my suicide

just thought of the words that would be written on my suicide note,
and so i sat down and thought of each word that one day you could quote,
and this is what I wrote...

MY HEART IS NOT A PUNCHING BAG,
WHY DO YOU SMASH YOUR FOLDED FISTS,
AND HAMMER YOUR PAIN INTO ME.

MY HEART IS NOT FOR TARGET PRACTICE,
A PLACE TO HAVE LOVE PRACTICE SESSIONS,
MY HEART IS NOT A LEARNING CENTRE..
FIND ANOTHER JANITOR TO CLEAN UP AFTER YOU

just thought of words that I'd use to explain why it all ended,
why i don't think anyone should be saddened,
so i sat down and reddened my hands with earth, as i scribbled into the ground..

MY HEART IS NOT A BALL, TO BE KICKED, THROWN, BATTED, ROLLED, BOUNCED, 
SO WHY DO YOU CURVE IT OPEN, FILL IT WITH ROSES, CHOCOLATE, WINE
THEN WHILE WE DINE,
YOU SET LIGHT TO THE LITTLE WE HAVE MANAGED TO BUILD,

MY HEART IS NOT A OLD HOUSE, I AM TIRED OF RE-PAINTING IT.
RESTORING THE FURNITURE, 
ACCOMMODATING YOUR TYPE,
REPAIRING MY SPACE,
TEACHING MY SOUL TO HARDEN,
LEARNING A NEW GAME, WITH EACH NEW VISITOR...

so i sat down and wrote these words,
that described how my heart is bleeding,
from games, from unsaid rules,
to tell all of you that my heart was not built to withstand punishment,

then i put my pen down.
then thoughts stopped flooding my brain,
then I saw my own handwriting on love notes,
then i heard my own voice urge you on, telling you to break me,
then i reached for my pencil
And I wrote this instead..

MY HEART WILL BLEED, 
MY HEART WILL MEND
MY HEART WILL ROLL
MY HEART WILL EVOLVE..
MY HEART WILL EVENTUALLY COME TO A HALT.
AND WHEN IT LOOKS BACK, MY HEART WILL SMILE, 
COZ IT KNOWS THAT IT BLED, LOVED and LOVED and LOVED again..

One Day

her words, 
slur a loving intersection
of alcohol and music,
her inebriated ass snakes 
to the floor and back,
her movement so smooth
yet tortured,
as though her knees 
would buckle,
And
like a second skin,
her dress rides
her gyrating body,
_________________

his loud words
loud and beer hugged,
sing her praises,
In his
own words,
his own language,
his humour,
his charm flood her ears,
his initially bottle bound lips 
lock with hers,
his pelvis brushes, then rubs then grinds into her..
his one arm around her waist,
his other waves his bottle in the air.
his unsaid praise to his two loves,

_________________

their movement,
their love,
their drink,
their dance,
and it's their song
it sings of their completeness,

_________________

i put my empty coke can down,
stand on my feet,
close my eyes,
let their music talk to my soul,
as i steal her smile away,
my being dances his dance,
my completeness is divine,
my lips soundlessly sing their song,
my arms raise to touch the sky
where my dreams belong,
a smile creeps over my lips,
gently reminding me...
"One Day...."

hey hey hey... wait a minute.. what happened to my wall.. - incomplete

my wall could be my blanket..
it keeps me warm through dark, silent nights..
it's comfortable presence,
thick and soft against my skin..
yet barbed wired and painted pink..
to an equally cruel world..

my wall could be clothing
shorts, t-shirts and half baked afros,
slippers and thongs..
I wear my wall,
with a badge on my chest
Shouting "my style",
"I don't care" tattooed on my arm..
My unkempt hair, un-ironed clothes stand as enormous bouncers
mean and ugly...

my wall could be speech
uncultured, broken and lacking intellect
i speak my wall
swearing, back chatting, arguing
teasing, degrading

my wall could be my words
like locusts, they come in swarms...
chewing away at my cruel worlds ears,
In my tongue,
My mother's tongue
My father's tongue,

too different..

while listening and trying to figure out why it keeps bringing it up.. saying all these things..words like fear, scared, coward, juvenile, childish... immature... un-ambitious.. toothless...

nothing loving.. nothing comforting.. nothing false.. nothing i think i need to hear.. nothing i don't know..

tubz says it is jus' that there is nothing to push me.. spur me along.. that i need to let SAM have a go at run my world.. he doesn't say he will be there when SAM fucks up.. and i am picking up the pieces alone again.. the voice says i should let go of the past and the fear...

sam screams for freedom, he wants to say those really nice things again.. the sweet things.. the lies.. the truths.. smoothe, soothing.. poetic.. i dare say romance is

Apologetics Guide to Clubbing...

So they talk and chatter, the only thing they ever do.. about what they have.. going to have.. wish to have.. They talk in shops, filling stations, in cars...
and on seemingly endless highways..
Our destination: a dance floor or, at least for one, free entrance.

I have done this before, my motives different though..
I flew to a dance floor to get away from the noisy emptiness of my life.
Hoping to find something or someone to fill the space...
But once the music stops, and the lights come on..
I am complete..
completed by sound, and sights...
or maybe it is just the community in my head,
banging on the wall asking for some peace..
Anyway.. I digress...
Today, is different...   I think?!?

New people, new faces, new targets, and foreign accents.
All of this is...
interesting and boring to my uncultured,
potentially racist mind..

My aim is to learn tonight...
About me, new people, old people, people that party..
men and their women..
other people's women...
other people's men...
racism,
reading between the lines..
drawing the lines..
thinking there is a line...
I hope to fill my mind with experiences that will teach me...
help refine my ideas on we get along
and human behavior...

An obtrusive thought pops into my head..
I wish i was home..
With the boys and the girl and recorded..
Intellectual, drunk Artistic conversation..
Arghhhhh, i feel my heart sink...
I made the decision..
I live with the decision...
Can't turn back now
So
I will sit this night out..
And I watch as much as possible without learning...

when loving is simple and easy.... Mufasa's Lament

I am used to waiting
all-day just to see you..
wondering around this jungle yard..
looking for something new to try..
now I sit all alone..
wondering when my next glimpse of you will come..
almost as if I am waiting for a sign of
when my next meal will come..
love you still.. 

love you more than you will ever know..
tomorrow you will come again..
bring me bones not food..
lock the gate..

Trains....

two trains run through me..
one is an easy ride..
beautifully clumsy..go getting..

the other is scary,
traditional..
potentially not there..
makes me feel like stowaway..
rips my heart out...
without trying...
leaving me,
wondering if i am on the passenger list...
yet anyday..
i would take train again..and again..

this IS it....

This is what i am going to say to you...

I am as you wrote me.. My character is poor, plagued by miss fortune.. Mentally ambitious.. full of life, talkative, spiritually young, a workaholic.. an imagined gangster.. the jester of the crowd.. master of my domain..

I am as you wrote me.. kind, compassionate, totally selfish....