The Proposal

Let us dance to Sinatra, let us run into a rose garden, kiss my wrist and tell me you pine for me.

Let's watch a silent movie in black and white.

Let's live in black and white. Let us be amazed at automobiles, and wave goodbye to relatives from the deck of a ship,

en route to Europe.

Let's stand at the helm of a ship and play Titanic. Ill be Rose. Draw me. Let me kiss you in a car. Let's steam up some windows. Let's sing. Let's waltz. Let's sit under moonlight and talk about ourselves.   

Let's live in Nazi germany. Let us be Jews, and try to escape with the family jewels. Let's pledge undying love as we drown in the Danube.
There's child next to me I wish we could keep. I could hold his hand.

You hold mine.

Let us waltz to Strauss. Let us love to Mozart. Let's dine to Verdi. Let's watch coronations and abdications, let us fall in love with Victoria, and Elizabeth;
"Isn't Her Majesty just delightful" "Yes, and so young, too, I think she's doing terrific" 

Let us watch operas and concerts from halls. Let us be thrilled by the happenings in america, in the colonies.

Lets us debate who should be free, and who should be slave.

Let me fall in love with you on the Seine. Row a barge under a bridge, stop and kiss me. Be aroused by my ankles and my hands.

Be my beau. Come calling at my doorstep, let's walk out together. Throw pebbles at my window and serenade me.

Love me in ruffles and lace and corsets and bonnets. Let us take a ride through central park without a chaperone.

Ive always had a wicked streak.

Go off to war. Let me love you in absentia. Let me send you scented handkerchiefs and long love letters. Let me cry myself to sleep for worry of your safety. Let me stand at the doorstep and look down the street with yearning. Let me scan the newspapers anxiously, give me the chance to sigh with relief when i don't see your name.

Let us wear Levis and have big hair. Grow a ponytail. Il keep a bouffant. I don't care, it'll be the swinging seventies and eighties and we'll run off and live in a hippie settlement. Let's be nudists. Let's have meth trips, let's get drunk and sober and drunk again. Let's dance in the rain.

Let's love wildly. I'll get a job. I'll be a feminist. Be a chauvinist. Be amused. Be impressed. I don't care. Just love me.

Let's get married. Start a family. Raise a coupla hell raising kids. I've always wanted a mozart. Lets name our kids amadeus and thaddeus and bobby. And laugh at them all their lives. Lets make the world our sockball. Let me love you in ages. And ages. And ages.

Die before me. I want to mourn you. Mourn me. Let's wear black. Lets love six feet under. We could be buried together.

Tell me your name. I want to fall in love with you right now. And over and over again.

For David, at 9.

The love of my life. You're 9 today.

So much I think of, so much I want to tell you.

Like how proud I am of you, and how much you mean to me.

And how I pray for you, and worry about how you see me.

Am I the best big sister you could have? Because I try to be. And everything I do, my love, you inspire me.

Will you adapt to a changing world, will your life be beautiful? As much as it is in my power to, it will be.

Do you worry about anything? You shouldn't. You've got more arms supporting you than a crowd-surfing celebrity.

And so many people are preoccupied with your happiness, I don't know how your life could turn out to be anything less than awesome.

But God give you life, more nine years like these, more beauty, more growth, continuous peace.

And God give us life, that we may see you grow into the wonderful young man we know you will be.

I could write at this all day, but I've got to put the rest aside to help you celebrate.

And one day, you will be old enough to understand that people get emo and write things like this, but right now...

Baby, just enjoy your play.

Washed Out

Purple is the colour of a flower
in the fields;
Growing arrogantly among the golden
corn yields.
Purple is the colour of a stormy sky
Or a sunset, announcing the black that
draws nigh.

Purple is the colour of his rages when
he's mad
And the colour of her tears
when she's sad
She smiled a purple smile when he came from work that day.
But she saw his purple, and her purple faded away.

Purple is the colour of the bruise
on her cheek
And the blood that flows out even
as she speaks.
Purple is the colour of her life ebbing away.
Purple is the colour of her night
and her day.

Purple was the colour of the sky that day.
And he hid purple tears as they
laid her away.
He followed as they drew him away
And he left his soul behind, once purple,
now gray.

Y.O.L.O

Where are we going? Do we have a plan? We're all dressed up and busy on our phones, twitter and facebook, so much concern on how our face looks, superficial is the new deep, deep is the new creep, creep is the new intense, myopia is the new lens. Thought gave way to pretense.

Stereotyped minds living generic lives, we're like tins of sardines, occasionally youll find one that is differently sized, but otherwise they're all pretty much the same. Trivialise emotion till it just becomes a game, were living abbreviations, short forms of the names. There's no true freedom, heterosexual beings calling out 'no homo' just cos they wearing pink. Its become gay to say I love you to your brother because were scared of what people would think.

Music used to live on this planet, remember the blues? Remember soul and jazz and classical pieces that moved your soul, no sound effects just one man and his piano, defining the thoughts of your subconscious, breaking you free, making you whole. Remember Louis Armstrong and Mozart, defining art, when was the last time a song made your heart pause pause and restart? Do you remember when you heard music so beautiful you could cry, now DJ Khaled and Rick Ross are stars and Nobody is asking why?

Remember a time when there were visionaries, crusading missionaries, bent on making a point in a world full of dots. Remember that time when thinking was cool, when the great minds were not confined by school? Sometimes I wonder if Martin can see us.Does he remember his dream? Do the ancestors of the slaves remember what form of pain made their grandparents scream? Doesn't it seem more each day like we're losing focus of the important things that come our way?

But no, today its more about where the partys at tonight, how many bottles of hennesy is politically alright, let's get wasted and faded, get drunk and degraded, just so our friends will know that we made it.

Let's make the dresses shorter and the weaves longer, let all the noise distract us from the fact that we're hiding the ugliest form of disorder.

Let us preach hell and damnation, scare people into their salvation, give them nothing to build on their initial convictions, and when they fall offer them condemnation.

Let us commercialise sin and sex, convince their narrow minds that these are best, invest in capitalist structures that enrich the rich and screws over the rest.

Tell her over there that he wont like her until she changes the clothes that she wears, tell him, struggling within, that drugs will bring the acceptance hes craving. Build up their hopes in crack and dope, in brazilians and europe, and then make a law that says, dont smoke.

Encourage perversions of the basest kind, give a man the legal right to deface anothers behind, give no thought to the consequence on social structures and the continuity and preservation of the sanity of humankind, and wrap it up nicely and call it human rights.

But these things are not in our place to say,We are children, what do we care of but today? What right have we to show concern over our futures, go ahead and destroy the only worthwhile legacies you could leave us.

But excuse us one day, when the world is going astray, we will sit and drink and dance, after all, you told us, we only live today.   

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

Till September

Short poem
So this is something I worked on a while ago, back in secondary 'high' school lol. Stumbled across it this morning, and thought it was quite apt for where I am now, so...enjoy.





I’ll be around till September

Till we see the fall of the leaves

And the sky heralds

The crossing of the geese.

Till September

When I can wait no more

Then, when I tire of waiting

At your door.

Till September, I’ll stay.

Till my love goes away.

I’ll be around till September.

Until then

Let it be May.