Letter to my heart

Dear heart,

Why are you like this?
Why do you incessantly insist this necessity of love interest,
Not really wanting to commit at this time but just for the heck of it?
Women are not for your benefit, so suck on this loneliness and cherish it
Be humble and treasure the sweet tender nectar of patience and relish it
For fainting at every brown skin is not productive for reaping in due time,
Curls don’t yield the returns to which your investments define.
So you better get back in my chest, keep time to that 4/4
Play to the score of my vocal chords when I say chill.
Not every beautiful soul is yours to behold,
Celebrate them and nurture them to grow.
Be their brother, their friend, towards no end,
But just to treat them as daughters of your most High God.
You are desperately wicked, whimsical and intrepid
You go too far and you’re way to reckless,
But I wanna care for you because honestly, you’re just too stupid
To really think on your own.
I worked really hard to piece you back together,
But duct tape and super glue won’t last forever.
Take some time, let the stitches hold.
Beat again. Feel again.
Let the blood circulate within, oxygenate and release
In the constant ebb and flow of time.
Don’t push yourself.
My arteries are just fine so stop falling victim to that silly archery.
Cupid ain’t Jesus.
And neither are you.
It’ll be fine little buddy.
Just trust me.

 

All credit to theAwkwardYeti.com
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On Being Social

Hi everyone! This is a piece from my past that I thought I’d share with you, since things here have gotten a little… dormant lately ūüė¶ I hope you enjoy!


I follow her like twitter, in desperate hunger for her 135 characters that meander the truth that lies in deeper waters; wishing to slide in her dms and inquire further but it just seems like I’m somehow always blocked. Her account’s so private the only one who knows what’s in it is the Holy Spirit. I like and reply though, in efforts to pry into the solution she cries or hopefully dry her eyes. Now I know my Facebook status doesn’t read in a relationship but our ¬†relationship is no secret. Sometimes though, it is a mystery to me. The memories are lit; back when things were legit and we’d love each other with hopes of mutual benefit, but now, she hardly reacts to me anymore. Not sure if it’s the memes but she just seems to not be there on my feed. Hers is still pumping though, but reruns run her territory these days. It looks like we do share memories after all. She responds in group chats but often she won’t text back and I’m left to wonder what’s app with that. Seen often but not heard from, but she’s been trying and I know it. I’m not on snapchat but I’d rather not use that to hear her stories. Or messenger. Or whatsapp. Or Facebook. It seems even excel may have stories soon too but it still won’t access the words that I desire from her. If you’re thinking she’s the worst ever, shut up. I don’t often know her story but neither do you. I have but a foretaste of what she goes through and I will lay waste to any who judges her based on what they see. Underneath she struggles. She huddles behind night screens and screams for release from things she wishes were but a dream, but wears a smile cause she knows she will get through this. She’s strong, but I wish she’d not use that as an excuse to bear it all alone. I just want to be the one she runs to post her statuses to. That when something exciting happens I’m the one she runs to instead of the world, because to her, ¬†I am her world. It’s not wishful thinking, it’s just going to be a little way down the timeline. I may be bleeding, but I’m not dead yet, and I’m not going down without a fight.

What a privilege to trust in Jesus

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What a privilege to trust in Jesus
When burdens leave you heavy.
Heaved to your chest, sweaty from the scorching sun,
Packing your own insecurities on the riverbank;
The bloodstream of your thoughts,
Flowing into every aspect of your life.
A privilege to know that you can let go,
And have Him carry it for you.
Take a rest under His branches,
And shade in the cool afternoon,
Seeing all the beauty of the nature you missed;
The beauty of His nature;
Not to worry how it went from a still blessed peace
To a nightmare of a storm,
Because He willed the clouds away and lifted you from the ocean.
Walking on oceans could be tiring sometimes,
And staying afloat a bit troublesome when you’re not looking His way.
I may not understand why it’s come to this,
Or why I should even try when my efforts seem futile.
But nevertheless, because You say it,
I’ll cast my net in deep waters.
Weather my net be full and breaking,
or just as empty as when it was tossed,
Whatever my lot, I trust You.

Slumber

An ethereal, deathlike embrace.

A grace that blankets me from the insanity of existence,

I sleep. Often tossed between regret and repentance

I distance myself from reality, tossing the sheets and beats of this heart aside;

I long for that fragmented respite.

It’s an escape. From me and who I’m meant to be,

Because the journey to the latter is arduous and painful.

I sleep because I know better, but don’t want to strive for it.

I dive asunder the waves of slumber because I want attention

But won’t care enough to give myself it

I turn blind eyes to my heart and beg for someone else to take care of it;

I’m selfish, lonely and weak.

Dreadfully unique and misunderstood, poured out with no refill

Cause ain’t nobody got the juice; I’m a dream junkie.

Please help me.

Not you; but me.

You can’t help because you’ve been asleep for years now.

I was never meant to be the strong one;

Just a guy with a big heart and brittle bones

Strong aspirations with lazy undertones

A donut,  perfect and beautiful with a gaping hole

That no one should have to fill but Jesus.

Sleep on me: I’ll kiss you goodnight.

I blow no alarms because I live in silence.

I have no qualms with you living your life;

I will not beg to be a part of it..

Even when I want to be.

So

Bad.

I’m just another beggar in need of a morsel;

I’ll point you to where the bread is,

But sometimes, I just don’t know why

But I just don’t go myself.

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Individual

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I am individual.
Fearfully and wonderfully made; the crucible of molten struggles
Blood sweat and tears crushing me together like mandibles
Hammered gently into place by obstacles that may or may
not have been of my own creation.
I was fearfully and wonderfully made.
My purpose undeniable, gravity weighing my heart like shackles,
Burdening me with greatness that I’m able to achieve,
Even if I don’t believe that myself.
I am unique and special
No one has a story like mine, its arcane and mystical
A whimsical mystery that to others are fables
Fickle against the sands of time, lines written as it grinds against
The memories of my mind’s vestibule.
Can anyone know it?
None can truly understand because their perspective is different to mine.
They are never inclined to see through my eyes,
Steep as the hills they may climb they’d always fail the hill test.
It may be manual to them, but automatic through mine
Eyes still blurry as the mirror of my soul trine to my thoughts
As God’s divine light lay incident on it.
Incidentally, they may say they love me but how can they love what they do not know.
How can they hope to bear the fruits of what they never sowed
And trust that it be sweet when they have no idea how bitter it can be.
Through the cross of Christ His mercy may provide a way perhaps.
I am individual. Single and forever I shall remain.
Whether tied to another and founded to be in unison or tethered forever to the chains of my lonesome I will refrain.
The melody of my heart strumming to the beat of my feet as I keep pressing toward the mark of His high call.
Rest when I fall but a righteous man will rise again.
In times of treble I know where my help comes from; no one but Him
And so I base myself upon His foundation; the clef of the rock.
The only surety His shores shall bring to me,
The rest won through battles of anxiety and uncertainty.
I am individual. I am me.
I am exactly who He made me to be.

 

 

 

 

[In]security

I feel like when I write my words don’t say enough
I’m afraid that if I go too deep my message will be out of touch,
Like, my mask has grown too thick, so much that
I don’t remember what my face looks like anymore.
It’s such that any more of this falsehood poetry
Is going to pull false hoods over me like dark hoodies
Strait jackets that keep the insanity inside but never let it out.
I silence my own self. my cries for help oust my cries for help;
Does that even make sense? I’m smothered incense, incensed
By the sensations of my fingertips behind the pen.
Some call it brilliant; art; beautiful and unique
But the proprieties of my piety to me feel like blasphemy
Because I’m afraid staying true to who I am has left me forgotten.
Why tell my story if no one listens? Or hears, but loses the message that was written?
I bleed lines across the streets for them to sleep in drains and puddles;
I bleed into hearts but my blood is muddled.
Plasma they can’t see on their Plasmas, the doors to their soul shut
To the reality of my life as it separates to blood and water;
Sprinkling on altars as offerings in hope of help in my suffering
But what meets me is congratulations and applause.
No pause to see the reason behind these lines
No concern for the times that produced them.
No cause to reflect or introspect; just a waste.
The strife as I play poltergiest to make these words come to life
Tossing ideas and swinging songs across their minds
It comes to bite me in the behind because all I wanted to say was I’m sorry.
I messed up, and God forgave me; thank God!
I love you but I’m scared to show it.
I miss you but don’t want you to know it; cause I know you’re busy.
You tore my heart out but I’ve learnt to survive.
I need more friends like you. I need friends.
I’ve been having a really difficult time. Please pray for me.
Life is beautiful. Take a moment to enjoy it.
I’m a broken soul behind a fake smile.
I sometimes think nobody really cares.
I actually just want to serve God with my life, and don’t care for material things.
I talk too much.
Maybe if I learnt to shut up and just say how I feel, things would be different.
Maybe if I just trust in Jesus instead of fighting so hard to be perfect, then I’d actually become it.
Maybe if I just said want I wanted to say, you wouldn’t want to listen.

Castaway: The Second Epistle

O dearest of mine,
I know we don’t see eye to eye, but in my defense it’s hard to spy
you when we’re oceans apart.
This faint heart beats hard watching the stars above the sea,
Riding this heart rate to Mars as the pressure of not having you
Around scars it with¬†hope of a day where we’d be reunited.
But body and mind fight daily to climb the hills of this island.
Toiling through the anxiety I’ve found shelter and meal,
The appeal of survival as a means to the end of us;
Not that we’d end but in the end us will still be.
But this survival has been spelling the end.
E, everyday as the curves of the swirls grow more enticing,
The temptation of the island’s fruit reminding me of a sweetness
That I reminisce about;
N, the nagging at my heart strings every time the birds sing our song;
They flock together and I’m left to be without the right pair;
Just a sole survivor in my imaginations that salvation could come to us;
And the idea that Mrs. Right is still out there.
I shoo a pesky crab that tried to snap at my ankle.
D: the Day I decide to give up. I can’t say how far survival has gotten
But its hard to focus on what is hoped for when the realities of life demand my attention.
I can’t begin to mention how much I’ve fought to not call this island home;
I’ve heard that home is where your heart is, and I refuse to plant my flag
Anywhere within this island because it’s not where I want to be;
I’ve had tears, fear and hopelessness for company,
And they haven’t been the best friends but they’ve helped me feel comfy,
Growing accustomed to hard floors and wet feet.
I’d much rather wish to adorn this paper with the gems of your beauty
But it’s grown faint and I only see in the mirror dimly;
I only wish to speak the truth.
The truth is I’m alone; You’re out there as my home
and I’m here as the prodigal; longing to depart
With this parchment on the journey to your dorms.
That’s where home is to me.
The epitome of sanctity, encased within the body
Life breathed into and alas it became living.
Away from the spice of this isle
That extends for miles beyond my reach.
It’s sweetness leaves me bitter
As it quicker serves as anchor than propeller
And so with urgency I deploy this letter.
My prayer is it is delivered,
just as the first within this bottle as my messenger.
Signed, sealed, and administered.
As may this second find you and the first together.
I still love you.

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Castaway: The First Epistle

O dearest of mine,
My eyes incline across shore lines each and every day.

My heart is crushed and swept away by waves of time

Sand in hour glass; hours dipped into days that pass

Without a hint of where you’ve been.

I miss you.

These words stain like residue on my ragged clothes;

They impose insults like tissues on gashes; They fail to heal these wounds I feel.

My mind reels with thoughts of survival, thoughts of you my catch, baited by the hope that I might see you again;

For you see, I’ve fallen for you hook line and sinker.

The hook to the lines of this song being that I sink her;

This boat we both came on; but I refrain from singing those lines again.

This island could’ve been paradise; but I fear it’s more like hell without you.

You only feel stranded when what matters most is gone from you and so I call this island deserted.

Yet I have no choice but to call this place home

Because its shore is my only constant;
I’m not sure to see you again and so my home cooked
meals are regret and resentment.
It was all smooth sailing until we hit the rock;
The storms were raging and in titanic climax,
it all fell apart.

Dashed to pieces like the ribbon at the end of the race:

Our time together finished. First came love,
Then came disaster;
Third the foundation broke apart, and tumbling after came the

Rafters.
I wish I could’ve said to you that I knew what I was doing;
That I was the captain and assured you the safety from
The thunder;

But I blundered. My misguided arrogance was the ignorance that tore us asunder;
I was oblivious to the nautical stimulus
That drove us overboard. By the time I recognized what
had happened, it was gone.
My joy, my peace; my everything.

All that’s left is the glistening of these here bottles
and fumbling of my fingers on the parchment,
Trying my best to not mess this up too.
I still can’t believe I’ve lost you;
I don’t know where you are; A prisoner to the sea,
it’s unknown to me; in the garrison of some foreign
mission; a slave to the Bermuda triangle; all bad angles
if you look at it.

All I know is what you meant to me.
You were my serenity in a trying time;
A partner in crime set up by the divine;
Navigating me towards destinies that meant the best for me: You were genuinely concerned for me.
Your company was the Vitamin C for my scurvy,
The Gravol for my journey, the way for me

To rest easy. The safe place for me to speak freely,

To arrest the daily façade of niceties to just have
a place of honesty and community.
My prayer partner; my life partner. My trophy.
I didn’t win any competition though; I was just so lucky

To have you.

I know this in itself is folly, but in light of the

Current affairs that surround this ocean,
My prayer is that this gets to you.

A response is even more an absurdity but as long
As I believe you are out there,
I must believe.

I’ll trust you. So trust me.
Signed, sealed, and administered.
In this vessel, I pray it be delivered.

I love you.

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Contemplations in the dark.

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What is this? What is this that persists
To tease tears out my eyelids like A group
Of kids impoverished round about a dried up faucet;
Why is it that every facet of my life leaks?
Why are there rivers of crying water that cannot be shut up
Cause it was pressed down, shaken together and now running over
to the hundred folds in my abdomen;
In critique of my acumen to press toward high marks
But when He calls I fall short and graze my knees…
I’m crying please give me a break!
Put a stop to the gushing drops of the ball,
Hands slippery trying to stop the discharge of melancholy
Fully aware of the folly yet confused as to the mystery
As to how did I get so far.
Stuck depths below par in a hole scarred by failed attempts
To time and time again reach the bar
Sunken in misery; awakened to the epiphany
That I have reached the epitome of depression.
I’m typically hard on my self;
And so I’m hard pressed for answers;
you could say I’m wine pressed;
Cause all I’ve ever wanted was what was best for those around me;
Hands full in service with no strength left for the diamond of my psyche;
Crushed in the futility and sinking in an ocean of uncertainty.
I don’t know what is wrong with me.
Asking if I’m ok doesn’t help me because I know that I’m not,
But I don’t know why.
Can’t miss the water cause I’m welling up with legitimate smears:
I’m brushing my tears back.
Hands full, Mind tired and no rest in sight.
Rolling in my bed till 4:35 with insomnia as company
Hoping like the sun I will rise.
One Day I will, for I know joy comes in the morning.
but for now I’ll remain in mourning.