the bind

When everything hurts,
dancing in the rain
just doesn’t feel the same.
Mingled tears taste different
when the heart is heavy.
The poisonous stench of anger
clings to my skin
like an unwanted gift.
The aura of your presence
an absent reminder, daily.
Trudging through messy memories
that refuse to leave my mind’s eye.
Like a movie on repeat,
my imagination playing tricks on me.
Sadness envelopes us as I miss the simple passing of beauty.
I search your eyes for a flicker of something
to pacify my disbelief.
Stuck in this space of gloom.
Unable to move
Because our ring binds me to you;
you to me
Burdened by my pensive hands.
Restrained.

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me, the mirror and my goddam boobs

In the war against self, angst and joy make the most noise… Increasing the burden on the soul to pretend to find the spiritedness of its once youthful exuberance… Shoooo even the sound of that sentence makes my mind exhausted

So I flip the page, hoping to find a new chapter… A corner of the mind that hasn’t yet been polluted with the dejectedness of being grown…

In between the rubble sprigs of hope sprout shoots… Growing small eyes with a skewed view of the pavement. In the end all that’s left is me, the mirror and my goddam boobs

Leading me to my favourite street. With its welcoming avenue…

writer: stuck

so every now and then, this ‘silence’ engulfs me… by ‘silence’, i mean not being able to write… i toss and turn.. watch Two and a Half Men… toss and turn some more… hoping that the feeling will pass and it usually doesn’t…

so what does a writer do in moments like these?

let me go think about it for a little bit…

….to be continued

while you wait, have a read of a post i wrote a little while ago about this very same affliction

inspiration: how not to build ugly bird houses

“Ultimately, the tools that we choose for any purpose will only be as useful as our ability to use them effectively and to understand what their improved quality means to the way we approach our work (as well as the challenges that led us to seek out these new tools). You can buy a successively more costly and high-quality series of claw hammers until you’ve reached the top of the line, but until you learn how to use them skillfully, you’re going to keep making ugly bird houses.” – Merlin Mann, writer and creative thinker

poetry: passing through

this morning

for a brief moment, i could’ve sworn

it was the sound of your laughter i heard.
it’s funny how we always assume that we will meet again.
and then years pass by.
next thing i hear, you are gone.
we will never see each other again.
not in this lifetime, at least.
part of me is glad that my only memories of you,
are all of you happy and healthy.
am constantly wondering whether there will come a time when my heart will get used to the thought of loss, of death… whether this jolt of the heartstrings will fade…
we forget the pain and continue living, till the next time…

on the radio: Telkom Supplier Development Programme

on radioLast week on my radio show, The Catalyst, on Network Radio SA, I was at The Bandwith Barn attending the inauguaral session of the  Telkom Supplier Development Programme.

I could write a long and lenghty appraisal of the Programme or you can just click here and  listen to me talking about it! I will definitely be talking and writing more about the Programme.

i am no survivor…

French-Canadian singer, Madeline Peyroux sings:

“sticks and stonessurvivor

may break my bones,

but tears don’t leave any scars

so i’m alright”

these lyrics almost have me flipping to ‘Survivor’ by Destiny’s Child.

And I can’t help but think that

being a survivor

is truly overrated,
if you ask me(i know you didn’t but still, i’m sharing that anyway).
it’s a vain attempt to show the world our supposed strength.

that i-can-beat-anything, false bravado.
what does it even mean to survive?
who determines the degree of resilience?
heck, i’ve been through somethings
and most of the time, i like to fool myself into believing that i have successfully
survived those trying times.
how do i explain to myself
those moments when i simply cannot get up in the morning?
those moments when i simply do not have the strength to enjoy the sunshine?
does that mean i’m not surviving?

is that a sign of weakness?
when your body is so consumed with this mind-pain that is unbearably huge and seems insurmountable..
so really, what does being a survivor mean?
is there a badge one gets to show the world that i have “survived”?
i may walk with my head held high
and laugh with the world
does that mean i have survived?
i’ve never been a victim of sexual abuse as a child, or physical abuse by a partner or any of those things that get people gasping, speechless, fumbling for words of sympathy.
does this make my plight any less heavier?
well i believe it is completely acceptable to concede defeat along the way.
it’s alright to completely miss the mark some times, at the very least it makes life’s twist and turns seem interesting (laughable,almost)..

 

writer’s block

Behind closed doors..name in lights

They don’t get to see

the tears,

the sweat

that goes into pouring one’s soul onto the page

for the prestige

of seeing your name in lights.

Out in the open,

they see what I let them see:

the sunny disposition,

the right look,

the comedic pauses…

What they don’t know

is that when the sun goes down

under flickering lights,

doubt sows madness

leaving me wondering.

When I think I have had enough

the book closes itself

like water running

down to my outstretched hand.

Sometimes, though the anxiety leads me to poetry…

magic: melody, dancing and you

magicdancing..

swaying my heavy body to the hypnotic beat..

takes me to a far away land,

reminds me of a time

when i dared to dream.

dared to remember the cause,

the plan,

the goal.

moving

to the sound of music in my head.

the endless song

playing in my mind’s ear.

i wondered if,

you heard it.

i am hoping that,

you’ll like it.

that it’ll steal you.

give you a peek into another world.

another time

where

the plan,

the goal

all intertwine

and give birth

to a beautiful melody

of time with me and you:

magic.