would never really be over. It never was, with her. And though it may have been hell, seductively disguised as heaven, the event that she was, is never truly regretted. Because she loved you too, granted, somewhat insanely. It’s just that those who play with fire, have the scars to prove it.