Morning After

This is uncomfortably akward. Not like theres any comfortable akwardness, but still...
Im not very good in tense situations. I feel like i need to say something. And i dont. So most of the time, i end up saying stuff that aggravates the situation. Waayyy aggravates.
I cant shut up about this. Ive got to say something.
Now hes uncomfortable as well.
Yeah run away. Like you did at 5 this morning. Like you keep doing.
We have to talk about this. I dont want to fight with you.
I dont want to lose your friendship.

I mean, i wont die, but it wont be fun either.
I suspect maybe I... 
Damn.
Love is a pretty strong word.

I dont want to rush this. Its too soon to rule out the possibility of a rebound reaction. I just have to be sure.

I have to be sure.

Last night.
Last night was not the first time last night happened, if you get what i mean.
And i wasnt exactly surprised. I was kinda expecting it.

Maybe I wanted it.

Maybe.

But somebody had to be sensible. And for once in my life, i did the sensible thing. For once.

It didnt come easy.

What, you think I was asleep??!
For a smart guy you can be awfully dense.

Awfully.

I dont want to do this under these circumstances. Because we both know how this is going to play out.
I leave here after we 'do something fun', like im going to see you again and we both know thats a lot of bullshit because we wont be able to stand each other.
We wouldnt be able to stand ourselves.

Youre not someone Id want to lose over a night. No.

What you are.
You are someone id like to do everything right with. For once in my life. Everything right, every correct process.
Every one of them. Over and over again.

Its not quite as scary anymore.

Now Im being melodramatic, so Ill just stop.
I hope you read this...

Loving You

Loving you is the physical expression of the feeling of eating banku and tilapia. With pepper. Red and green, you see, because sometimes youre stop, and sometimes youre go, and sometimes youre inbetween, colour yellow.

Loving you is the equivalent of listening to jazz. Kenny G on the sax. +233, you see because sometimes youre women of colour all wrapped up in one, and sometimes youre smooth, and sometimes youre rough. Like peanut butter. Extra salty.
That special flavour that is you, my love, sometimes youre white and some times youre blue.

The sea.

Sometimes you shout and rant angrily and sometimes your waves pound me. Literally. And you get me all wet.
Then you turn around and then you calm me.

Calm me but first make me scream and i try to escape but baby youve trapped me.

Loving you is crazy. Crazy my love, how i spend my time on something that will never be completely mine. Like a presidency. Loving you will be the death of me.

But baby kill me. Like you always do when I call out your name countless times before youre through...

Im loving you.

Inside Beauty

Beautiful one, who scarred you so? Who made you so bitter, 
so cold? 
Which twist of fate so perverted your taste, which cruel taskmaster stole your elemental warm heartmatter?
Beautiful one, who scarred you so?

 
Beautiful one, what hurt you so? What marred such delicacy, what rusted 
such gold? 
What form of pain caused such a loss, what possible name could fashion such a cross?
Beautiful one, what hurt you so?

 
Beautiful one, where did your smile go? On which sabbatical did you send 
your glow? 
From where do these tears flow? From where does such baggage grow?
Beautiful one, where did your smile go?

 
Beautiful one, where is your home? Where are those who care to share 
these loads? 
Which road do you take, which path do you beat? Where is the place where you joyfully take your seat?

 
Beautiful one, where is your home?

Perfection

perfection

the silent ones scream

the living cry..

the imperfect dream

and thoughts,like birds

fly.



perfection



the good hide

the good lie.

the wrong bluffs...

and looks for a way,any way

to survive.



perfection



the ends near..

the lies speak true.

the weak fear...

strong stays strong,always strong

and they fear too.



perfection



the sky stays blue.

Exclusivity

Not everyone is a writer. Not everyone has the power to breathe life  into stains,to communicate love and to express pain. Not everyone is  meant to impact lives through their words, to be serious or to be  hilarious, it's not a gift given to trivialities, it may seem like  playing with A B C's but its hardly that easy.Some peoples words are  just that, words- while  others move entire crowds to tears. Not  everyone can draw you into their mind, lose you there with hardly a  flicker of light to find your way out.Not everyone can make a word live, and forever echo symbolism with every  breath.Not everyone can begin a life, and bring a death.Some people  grip attention with the first line,some merely mark time till the final  statement. For a real writer there is no replacement. There is no  excuse, there is no reason. There is just the appropriate time, and the  appropriate season, and most appropriately the will to keep believing.A  real writer's reader just keeps reading...after the period yearns to  stop bleeding.

Blind

I don't want to settle for dreams and might have beens. I don't want to be amongst the would have seens and the it would seems.

I don't want to look back and regret opportunities that passed me by. I don't want to ever say if I had then maybe I...

I don't want to live a life without love- or without hate. I want to feel as much as I can and overflow on emotion like a gluttons plate.

I want to be the one who made mistakes, the one who wasn't afraid to take-  even knowing she'd have to give it back. I don't want to be the one who sat back and watched everything else move ahead, so scared of what might go wrong to even get prepared.

I want to live grand and leave with a bang, and never be too pressured to fold my hand- like a deck of cards.

I want to be able to say one day that it didn't come quite so easy, I worked hard.

I don't want to be the one stuck in a rut, static. I don't want to be one of the people who would have had it but spent all their time dreaming fantastic but living mediocre. I don't want to be of the people who follow trends and make amends to their personal selves to please their friends. I don't want to be of the people whose lives revolve around 'the period'

I don't want to be of the people, period

I want to be the period the people are of, I want a life that doesn't depend on the approval of skewed minds... I refuse to be shown the way in a town called blind.

This Note is For You

This note is for you- that person reading this who knows that its you. Youve been my friend for 5 years, only God knows what Ive put you through. Ive given you laughter, Ive given you fear, youve given me the security to write these mushy things here. A lot of the time I *may* have not been very nice, but you stuck on me like white on rice even when I was trying to be waakye. I dont want to give a speech, all I can say is that you taught me things 4yrs in someplace couldnt teach. So this is something Ive been wanting to do- this note is for you.

This note is for you-you the one reading this that knows that its you. We've always been really close but we've not really been really cool. For a lot of the time we dont see eye to eye: you think im stubborn and i think youre a *boring* kind of guy. But despite our differences we dont need to build fences, cos im of you and youre of me,grounded in the same root-that leaves nothing to hide. So on this family tree there'll always be different shades of green, but I look up to you like a lower leaf searching for a sunbeam. So well, this is something Ive been trying to do- this note is for you.

This note is for you- you that person reading that knows its you. Words fail me in describing our relationship, a sister or a teacher? Or my own personal cheerleader? All of the above, but more importantly like that star above- leading me to the Christ, although Ive not always been very wise. And not always been very nice-we all know I had some issues, but everytime I tried to be cold you would present love like a tissue. And now Im on my own, you cant imagine how I miss you- like a toddler off training wheels, I try to ride tall, but cos Im still working out my balance, every now and then I fall- and youre always the second person I call. Because you reminded me that my first should be Jesus-and Hes perfect so I shouldnt be less. My sister my teacher my friend, a lot of what I am I owe you. So this is the least I can and will do- This note is for you.

This note is for you- you that person that knows that its you. The first day I met you you took my heart like it was your stolen property and you had found the thief. Sixteen going on seventeen: I was so naive- and your hands on the piano keys produced the sound of music- you'd take care of me. My everything I gave freely-every single thing including that thing that if I say it some people will kill me ;). For whatever reason- you found me amusing when I tried to be pleasing, when you said you loved me apparently you were just teasing. I gave everything you took, and you plundered like Captain hook- piracy. My bad boy you introduced me to the streets- walking with you at three am looking for a taxi-only you were drunk and virtually asleep on me. You taught me the harshness of reality- that love isnt all it is cracked up to be. Never in a million years did I think we'd end up here, cos your people had millions there and you hung out with hoodrats- slumdog millionaire. But I looked through the haze to the man that I loved- I couldnt erase that you were the one I cant have. I loved you then, I love you now, and I probably will always do. But love cannot survive independently- this note is for you.

This note is for you- you that person reading that knows that its you. For all your contribution in my life, for which I couldnt take the time to independently acknowledge. For all the experiences Ive had with you- and for all the knowledge your proximity has afforded me. For every fun moment, for every spending spree. For every smile, every time you came by and spent a while. For each time you encouraged me and each time you hated. For all the relationships we tried to have that *thankfully* were not fated. For the time you lied, cried or inspired. For all the ones we all loved who died. This note is by extension for all your families and friends too. But most especially, if you read this, then this note is for you.


*: subject to varying opinions.

A Poet's Agony

There's a poem sitting in my chest that I cant seem to get out. It refuses to give me rest. 

Every once in a while it would come around to the back of my mind and smile, like a naughty child playing hide and seek. I think it is having fun doing this to me. Very slowly and painfully it would leak a combination of letters from its essence, like hit and run, and stand back and laugh its head off while I struggle to make sense out of that phrase, to put appropriate words in place. Bloody poem.
 
And now my space key is sticking. This is beginning to befrustrating. The poem has moved to irectly behind my eyeballs and is engaged in a tug of war with my nerves. My right eye is twitching, an it looks like my dddd key is also sticking. Shit.
I probably should put down this poem and get some sleep, but insomnia has got me under lock and key and now this stupid poem is running around my neck. It set my eye free though, I guess ishouldbe thankful for little mercies.
 
Bloody spacekey.
 
Alright. Looks like im getting some respite from the poem, but then i remember my boyfriend who no longer is. The jerk dumped me cos he flew to another country. Of course that wasnt thereason he gave... Aaarrrrrgghhh the space keytoo kraaa!
Oh ok. I get where the hit and run phrase comes in. Ok. I probably would be able to write this poem now if only i could concentrate, but the truth is ive kinda lost interest. Is there a word like demotivate? If there is ive been 
demotivated.
 
Ill ber ight back.
 
Ok so i went off to havea conversation with the poem. It looks like it finally understands me - ok not exactly.
You know what, i give up. Have fun with my eye, ok. Do what you fucking will. Fucking poem. fucking space key. Fucking dddd.(it stuck again)

I think Im hungry. At this point i will gracefully bow out of your mind...thank you for paying attention to a poet's agony.