Some days, the world closes in around me.
For minutes at a time, the earth shakes as though a thousand dormant volcanoes have erupted in unison.
I chase after my breaths like a 5-year-old with bubbles on a breezy afternoon.
I am deaf to the beat of my heart.
The sun orbits the earth before I come around to the understanding of my plight.
I am at war with my shadow.
Afraid of fading from view, I like stringing sentences like tennis rackets.
Mantras slip through my fingers like perfect ex’s.
Questioning supposed recklessness I break fast.
Peace is a stranger that refuses to converse.
I silence the alarm despite being raised by a nurse.
Always an episode instead of a series.
The script seems more powerful every time.
Maybe this is what I deserve.
Payback for the other side of me.
Maybe it’s the design for me
About to be the 3, 5, I’m laid up with teenage fever.
Feeling like Janet Jackson without the safety of a pre-nup
Our roads, different, we ran on petrol and diesel
Our roads different, supposedly Adidas and Asics,
Drumming our bases, we found laces/ electrifying connections like both worlds were tasered
Face to face we were a fumbling fortress of ferocious fondness
Maybe I’d been chasing Amy or maybe Gin met Tonic
See London at 1.30 birthed 7am in Germany
Had to check mate like we were head to toe in Burberry.
The bucket list met a vision causing intercontinental collision
Audibly adrenaline was all the way up, like it was a day of ascension.
There were starry eyed smiles brighter than Borealis,
The aura of sharp shooters turned battlefields to gardens
How do you spend time with someone and feel like you’ve left with a bargain?
I’d visited Frankfurt to meet up with a poet I have only known through social media, yet has been like a brother for several years. This was the 3rd and final poem from my writing session.
Eyes of giants are wandering.
Aviators reflecting on the ground.
Beauty seems skin tight,
Fashionistas mix colours yet can’t do it with skin type
Flowing locks and optics box tick.
I just can’t with the lens being pedalled.
A fresh breeze invades the mood.
To settle the stomach, I engage with windbreakers and stone masons.
I was a fool for lane love ignoring the map.
The cupboard love from Venus is the most fly of traps.
It’s time to switch the raps, worship and praise at new altars.
Maybe you will…..for the sake of our true calling.
The photo below was taken in Hauptwache, Frankfurt, click here if you’d like to see a few more from my trip. Or scroll down and read on
I know nothing of falling in love.
That tripping up, or a bit of a jigsaw.
Maniacally exclaiming life reshaping.
I stumbled over desperation until my chest demanded rest for its people.
Now salty for a taste of freedom
I grieve with ten thousand reasons for why we’re here.
What’s real talk to convenience?
Stores of obedience host underground shows.
Soon there’ll be no difference between breathing and blows.
Avalanches will flow.
Demons with god intentions only ever change lanes
Truth is loyal and destructive, it devastates and remains.
Where the sun sets the moon gains.
We all want the light without pain
We all want to know the 4-2-5 yet Judas gets in the way.
What are you a discipline of?
What’s your price today?
Take a panorama of paradise
Divide it into 36 perfect 10ths
Is every pixel filled with the same shade?
Are black spots dangerous?
Would you break up if you found one?
What’s your flavour of danger and damnation?
Are heaven and hell real? Do cycles turn a corner?
Are you a moving star?
Are you right stationary?
Gallant souls and wisdom court before the marriage.
Is defeat an ex in waiting?
Can we feel your nakedness through your layers?
Does your drive need to pull over?
You’ve been playing musical chairs with your best moves.
What will it take for you to stand up?
Scrape the barrel or the sky, the deep and wide or the high.
There’s a choice to be made. Black like lemonade, or lack to the fade.
Who will you be?
Trade your suit and glasses for sackcloth and ashes
Remain pure to your past self, unmasked and passive
Stay sophomoric and tragic, take slap shots, and don’t panic!
Affray? We’ll wreak havoc, you’ll be a mascot for the moribund
Stay savvy, trade your muses and nuance for fame and famine
Pyramid schemes for your dreams, is it fair?, oh you’ll manage
Imagine what we fashion when we see through your glasses.
Tape your education through conversation then charge you for classes
We’ll rape your souls in the marriage bed and claim it never happened.
So what will it be, your roots or our fruits?
The trenches or the barracks?
Do you believe anything will stick if we hold the field of carrots?
Little Girl boxing a box of trials
Future soul spinning records and tales
Wagging tongues tales dogging you
Walls won’t wail like untuned ivory
When tinkled ebony stands alone
Abseiling from the stars
With memories of Mardi Gras
Moribund artisans tobogganing through torpor will want your fuel
You better stand while you bus so they can have a seat
Sew stars seeds of street lamps
Grow in the light
You’re Black, whole
Hot tar cannot be touched
This Black Girl magic is just.