Corrupted Poetry: Love Letter (I Want)


I want to tell you
free of nostalgia, your cliches
taming the untameable
free of judgment, your expectations
how it is possible
I want to confide
my unaltered emotions ones running wild
running around making my head spin way
out of my usual realm
I wish to scream
so loud the world hears
how much I have caged things
you need to know before you go to sleep
and dream, this way you will truly know
what it is you have
I want to tell you
without running my tongue
too fast in my native tongue
how much far I can dig to the
oldest of my developed feelings,
where they are rooted
living inside of me as royalty
how much value this feelings
have groomed me into guarded shell of rarer art
I want to confess
maybe not to a figure of holy superiority
but God of love himself
I want to confess
in lack of words but a tool
a tool you will never forget
A tool that can possibly be your mirror
for when you look at it as often as you wish
you glance into the life you and I will always have
in different days
for when you look at it
whenever you think no one is
holding your hand through any guides
destiny thought were yours alone you see
the tight hold between our fingers, on going
consuming kiss and togetherness
travelling from our miscoloured vows
following a path to our hearts.
I will paint it
on the surface you hold precious
the sky in daylight using clouds, a
house on the hill white, your daughter
and your son looking at their mother, who
brightened by the blue glowing of happiness;
the sky in the night, using stars and the moon
jewels you collected as mementos of
“I don’t want to forget.”
I will paint it
on the surface you hold precious
the ocean when the storm is brewing
as your anguish at the emptiness you endure
when you are taken away from me and I the only
pirate to ride the hurricane to the heart of yours
emotion, with reassurance ours is beyond forever, even
your eternal enemy death can never take me away.
the ocean when it is settled,
the first time your eyes saw me painted
as a longing soul and you had seen was an innocent
lost in the thong of nothingness covering herself with
longing whilst inside her beautiful soul wanted an island
land on.
I want to tell you
without the eavesdrop of this world you owe everything
without the lingering of our past loves and their fouls
without any thought that might impress
doubt so deeply inside that what I will say
will only pass as just another and not as the other.
I want to tell you
perhaps I will the day you are standing a feet away
and you are not stoic, entitled
when your eyes have finally settled on a colour I
personally find trusting to conjure my shy lips
to speak as they wish and however long they wish
And when I do tell you
how much I have smiled seeing
you glamoured from afar
how much I have cried thinking
I would never get even an inkling
of what you gave your anothers, you
will blink once, or perhaps twice and let
a tear fall since you grasped the weight of
what I told in choke;
and how much it has been with care
it will give you not only satisfaction
you will be whole, more than satisfaction

Corrupted Poetry: Intimacy


I have dreams
wide awake
sitting in a lawn
painted white
my wits wrapped
in ribbons I bought
for your return
for I know your
taste in life
The images you
wish to see before
climbing off your
high horse that’s
reared you to my
calling, I can see
your wonder from
my scrapping chair
I feel your horniness
from my stoic stance
embracing for euphoria
clamp my legs and
tremble madly, your
company I see , the
last time you had
me by the door
your moans louder
than your goodbyes
taunted an awaken
beast with a whimper
only I can tame. And
perhaps your cut hair
shares your longing
your honeyed eyes
asks for mercy
my legs wonder too
but it is a dream
I tease
open my eyes…

Corrupted Poetry: A Place Called Home


Along the road, on the sidewalks. Red road filled with rocks
maybe my feet wouldn’t have felt daggers shooting up had I worn
shoes that were brand new. I’m stranded, somewhat lost
Its a long walk home.

I’ve yet to get there, get a sense of direction
I’ve yet to know where I’m going, how long I’ve been traveling
and things I’ve done, what I know
I’ve yet to long for warmth, smell of fresh brewed coffee
the girls giggles, and a happy man calling me honey. His hands on my
waist, asking for his morning kiss, contentment; his briefcase on the
counter and I love you in the air.

My mind wonder perhaps I’m there, in my head I’ve reached that place
that place I long to make my own, the boys fighting over toys
that place glistering with memories, a happy yellow glow, pictures
plastered on the wall, past Christmases, their first steps, their cries,
that place surrounded by trees, hiding a river misery drowned

Its a placeĀ I once knew, mother created before her passing
and father’s mourning leaving a cloud that chased me away
Its a place I grew up in before she met a beggar needing help
and my brother painted the gruesome tragedy, I ran away.
Its a place I’ve been, still trying to cling to those memories,
guidelines for when my times come, I’ll be ready.

In my head I’m there, in my head I see, feel how it will be.
Maybe if I put one foot in front the other even when these rocks
dig in, I’ll reach that place, find my first love waiting on his
knees with the ring we picked when we were still pure of any
dangers and maybe if I close my eyes tight enough, wings I dreamt of
so often will come to life, fly me across the moon and land me on
top of the roof, the boy I’ve always known grown into a man I don’t
know holding my picture.

Corrupted Poetry: Muse


Some days, loving you from afar
My far, countries away
My chest constrict, the little box squashed
by the mail’s man bicycle. The air sucked out
of my chest, hollow bones met their heads in way
to let me breathe in, not knowing my suffocation
when I hurt, mellow from longing. I cry, alone on a
sinking bed, the one gave me cramps, pain and my
pimples aching from the scratching they suffered.
I see it, false hope and in my head I admit it is
false but naivety, still believing Cinderella
lived a happy life, paid out at the end. I
hurt, you don’t know perhaps you do
but I hurt, I hear you when I have
my headphones on trying to block out the cold
in my stomach, massacred the butterfly ceremony
I’d let free for the night, your song plays on nonchalantly.
Its your voice, on top of my hurt its your song lighting up my
face with crack of fireworks as my smile, leaving a bitter taste my
tear. Reminds me book I read, claimed romance exist, books I read,
said persons are meant to be, even you, another world away in
the arms of a woman another world calls your person, even
you, declarations siphoned inside the melody played by
a piano I imagine made you silent, I hope you’re mine.
And perhaps tomorrow will smile on me, my voice
in these poems I write to you whenever I think
I’m fading away, whenever I see another mark added to the
wealth pushing you away, beyond my reach, I never saw myself
riched beyond my wits. I hope, I hope you stumble upon one unprepared
hear my voice, the one hoarse from talking too loud on paper, talking without
being heard, I hope, I hope you see Malachi was a meaning I conjured on the back
of our lives for when I die before my eyes meet yours, you wouldn’t go through unsettled
reality supported by what ifs and if you’re not my person, you wouldn’t go the wondering
of what ifs. I hope I love you in my disoriented thoughts will somehow confess my
whole life story, beginnings of a tale I thought was my own to discover, there
was a man born century earlier on my birthday, birth month, had the same
tragic beauty, only I hope, I hope ours end with a kiss sending my soul
to a place I’ll walk on clouds, draw hearts in the air to send to the
ones I left behind feeling love in the air. And I love you, you’d
know when you hear my voice in the depths of your thoughts, chambers
that wanted to bury what you ought to remember as I remembered you.
You will know I was awake at night, in the cold winter of Africa, my tin cup
next to my pillow, my left hand on my lips, and my right hand conversing this
love I have, loving you from afar, it was still my realness. It was my open truth, declared
my craziness to No One hoping, still hoping, you will see; hear my softer voice
that only wanted to hear your rougher one, wanting to feel the tip of its
finger shyly reaching out. I wish for braveness to write your name
in the piece of paper tempting my temper, rousing my sadness
inducing my craving because I see you, my eyes closed you are there
and this paper, filled of words I would like to hear. It teases me, a starved
woman who loved a man blinded by women in front of him he never looked far
back, to the one in the corner, biting her nails, the one that stole glances behind her
low confidence, hid behind curtain of her fake hair, colour of her skin to ever matter.
This paper, teases me, had I been brave I would light it with a match, its punishment
for watering my mouth but that match, that match is saved for the time coming
when I’ll burn the memories I locked away. So now, I’ll only write to No
One, about my love from afar, and countries afar, to the one I looked
at twice, built a fountain of feelings, I hope he will hear.

At the end, My Diary 4


I want to die
body buried
without the painted box
soil and the earth
receive what I never gave

I want to die
before my soul flies away
burn my sins to ashes
way to a special hell
I’d never used His temple
abiding to rules

I want to die
my generation do not comprehend
I hear what nobody do
and cannot seat without squirming
when I’m still
belong to nothingness

The way I die
killed perhaps by grieve
inherited from my foremothers
tormented perhaps by memories
a road too rough to walk again
a life too meaningless to live again
I bought with my soul
I want to die

I want to die
hands of a rope
tangled names that weren’t mine
flow away from the filth
camouflaged modern beauty
slip away from my beautiful brown skin
their whispers marked different
before I’d tortured myself

When I was young
I drew a horse with wings
And prayed it’ll take me away
I want to die
meet my childhood friend

Journey To Inner Peace


Travelled far alone
seated next a man silver headed, he’d glance up once a while
his breath stank of vapor, maybe the foul of his gaze
me there, stone cold and waiting…
bated breath
then his mouth sweetened with his smile
called me daughter, we’d somewhat connected

It was my journey to society
made my clothes from my mother’s older ones
to have her with me when I met rejection for the first time
and I believed in ghost, I would turn ask her opinion
hippies, free spirits encouraged me. This other girl my age
red mane on her fat round head, freckled nose, unreal violet eyes
thinned lips almost absent frowned
said “I suppose its being black.” she’d heard offenses work

Growing up with uncles
they forgot manners are taught, the impulse; I faught it
she meant well and somewhere far back I knew
she’d opted tougher loving method only I was lost with temper
I saw insult, defended. My mind fried there
reality was gruesome, though I knew little of her
she’s missed immensely

End of the journey
after tress, mountains, water passed, nothing of interest to note
What I’d done merging with what I hadn’t done
my mother was there maybe resurfacing for goodbye’s
maybe to say sorry you raised yourself and I lied about money she didn’t speak I’m weak never said otherwise only that I could be better
her presence, she was freeing me off chains I’d wanted out
letting me be to receive my life’s purpose, I thought I’d follow her
but she’d been what precisely?
I look back I can’t remember

At the end, My diary 3


Listen to me, and listen carefully

I was a mother
maybe not so good a mother
I loved my time
maybe too much, ended up alone
there was a man
but he didn’t know me
there was a life
a life I’d rather not think of

I wanted many things
one having friends, I didn’t
I thought I knew things
turned out they were only painful
that family in a castle
a wish that tormented my mind
that love everyone want
him, he had many women on his corner

I cried alone
life caught me dangling one night
I drank alone
my son sitting close by
maybe I’m sorry
I don’t remember ever saying it
maybe I want to sleep peaceful
his cries, her cries, their worries were mine

At the end, I too hurt