Dead Love IV

African Woan

She was only married for 5 years,
but she lived with the man
till the day of her death.
First, he was the love of her life,
then he became her man,
then he became her husband,
then he became the father of her children,
then he became the man,
till he was simply a man,
a man that she lived with,
that she had sex with,
that she fed,
that she washed clothes for,
that she went to events with.
A man, and nothing more.

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Death V: Death is a Caring Snob

jimoh-buraimoh-meeting-of-elders

Painted by Jimoh Buraimoh

Death is such a selective listener.
It heard you groan and cry in pain,
and it came over to take you away.
It chose to not hear my pleading,
my wails for it to let you stay,
as I asked God to grant you healing.

Lover and Life

I can’t say you were
the love of my life;
it doesn’t make any sense.
If you were,
even if you left,
I’d still have a life.

Now I have no love.
Now I have no life.

Hurt Water

Pain comes,
pain goes,
but sad memories are permanently injected into you
as you experience these woes;
your hurt-water still flows

More to the Land than You Sea

The happy people are sad;
the sane people are running mad.
The rich people are poor;
we all need more than just more.
There is more to everything than you see;
there is more to every land than we can sea.

Who are Your Friends?

If they love to cry with you,
but find it hard to laugh with you,
but laugh at you,
they aren’t your friends.

If they love to laugh with you,
but find it hard to cry with you,
or wipe your tears,
they aren’t your friends.

If they love to cry and laugh with you,
but find it hard to be neutral with you,
to calm your fears,
and are only present when
there is a sad or happy extreme,
they are not really your friends.

Regrets

When life serves me a plate
or two of happiness,
the me that was, yesterday,
the me that made all those mistakes,
possesses this new me and spits on my plate,
rendering it untouchable and useless.

How do I kill myself without dying?
How do I shoot a part of myself
without getting hurt,
without being in even more pain
than my past causes me every bloody time,
every single time I try to breathe?

How do I kill the me that
made all those mistakes,
the me that drags me into a pool of her
own blood each time she stabs herself?
How do I kill all these bad memories?

If I could kill that me,
I would.
I would blow her heart the fuck out
and keep her brain,
her brains,
all of the extra ones she got
by the time it got too late.
I would shoot her again and again
till my wrists ached,
till everything ached,
till everything healed
and I found relief and peace again,
but I can’t.

I hate them I’m already resting, but in imperfect peace.

I hate that I am resting in pieces.


FIND PEACE & HEALING:

Life will break and kill you
without taking your life;
so, rest in pieces,
but find that important piece of yourself again,
even when it’s hard to put yourself together.
Find peace when all is said and done;
life is full of chances,
seek another.

We die everyday to live.

Tears

Tears are filtered blood from our hearts,
made clear they can flow easily;
our hearts bleed through our eyes.

Let some tears dry on their own;
they won’t hurt your cheeks.
Let them run through
to create a path on your face,
and in the forest of your thoughts.

I Ran to the Water

Seated-Nude-8-oil-on-paper-

“Seated Nude” by Michael Escoffery

I said something “wrong” to him,
and he destroyed the bridge that led to me.
My chances of seeing him again were slim,
so I ran to Iya*, I ran to the sea.

Iya saw me crying by the bank,
and I explained all that I could to her.
I spoke till my spirit, voice and strength sank,
and she stated that we had both gone too far.

She wiped and erased my tears and fears;
she put honey in my mouth and put me to sleep.
The sounds of frogs and fishes filled my ears,
and when I woke up, the last thing I wanted to do was weep.

*Iya: Mother

Heal: You Are Beautiful

Were there terrible men and women in your lives,
relatives or non-relatives, at any point,
who found it pleasing to compare your beauty to someone else’s, 
in order to get to you and make you think less of yourself
or get you to agree to whatever perversion they wanted to try with you.

“You are fine but not as fine as your mother; why are you feeling yourself?
Remove your skirt, let me see your legs” and such.

I bring you healing. You are beautiful, and I’m not just trying to patronize you. Don’t ever let anyone determine what you think of yourself.