heART

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The Art of Stephen Hamilton

When our hearts get broken,
when our souls get injured,
when our very beings get tampered with,
our eyes shed water in sympathy,
and art becomes the tears
that our hearts profusely bleed.

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“Again” is a Gain

The harder you fall,
the more severe your injuries
would be when you land.
Falling is nice,
falling is like flying, and flying is nice,
but landing is quite tough,
especially when the landing is rough.

My heart’s broken into many pieces,
but I’ll hand it over to the new man to mend.
Although I’m weak and tired,
I’ll go up love’s hill again with my new beloved,
not just to fall in love once more,
but to rise again.

Letting Go, Letting Grow

Love proves to you,
and quite painfully,
that letting go is not always
a lot easier than holding on.
The former requires all the
strength you can give;
you give everything you’ve got to let go.
You lose the things you once held dear,
you loose yourself,
and you lose your old self.
It’s like death, and death is scary,
but resurrection is beautiful.
Go through the pain
and resurrect beautifully;
it’d be a shame to die and stay dead.

You are the One

Her hair is laid,
her nails, made,
she wants to go out
to find love today.
She’s pacing, she’s running,
but she’s sitting in front of her mirror.
She’s going to look for ‘the one’,
anywhere and anyhow necessary,
but she won’t find him.

She has been running from herself;
she has been looking for herself.
She’s the one;
she’s the only one,
and the love she so desperately
seeks must come from her heart.
No man’s love will satisfy her for long;
it will only last for a while,
but she won’t admit that.

She wants someone else to breathe for her;
she doesn’t know how to breathe on her own.
She wants someone else to live with her;
she doesn’t know how to live on her own.
She is alive in appearance,
and that body could bring a
dead man back to life,
but she is dying.
Her heart is very weak,
and her soul has been crying.
If you don’t love yourself,
why would you expect someone else to?

 

As Spoilt as Love

Love is like a spoilt child.
Even when there are similar thousands
that could serve as replacements,
it insists on who it wants.

Love is such a spoilt child.
Even if it can be cuddled
by similar thousands,
it insists on who it wants.

Love and Pride

She always went back to plead
every time they fought,
whether or not she was in the wrong,
because she had swallowed her pride
alongside his semen a while before;
her self-esteem was wounded,
at the very core.

He didn’t want to be with her;
but he didn’t want to lose her.
Thoughts of her filled him with pleasure
when she was far away,
and with disgust each time
she came back to stay.
There’s only so much one’s pride can take;
my people often say “one day na one day”.

If Love and Pride could have sex,
she [Love] would always like to stay on top.
Pride would obviously be
more sexually active;
Love won’t be in control for long.

They fought again;
they were both in the wrong.
He waited for her return,
but she’s wasn’t going back anymore.
She had coughed out her senses;
she had rescued her drowning pride.
Now he huffs and puffs because
he wants his stray bitch back,
but “again” is a gain,
and this time, as always, it’d be whose again?

 

Image result for the devil card                                                                        Image result for the eight of cups card

Discharged and Unrequited

You let me listen to your heartbeat,
but I didn’t hear my name.
You don’t like to listen to mine
because you know it’s not the same.
I have fallen for you,
but how can you rescue me

if you keep pretending I’m not here?
I daydream about us two, 
but how can these things come
to pass if you don’t draw me near?

Why do you call me ” my dear”?
Why do you even dare?
You make me believe our destination is near,
on this smooth path that leads nowhere.
Why do you look into my eyes?
And ask for more of my rice?
Why do you bend the knee if you
have no desire to make me your queen?

Why do you make me come
if you don’t want me to stay?
Why did you build me this home
in order to send me away?
My nipples get hard when I think of you;
you should have left me dead
if I’m not the one you want to wed.
I don’t know what to do;
how do I just let you go
if “us” grew long ago?

Why do you make me come
if you don’t want me to stay?
Why did you build me this home
in order to send me away?
I daydreamed a lot about us two;
you should have left me dead
if I’m not the one you want to wed.
I don’t know what to do;
how do I just let you go
if “us” grew long ago?

The Present is the Past

“The present will not last,”
but what about the past?
The past never disappears at all,
let alone, really fast.
The present will last for a second;
but choose it wisely if you can-
what you do and where you stand,
the boats you leg with your hand.
Be mindful of the things you plan;
“the past” is what you began.
The present will end and last forever,
as soon as it becomes your past.

The Irony

No pain, no gain; more gain, more pain.

No Wings for Our Lost Legs

Where do you run to when
your legs have been cut off?
What do you run to when
you can’t run anymore?
Who do you run to when
you’re highly desperate for legs?

When your hands have been cut off
and your mouth has been sewn shut,
nobody knows the things you don’t say;
the words won’t come nor stay.

Life doesn’t show us how to fly
when we lose our legs.
It teaches us that it’s okay to cry.
It teaches us how to walk without legs.