The things we left unsaid,
When our eyes locked together,
When your cigarette smell filled my bed,
My soul didnt want to leave, never.

How hot you felt at 3am,
My shoulder warm, my hand dead,
So many thoughts spiraling in my head,
My pupils dilated, I needed you in my bed.

So many workshops, many stories told,
How you beat up a guy, fiercely bold,
Your words bullets to set a load,
Ready to fire at me on the side of the road.

8 years difference, too big to think of,
Too tall to dance, too far to love,
Two hands to hold, one shoulder to shove,
One man in lust, the other a dove.

Wish, pray and manifest,
Eat, drink and confess,
Love and hate, never rest,
Cry because you’ll never love me,
Even at my best.

Hold my hand, my dear,
We have time before we dissapear,
My eyes look at you crystal clear,
Your pupils dilate to someone near.

I sleep with a heavy heart every night,
Your cigarette in your hands, lit every blight.
Sun rays can hit my bed sheets,
But, its in those sheets,
Where our hearts could meet.
If only you had wet thoughts about our greet.

It’s at the first time where my heart was let free,
It curdled up when it found out we werent meant to be,
You liked women, I liked men,
Yet my heart was so brittle then,
I already had our story planned out,
With a paper,
and a pen.

i always tried to do the most with my time,
not anything productive- just something fun,
entertaining,
to cover up the fact that i’m mourning someone who still walks this earth.

my concept of “happiness” isn’t the usual one,
it might be rather depressing for some.
i think i wanted to say so many things, but said none.

living in eternal doom has become normal,
elders telling me to dress more formal,
acting like i’m just a doormat.

I'm sick and ******* tired
of scraping my pride
down to the bone,
asking for helping,
and hearing nothing.
my life has fallen apart
in three months
after years of beating back
against my tears and indecision.
those that want to, can't.
those that can don't want to.
the fire in my throat isn't half
as searing as the hatred i feel
for the South African tech genius,
searching for waste,
and the ones that failed us.
i carry this molten stress in me,
and i want the worst to happen
to those living their lives everyday
without worry about rent
or food or their car's
impending repossession.


this isn't even a poem anymore,
it's a cry for help.

I hate you
When you smiled, I smiled
I wanted you to be happy

I hate you
When you were successful, I cheered
I always believed in you

I hate you
When you're dressed up, I gasp 
I am taken by you yet again

I hate you
When you grew, I admired
I knew you were meant for more

I hate you
When you moved on, I stayed
I am always waiting for you

I hate you
When you faded away, I cried
I will only be a memory to you

I hate you
When you were in my life, I knew
I truly did love you 

I hate you
Despite everything, I begged 
That I could actually hate you

red is for love, its filled with hate
orange is anxiety, an unoptimistic trait
yellow is decaying, rotting quickly
green is selfish and sickly
blue is not only sad, but melancholy
purple is the deep bruising, form your unfortunate folly
white is the cabinet, stained red with hate
brown is the decay that yellow can make
black and blue is her face from his selfishness
purple she turned, when she lost to the sickness.

Like a bird with broken wings,
I look on with eyes full of envy
as all those around me take flight.
Held down by my own chains,
Left alone, aside from the emptiness;
The hollow realization
That something is missing,
But never knowing the slightest sense
Of what that something is.