My heart is addicted.
A love it can not grasp.
Withdrawal is an infernal hell.

Nostalgic for the heaven in your arms.
Angelic chocolate eyes drowning me in an ocean of love.
Strawberry lips entrapping me in crystal skies.

Breathing abandonment in like oxygen.
Left on the shelf with books you never read.
Bleeding wounds and running on empty.

Loving you was breathtaking.
Now I am left breathless.
Addicted to wanting more.

13 | 31 Poems for August 2016

Listen to the love and freedom embedded in every figure of speech.
I pray that these words bless all the beautiful souls that they reach.
It’s weird how we find comfort in the pain we allow ourselves to feel.
According to the stats, some people live outside their means like outliers.
Pass the herbs so I can pass these words then maybe we can pass the word.
Sometimes my thoughts tend to overflow to the rim so it’s only necessary that you jump in and swim.
Feel the rhythm in my ghetto cries and urban blues.
As I write and recite poems reminiscent of those by Maya Angelou, Jasmine Mans and Langston Hughes.
God hears our prayers so I know that we are all going to be alright.
Luyanda told me that I can conquer the world as long as I have Jesus so who am I not to follow greatness?
You need to know the value of life before it gets taken away from you.
Will you be a victim of the past or pay homage to your mother’s womb?
I need peace of mind before there comes a time when my mind ends up in pieces.
Nobody ever listens but you appreciate my ghetto cries and urban blues.
So allow me to write and recite poems reminiscent of those by Maya Angelou, Rudy Francisco and Langston Hughes.

In my own skin, Black and beautiful
For an African child I am, proud of my roots.
My skin, burnt and scorched,
Scares visible, for untold stories they represent.

Living In a society where girls fail to embrace who they are, because of the color of there skin.
Chocolate dark brown, black women I proudly am,
A warrior , queen and healer...
How different would the world be if black women knew there strength.
If I where reborn, I'd  desire to be black.
Indoni ya'Manzi... Proudly Black and Beautiful.

12 | 31 Poems for August 2016

I never knew that hearts could get played like grand pianos do.
The notes are exquisite but the pain and heartbreak are obviously not.
Maybe it is true; maybe my love is as bad as my handwriting is.
Maybe that explains why past lovers never had the patience to stay.
Maybe I’m slowly going a bit crazy and need you to gather some positive words to say.
Because honestly speaking, that’s something I could really use right now.
You’re a flower blooming in a world full of concrete walls; it’s wonderful watching you grow.
But somehow we still have bad blood between us like sickle-cell anaemia.
Loving you was like smoking a pack of cigarettes – you took my breath away but you were slowly killing me inside.
I never knew that hearts could get played like harps and violins do.
The symphony is exquisite but the pain and heartbreak are obviously not.
Maybe it is true; maybe my love is as bad as my handwriting is.
Maybe that explains why past lovers never had the patience to stay.
Maybe I’m slowly going a bit crazy and need you to gather some positive words to say.
Because that’s something I could really use right now instead of having you spewing words of hate.

11 | 31 Poems for August 2016

I keep hearing the echoes of piano keys and guitar strings.
I’m intrigued by the joy Luyanda brings every time she sings.
It’s amazing how every single note becomes an unforgettable poem.
Sometimes silence echoes through the urban streets of ghettos.
The world’s love and light tries to illuminate in all our broken halos.
My creativity was trapped in broken dreams until I heard her sing.
People give her their absolute attention as she strokes each string.
The sun came out just to impersonate the warmth of her aura.
Even if things don’t always go our way, I know that we will all be okay.
I hear echoes of a million heartbeats between abandoned buildings and crowded streets.
A million heartbeats keep echoing between Hammanskraal and Atteridgeville.
I hear millions of echoes within the silence of busy ghetto and urban streets.
I hear echoes of piano keys and guitar strings every time Luyanda speaks.

10 | 31 Poems for August 2016

Love me like you promised me you would.
Love me like I still know you can and I still know you can.
For the first time in a long time, I feel a whole lot of love here.
So love, please don’t walk away or decide to disappear from me.
I’m banking on you to not withdraw from the love we have both invested in.
Because the truth is my heart says that you’re the one, my heart is really growing fond of you.
Love, I used to think that I was bad at this beautiful thing people call love.
But I realised that the problem wasn’t the intensity of my affection but rather the quality of people I chose.
Like a rose, from the concrete I rose and I want you to witness my bloom.
You’ve made me question if all the women I have been with before were really worthy of my love, time and effort.
Love me unconditionally, across beautiful South African cities, over the world’s skyscrapers and beyond the depths of time.
I admire how you have loved me this intensely despite how devastating your previous heartbreak was.
Don’t walk away from me because no amount of ***** or morphine will ease the pain.
Let’s escape from reality with our lips locked to a place far away from the stares of prying strangers.
Please don’t walk away or decide to disappear from me not after you promised that you would love me.
Love me wholeheartedly, across beautiful South African cities, over the world’s skyscrapers and beyond the depths of time.
Love me like I still know you can, love me like you promised me you would.

9 | 31 Poems for August 2016

She unapologetically loves each and every crevice of her canvas.
Each part regally resonates to the woman who birthed her.
Each part elegantly exudes the exuberance of its own beauty.
The curves on her body are more than just her dress or jean size.
More than the heads of men which turn as she walks down the street.
Her curves are her heritage – a beautiful sign of where home is.
Through pain she found love and through love she found herself.
We meet in the pages of our story where the ink intimately holds us together.
These words I write become intertwined in the veins of our loving hearts.
In the rain of her presence, my words will always form a rainbow.
I can never get enough of her love; I’m always left yearning for more.
In a world ravaged by cold wars, we both know what we’re fighting for.
She has never spent a day letting the world turn her starry sky into a ceiling.
She wears her crown proudly and embraces the queen that she is.
The curves on her body are more than just her dress or jean size.
More than the whistles which dissipate the silence as she enters the room.
Her curves are her heritage – a beautiful sign of where home is.
The world is my canvas and I hope this African queen will always be my muse.

8 | 31 Poems for August 2016

I miss you right after my first cup of coffee in the morning or before my last glass of wine in the evening.
I miss you right before my 8 a.m. class on Monday or at 2 a.m. on a Sunday when I can’t seem to fall asleep.
When I can’t seem to fall asleep I inevitably fall on my knees and pray for a better day, pray that you stay.
I’m Lonnie Lynn with the poetry and maybe that explains why we have a lot in common.
We have a lot in common, Alicia Keys expressed similar sentiments and I am just being honest with you.
Look me in my starry eyes and tell me that everything will be okay.
I cannot give you the world but I pray that you stay for more than just another day.
When nothing else in the world makes sense, somehow you always do.
These are more than just compliments, more than just a guy trying to flex his confidence.