Everyday People

I see everyday with my own very eyes, everyday people living everyday lives.

Everyday people is that poor lonely soul who is smack dab in the middle of the crowd but has never belonged, never been owned. and that one person who will sadly never know what it feels like to have peace inside even when they're alone.

The one who tries too hard, laughs too loud, and goes to bed, cries without a sound at night. The one who wants all of their life to be a part of the 'in' crowd, so they wear what they wear, talk how they talk, and lose their personality inside the society box, locked.

Everyday people is that girl struggling with a pregnancy scare. She wakes each morning and asks herself if she'd be able to find the courage to keep it there, at the same time she cannot face the disappointment in her parents' eyes if they were to hear. So she cries and she cries, she prays till sunrise, but she feels like God has turned his eyes so that one morning she wakes up, and she decides.

She calls the guy, he brings the pill. She says, she can't, but he says baby you've got to, and so she will. Two tablets, a few hours, now she's feeling ill. 

She watches her life flow between her thighs, love is life, but she didn't have enough love, she holds on to God while she dies.

Everyday people is the 'straight A' student with the weed addiction. Afflicted by the need for the herb, never mind that he's gifted- he's got too much on his mind, he's just trying to get high and get lifted, as soon as this examination is over, he swears he'd quit this. But this becomes the next examination, and then he's saying that at graduation, now he's justifying his situation like "mehn unemployment is a b*tch."

His parents are not exactly poor, but well, they've never really been rich- his mother's asking questions like "Nana why are you doing this??!"

He goes to church, he calls to God, but all he hears is 'roll a blunt.' He's getting high, he's searching for right, he's going to try to find the light.

He found the light, well, that's what his note said when they found him hanging by the light bulb- dead.

Everyday people is the woman having an affair. Her husband was 'playing' with the maid, now her son is 'playing' with her. And she's been struggling with the guilt every single night- she's a black African mother, this is white people sh*t, this isn't right! 

So she tries to have a talk with her baby, but her baby doesn't understand. "But I love you, mommy?" "I love you too my baby; my man." They shed a few tears, then they shed a few clothes, then they shed a few pounds, and after a while they begin to breathe slow...

There was a road not taken, but she chose the way she'd go, and as they sat to have the meal, she decided her son would follow.

There's two graves in the backyard now, her husband cries each day, cursing the God that took his wife and only child away.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that over time I've come to realise that everyday people save lives, and everyday people take bribes. Everyday people is everyone trying to make some sense out of life. 

Most everyday people are going to miss the point, because they're trying too hard to live the life a flawed society is pointing out as "THE WAY." So most of you everyday people are going to lose your true selves in an attempt not to stray.

But you're probably going to say "Come on, who are these everyday people anyway?" But you never have to look too far to see the truth. Because everyday people, exists right beside and inside you.

Mary Jane

Im sorry, I couldnt finish this, lost the train of thought or Im not too sure how it should end...feedback is still appreciated though.


Ive been meaning to put this up for some time now. I dunno, I guess Ive been a little concerned as to how some of my audience may react to this- im not a preacher or a doctor, and i sure aint no activist. Im just a girl trying to explain how i came to know another 'girl' , lets call her mary jane.

See the prospect of her seduced me right from infancy. As a growing person the idea of immersing myself in her flavours and vapours were the substance of my subconscious fantasy. And as I grew I knew the amount of social stigma attached to those who blew her blue-gray fumes so I convinced myself to focus my desires on things higher- people relations and school.

But after a while people stopped being worth relating to and the things I thought I knew turned out to be 80 percent untrue so the higher things I was aiming to, turned out to be the reasons I would turn to the one thing I had tried to factor out and reason, the one thing I had chosen to disbelieve in.

Because the good people died, the true people lied, the nice people either forgot I existed or stomped on my pride. God became abstract, the books- fuck that. My mind turned against me, my friends seemed to hate me...and she was always there, watching, waiting patiently.

I remember the first time we kissed. Her flavour in my mouth, filling my brain, Id never forget this. sitting in that dark corner with just me and my love, I met her alone because I was too selfish to let others enjoy what we'd have. Also I was scared, because behind the tough girl act was a little child who was so unprepared to take this first step to a lengthy commitment. Who barely had what it takes to develop such an involvement.

That first hit was not enough, loving her took time. I had to dedicate emotion and effort into finding her nuances, her little delicacies. absorbing her essence until i BECAME her intricacies. and I thought I had control of the relationship, I was the man. Id decide when we met, how long we'd stay together. But like every relationship propinquity developed into a necessity, and it didnt take long before she started controlling me. My weekend fling had started looking like a forever.

And we had our fights, some days i didnt want to intercourse because i knew fornication isnt right, but she would stand behind my mind with no clothes on and emanate her perfume until my brain was clouded with the smell of her and i had to make it a physical reality, and in the recesses of my mind i still didnt realise she was controlling me.

our relationship was bipolar, how she took me high and brought me so damn low and get me hot, solar. and i could float and orbit around planets, she was my plane, my rocket, my hammock. she put that smile on my face that no one else could erase, and i began to yearn to close my day so i could see her face.

Mary Jane.

the sound of her name, i supported her causes, invested in her charities. I knew all of her sources, she never had to find me. slowly but surely, she began to define me, my thoughts, my actions, it was like she had the blueprint of design 'me'.

Mary Jane.

I tried to get away, she convinced me to stay. never a demanding lover, but her opinions held sway over my decisions. Slowly real life began to look a lot more like fiction, first a comforter, then a friend, and then an addiction




Id like to explicitly state that all my works are works of fiction, and have no correlation with any person, either living or dead. Any such resemblance or similarity is a matter of coincidence.
Thank you