The Self-God

I am the self-god carved from bone

Risen from the deprived depths

Where I once lay neglected

By the impotent church

Who couldn't achieve a bone

Never mind be made of the stuff

I am the self-god, conceived of truth

speaking out against the liar church

the ones who come with empty pockets

and leave with pockets stuffed with blood

and sometimes cash

I am not so easily shaken

I am the self-god, the skeptical one

Who even doubts himself

If I call you into question

Then I should call myself into question too

But I've stood strong against you

And your stones are overturned

I am the self-god, disciple of science

One who revels in truth

I care not for your creation

Because it is as thin as the pages

Of the lies you read in your book

But I have many books

I am the self-god, born from knowledge

And I have read and measured and seen

And my heaven is filled with truth

And my heaven is filled with science

And the demons crawl on the face of the church

screaming, "Mene Mene Tekel Uparsin"

I am the self-god, agnostic and atheist (sometimes)

I only believe in myself

Because you have offered little proof

When the children starve you have faith

While I question the need of you

Sitting on your golden thrones

I am the self-god, born of blood

Shed by your blade

Left rotting in the fields

Didn't you know that

If you leave blood for long enough

It will stand up and demand voting rights

I am the self-god, found in flesh

Proud of the deepest urge that you neglect

That you pile under your bullshit

Calling it "ethic"

Didn't you know your mom and dad fucked

To make you?

-o0o-

Done (The Last Poem of 2011)

Spun thin like cotton strands

Pulled thin like an elastic band

Beaten thin like gold foil

Their greedy hands

I watch my head boil

in the mirror, covered in sand

And I'm pissed off and used

Hiding under the dune

Like a snake, coiled

All my plans foiled

And I get up and mess up your plans

Leaving you confused

With my skin shed, the old part of me you abused

-o0o-

Never Rose

Perhaps a little song for Rose

     A girl caught in the proper pose

         To walk on eggshells, pointed toes

To be the best she can be

The perfect wife, she cooks and sews

     She scrubs and cleans, she weeds and sows

         Her proper manner, her neat clothes

To be the best she can be

Her short-cut nails, her powdered nose

     Her hair tied up with lace and bows

         Hair prim, regardless when wind blows

To be the best she can be

Ever cites the sweetest prose

     She's never haughty, never gauche

         She plays the game as best she knows

To be the best she can be

She's ever careful where she goes

     The party halls, the movie shows

         Prefers the well-lit aisle-side rows

To be the best she can be

Her eyes as gentle as a doe's

     Belies her deeper troubled woes

         She hides her heart's most inner throws

To be the best she can be

The Problem with a Christian God

I do not know of what you speak

when you say of this you know

of God almighty high above

or horned devil down below

I sang the songs, I read the book

like every Christian person

and yet I see no proof of God

no love, no rhyme, no reason

for in the streets the children starve

and inside the children cry

what God of love could ever so

allow just one child to die

and there are sick and manifold

and still mercy passes by

abundant as the years grow old

we simply endure to die

and still you claim beneficence

when our suffering is high

human misery is our truth

that never once passes by

and bred into the human bone

such pain, misery and woe

that our lack of your salvation

is all worship that we know

and still the church vehemently

defends its little hold

to cast the poor from bed and heath

to go battle out the cold

through war and hate and corruption

a grim history of greed

two thousand years and still the same

these old stories that they read

so if God be God only if

this God can and will comply

yet human suffering endures

so this does not satisfy

for if God is willing but cannot

then he must be impotent

if God can act but does not care

then he is malevolent

if God cannot nor does not care

then why call him our own Lord

then why salute his heralds here

and to die beneath their sword

if this is God then let him speak

and come stand accountable

for if he is the God they claim

then he is responsible

and if their God does not answer

then they must take his old place

to answer for the wounds they caused

to our sex and class and race

the church cannot expect to stand

with both feet in our deep graves

and preach a gospel sweet and pure

of our God above who saves

the church cannot expect to thrive

while robbing the beggars blind

and preaching that it only has

our very interests in mind

the church cannot expect our souls

and strip us down to the core

the church cannot take all of us

and still demand even more

remember when they caught the witch

in old past forgotten times

and burned her on a fire of lies

for these imaginary crimes

remember when they came to save

darkest Africa from sin

and said that they should thank Europe

when they then came barging in

remember when they said to men

who dared sleep with other men

that God comes with his gnashing teeth

to consume and to torture them

so damn the world that disagrees

for failing blind compliance

and coddle all the naive brats

through their own pseudoscience

if God above there ever was

that holds any truth for me

the Christian god is not the one

for he simply cannot be

and if he is; his church alone

makes for his sole discredit

if they should hate, then why believe

in them that says he let it

I do not know of what you speak

when you say of this you know

of God almighty high above

or horned devil down below

But if per chance you have some proof
by all means come and share it
For proof of burden lies on those
Who claim and never dare it

-o0o-

In this poem I would like to thank the philosophical work of Sam Harris

The Critic in the Shadows

You say you know better

Show me

Teach me what it is that I am ignorant of

You stand there

Speaking from the shadows

Telling of how I am flawed

When I am stripped to the bone

For all to see

My flesh exposed

My soul bare

No secrets to hide

No respite from shame

And I spoke with no ill intent

And I spoke truth

And I said what was on my heart

But you're sitting in the dark

From your vantage point

Saying that I am flawed

Come out into the light

Come out from your shadows

To where we can see you

Strip yourself naked next to me

Unveil yourself as I have

Make yourself known and explain things

Tell the world of your secret knowledge

And from which book you read

Tell us your secrets

Show us your teacher

Surely he knows as well

And his teacher before him

Show us your grand revelation

Your oracle, Your augur

Your herald, Your envoy

And tell us why you are so privileged

Tell us why it is you know

And nobody else

You say these things from shadows

But how can we believe you

You offer us no recompense

So come and sit at my table

Eat from my plate

Drink from my cup

And hope that when they see you

As you are

Naked

Perhaps

You will withstand the fire

Better than I have

Perhaps then

You will see

I'm not called Phoenix for sport

The Fault of Film Noir (part 1 of 2)

Clandestine meetings of the scope and scale that Trevor had suddenly become a part of had never been a part of what Trevor would have considered to be a worthwhile way to spend a Saturday evening. Certainly, Trevor would much prefer to, say, sit down somewhere, somewhere warmer, somewhere dryer, somewhere less unnerving than this place. Indeed, Trevor was standing in the middle of nowhere, in some god-forsaken park situated with a row of houses to the left and to the right, a school behind him and a dark thicket ahead. But, Trevor had begrudgingly agreed to this errand and had brought along the package that his friend, Jerry, had given him. It was a brown box about the size of a toaster wrapped in brown and clear packing tape and, knowing Jerry, probably did indeed contain a toaster. Trevor had known Jerry long enough not to ask.

And here, in the middle of nowhere, miles away from home and work, Trevor stood, waiting. It was around ten or eleven at night. The sky had taken on that dusty shade of night-time overcast and pollution highlighted by the impressively bright street lights that gave the sky that sort of rusted look, as though the sky was iron and it had wet itself. As mentioned before, the street lights were impressively bright. Trevor thought to himself that perhaps some child had been levelled at the crossing and the angry parents had petitioned, whomever a person petitions to do such things, to have a thousand watt bulbs placed in the lamps which lit Trevor up in a spectacular fashion, underpinning his presence as if announcing it to the whole world. How's that for a long sentence, but I'm allowed to since I was watching the whole scene unfold and I think of myself as a rather magnificent story teller, so shut it and listen up.

Trevor had waited for about twenty minutes before it started to rain. He was visibly upset. He thought to himself that perhaps he should have brought someone along, perhaps someone with their own car. How do I know what he was thinking? I don't know! He told me! I'm psychic! Get over it. He reached into his pocket for his phone to call a cab to come fetch him when Pete came shuffling through the thicket like a fox tearing through a packet of potato crisps. Pete straightened his jacket and walked cavalierly towards Trevor as if he was the essence of style and grace, while catching his boot on the edge of a see-saw in the long grass and falling headlong onto his face and disappearing into the wet grass. He bobbed up like a meerkat and cleared his throat. Trevor approached him and asked,
"You all right?"
Trevor shook the droplets from him and grunted, "Yea, I'm good."
"Are you supposed to be fetching this box?"
Pete looked at the box and Trevor could see the cog turn in his head.
"Oh yea! Does it snow in the towns in York?"
"What?"
"Do they go putting crowns on pork?"
"What?" Trevor was getting annoyed.
"I don't know, I can't remember. Do they show clowns riding on a stork?"
"What in God's name are you going on about?" Trevor was annoyed now and not afraid to show it, "Is this your box? Are you the one Jerry spoke of?"
"You're not Jerry?" Pete said with his usual face of, they didn't tell me what to do if this happens.
"No, who are you?"
"I'm Pete," he smiled and a voice harrumphed in the background from behind some trees, "I mean, I'm nobody, see. Did you bring the package?"
"This box?"
"Yea," he said blankly. There was a moment of silence when nothing happened. Even Trevor's mind didn't tick over.

The owner of the harrumpant voice strode from behind a tree and into the harsh light and the faint spray of wet stinking mist was now descending upon the company of three at the speed of depression.
"Oh for fuck sakes," Trevor said uncomfortably stashing the box under his right arm and scratching himself with his left hand, "Who are you now?"
"I apologise," the woman said, "My name is Amanda, you can call me Susan."
"What?"
"I believe Jerry sent you here with that package?"
"Yeees," Trevor answered in a sceptically drawn out way.

At this stage, I had also strayed into the river of wet grass and Trevor, upon seeing me looked as though a piece of his soul dropped from the inner shelves of his soul. He sighed heavily and looked on as if saying, now who the fuck is this?
"Good evening," I said, "Mr. Trevor Black, I assume. How lovely it is to meet you. Amanda, how radiant you look in the halogen light and Pete, you're also here."
"How do you know my name?" Trevor protested.
"Oh, I'm psychic, or somebody must have told me," I lied. "I believe Jerry gave that box to you to hand to us."
Trevor extended his arms, holding the package with his finger tips as if the events that preceded our meeting had made the package somewhat undesirable. I took the package and handed it to Pete.
"Go away now Pete," I said, "and don't drop it."
Pete smiled in his usual vacant way and trundled along like a walrus walking on syrup.

"I do apologise that we had kept you waiting this long," I said.
Susan/Amanda smiled sarcastically and turned around and disappeared into the thicket. I stood there with Trevor whom was processing an array of restrained outrage, utter confusion and budding hysterical amusement. I motioned to the road.
"Would you like lift?" I said to Trevor.
"Honestly, I'm rather too afraid to say yes."
"Aah, good. The car will be here in a minute or so."
"No, I meant to say no," Trevor protested.
"I often find that when someone says something that I do not wish to hear, I reject it outright, replace what I heard with something favourable and reply in such a way as to suggest that I had heard indeed what I wanted to hear and remind the person respectfully of how pleased I am that I heard what I wanted to hear because I'd have to hurt them otherwise."
"What?"
"Nothing."
"What are you saying; You won't take 'no' for an answer," Trevor smirked.
And I said, "You picked up on this conversation rather quickly," I smiled widely and I do have a very lovely smile.
The car arrived as the descending mist turned into falling polluted jelly drops. Trevor stepped into the left back seat of the car, half curious, half taking my threat seriously. He sat down and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the reddish rain from his face.
"Disgusting isn't it?" I said as I closed the door to the right of the car. The driver was Mr. Tull. I had never known his first name, although I do admit I had never been given to care much.
"What do you want," Trevor asked of me like a hook plucking my thoughts from the seas of nomenclature.
"To take you home," I said matter-of-factly. He eyed me suspiciously and I smiled my lovely smile again. "I do have a lovely smile don't I?"
"Um..."
"I mean, not that you'd care, you know, your wife and everything."
"What?"
"So where would you like us to take you?"
"Soho, please."
"Urh," I scoffed, "How Bohemian. I bet you're a chef or an artist or something."
"Art dealer, actually."
"Thought as much," I said derisively

Trevor looked ahead to Mr. Tull, a giant lump of a man, whom ignored the two of us and I was trying my best to ignore him, he is rather dull, but Trevor looked at Mr. Tull then to the road, as if concerned about where we were taking him, because at this stage Mr. Tull turned onto the highway, which in hindsight may seem like we were going in the opposite direction. Honestly, speaking we were taking him directly home. I had the directions on my GPS and my Blackberry. Seriously, we weren't going to like kidnap him or shove him into the boot. Not initially. I promise. But, I'm getting ahead of myself.
"You can ignore, Mr. Tull," I said, "He's a mute you see. I can call his mother a range of things including barnyard animals and low-rent prostitutes and he couldn't respond if he wanted to."
Mr. Tull at this point started to make angry gurgling noises that I would write out as, "Fug hoo, hoo fwuggri bafpup..." but you get the point.

It was at this stage that somebody had the nerve to start shooting at us. Darling Trevor ducked as glass sprayed throughout the inside of the car.
Mr. Tull spat, "Fuggi ell," and swerved the car from left to right as if he were a hoki-poki dancer playing you put your left car in, you put your right car out.
I sat from my undeniably suitable position to view the spectacle rather enjoying the view as if it had all been orchestrated for my benefit, and I would have believed that it was for my benefit if I didn't know any better and that this whole situation wasn't going to make me late for my midnight tea.

The car spun around somehow and the back lifted and landed in such a way that the back axel landed on a block of concrete, an already overturned barrier, situated here for purposes of the plot yet to unfold. Mr. Tull pulled out a thirty-eight and shot four rounds. The car, whom had shot at us stopped accelerating, lazily edged to the right and slowly punched into some upright concrete barriers. Glass flew everywhere, some smoke and mangled bones, but luckily Mr. Tull made sure that they were already dead.

Trevor at this stage got the strange notion into his head that now was a bad time to find the situation humorous. I was indifferent. Mr. Tull was proud, but who cares about him.
"Why the hell did I agree to do this for Jerry?" Trevor exploded as he kicked open his door and popped out of the car. He began walking, away, a direction that wasn't favourable for me.
"Mr. Tull," I said, "Would you be a darling and fetch him."
"Aai geh im fo woo," Mr. Tull gurgled, some spit dribbling thoroughly disgusting me and I retired my attention to my Blackberry. I rather enjoy social networking you see. It's all about staying connected.
"Mr. Tull, don't worry about me... hey... Hey!"
(Here's a good place to imagine a stereotypical bonk-like noise.)
I was checking for any incoming messages as Mr. Tull struggled to open the deformed boot of the car, deposited Trevor and pushed the car off the concrete block and returned the whole situation to a respectable one-eighty-degrees. We drove off slowly and the car bobbed up and down as the one back wheel was no longer touching the road, but I imagined myself to be on a fairground ride and enjoyed the bobbing for what it was worth.

We arrived about an hour later and I was grateful. Mr. Trevor Black in the back had gotten it into his head to start making noise. How odd this little man was - getting all these notions into his head. Such a good thing that he decided to come along with us. I can't imagine how I would have felt had he decided otherwise.

Amanda/Susan had arrived with Pete in the passenger seat in a much less exciting mode of transportation that did not bob up and down. Pete had taken to assuaging his boredom with one of those ball-on-a-rope-in-a-cup type toys that Susan/Amanda had bought for him to keep his tiny mind occupied.

We all disembarked and Mr. Tull had dragged the lively body of Mr. Trevor Black from the boot of the car and sat him down with some lovely restraints to keep him comfortable and warm. Pete had shuffled to the kitchen and withdrawn two dozen cups and saucers, two teapots and a number of condiments including tomato sauce, chutney and Worchestershire sauce. For some reason he always brought everything out for tea. I had made the mistake of asking why once, which resulted in an explanation that I don't fully understand to this day. You see, Pete isn't slow. Quite to the contrary, Pete is probably the smartest man here, barring of course my fabulous self. He's good with numbers though and computers: can get you into the Queen's computer with an abacus and a radish. If you want bat-shit crazy, that's Amanda, who we sometimes call Susan. Well Susan is fine, but Amanda you have to watch out for. Susan/Amanda is like our big sister, always checking up on us. Amanda/Susan, on the other hand, is everything but, moonlights as our resident psychopath, assassin and bitch; occasionally getting high on stupid notions of feminism and bra burning and empowered women and hating Oprah Winfrey for what she's done to some school kids in Nigeria or something.

Trevor was still making his bizarre noises in the comfy chair and Pete undid his gag and offered him tea.
"What the fuck is going on? Who the fuck are you people? Why the hell..." he went on. I sat down and enjoyed myself to some lovely sweet tea. I looked at Trevor and smiled. I did mention that I have a lovely smile. I got lost on his chin. He had one of those dimples in the middle of his chin. What did they call it again? A chin claft... oh a chin cleft that's right! His was unusually deep. I wondered for a moment whether if he laid down whether he could keep tea in it and drink from it by tilting his head back. His voice echoed but I was transfixed. Then my mind wandered to the notes and timbres of his voice. Do other people's voices echo like this? Or do you have to be tied up?
Amanda came by and sat down, she was angry. Susan asked her to calm down but Amanda wouldn't have it, so Susan poured them a cup of tea. Amanda drank it begrudgingly. Mr. Tull sat down and put his cajoling stick, the one that had resulted on Trevor's ride in the boot, on the table, signifying to Mr. Trevor Black that this was probably a good time to be keeping quiet. Trevor had reached the same conclusion and everybody was happy to be in agreement.

That we would bleed

That we would bleed

We were set upon the land

By an angered church

And beset on every side

Stood our new enemy

Whom we'd never known

And God smiled at us from a distance

Stuck behind the rhetoric

Of a gluttonous church

And we fought valiantly

As we watched our men and women dragged away

And our children raped

And our elderly slaughtered

We held up our arms to the sky

And we bled

But the rhetoric didn't save us

And we starved

And the scripture didn't feed us

And the church looked upon us

From a distance with full coffers

And we were handed to the enemy

That we would bleed

And meet a surprised God

Who hadn't expected

To see us this soon

-o0o-

Colonized

[this is still largely a poem under construction - please watch this place for further developments]

I

I feel inconsequential sometimes

Because of what you've done

You stole from me

You raped me

Over and over again

You destroyed my home and family

You tore apart my life

So I was quiet

II

You came to my bed at night

You put your hand on my ass

You put your cock in my mouth

And when I cried you hit me

And when I was quiet you hated me

When nobody was looking

When nobody cared

So I was quiet

III

You stole our home

You kept us alone at night

So that nobody would see

You raped my mother

You raped my grandmother

You pretty much raped anything if

You could get your pants off in time

So I was quiet

IV
And your hatred for black people
Was shouted through every window
Proclaimed to the world
Except when you slept with other men's wives
Who weren't white
But when my friends were black
You threatened to kick me out

You threatened my life

So I was quiet

V

You tore at the land with your machines

You took the metals and gold

You made yourself rich

And left me and the ones I love

You left us to die

And now you hate us

Because we weathered the storm

So I was quiet

VI

And you ran to the church

Where else can paedophiles hide

And you became a Mighty Man

How else do boys become men

But to rape their children

To slap their wives around

To threaten sixty five year old women

So I was quiet

VII
But I'm not that twelve year old anymore
I won't be quiet anymore
I won't simply stand idly by
And let you rape and steal
You're just another colonizer
To be kicked out
And liberation comes quickly
I will not be quiet anymore

Everybody hates Mary Dysentery (Also called: A Note on Misogyny)

Mary, Mary Dysentery

Hated by all as a matter of fact

The townsfolk may have spared her

Had she shown a shred of tact

The baker down the street

Thought that Mary was a bitch

He said that he should much preferred

That she'd starved in a ditch

The cobbler said that he as well

Would vote to have her slaughtered

To have her whipped, to have her chained

To have her drawn and quartered

The butcher had it in for her

As did the tanner in the fen

The lawyer and the carpenter

And the smith down in the glen

The parish vicar shook his fist

With odious detestation

He thought that Mary was a cow

Who deserved much castigation

And everybody hated her

For everything she said

To each and every wife

Who's man came to her bed

The major too had bedded her

And rang his copper bell

He called all the men together

And they drowned her in a well

Mary, Mary Dysentery

Where is your garden fair

Around a well under Ipswich's bell

At the foot of the Chapel's stair

-o0o-

Church and Science don't mix... (or alternatively Michele Bachmann is an Idiot)

I've thought about this for a while now

I don't know the truth

But I like the idea of evolution though

You say I'm mistaken

You like creationism

But I just feel that evolution is more likely

I've seen the 'science' on your side

Mostly just pseudo-science

And pseudo-skepticism

(Seriously; look up pseudo-skepticism)

And I'm not really convinced

But that's not the problem I have

You see: What you've done to me

And to others like me

Kinda... discredits everything you've said

And everything you stand for

You can't preach "God"

With blood on your hands

You can't say that your way is right

And do wrong

And expect everyone to turn a blind eye

So if you take issue

Tell it to my scars

And excuse me as I walk away

Child abuse

Rape

Abandonment

Narcissistic Injury

Torture

This is what your 'science' means to me

-o0o-

Orange

I love running my nails over the skin of an orange
And smelling the sweet citrus smell
I'm not sure if that makes me all together sane
But I won't tell if you won't tell

I love feeling the juice running from my mouth
down my neck, staining my shirt, a sticky spell
I'm not sure if that makes me all together sane
But I won't tell if you won't tell

I love chewing on the rind, the grit in my teeth

 That stings my gums and taunts them to swell

I'm not sure if that makes me all together sane

But I won't tell if you won't tell

I don't know if you like oranges like I do

And if how I eat them makes me seem unwell

I'm not sure if that makes me all together sane

But I won't tell if you won't tell

-o0o-

Paedophile

I know who you are now
I thought I did before
But I realized today that
Knowing you and getting to know you
Are the same thing

I got to know you a little bit more today
When I heard of the sixteen year old
The child you raped
At a twenty first birthday party
So many years ago

The cover up was smooth
So many signed their souls away
To protect you
Lied for you
Put themselves in the crossfire

But I know you
And I know what you are
For years I thought
That I was alone
But I'm learning how wrong I was

Your time is running out
You filthy paedophile
And somehow I'm sad
That it won't be me
Who slits your throat

03h49 Monday 25 April 2011

Lughnasadh

We all met up on that day
Standing on the brink of the battlefield
Lugh (2) standing by our side;
His spear lifted by his left hand

Our opponents are fronted by
the three sons of Carman (3) the Witch: Dub, Dother and Dian (4)
With Bible's raised they come to scourge the ground
They came to claim the harvest as tithes

They dragged off Lugh
And slaughtered him
Broke him into pieces
And devoured him as their daily bread

And we were left without a warrior
Without a divine demigod
Waiting for the gods to send another hero
To lead us to salvation once again

-o0o-

1) Lughnasadh: Harvest Festival
2) Lugh: Celtig high-god. Left-handed. Often depicted carrying a spear.
3) Carman (Carmen, Carmun): A Celtic deity. Often represented as a warrior, a witch and sometimes a goddess.
4) Dub, Dother and Dian: The sons of the Celtic witch Carman. Personifications of black, evil and violence respectively.

Our Little Tim - An Ode to Tim Burton's Imagination

Our Little Tim was very short
Which caused him irritation
He'd sailed the seas from port to port
To find some medication

A wise old man came up to him
And grabbed him by his hair
And like a bow stretched out Our Tim
And shot him through the air

And off he flew with twanging sound
Into the bright blue yonder
Though we don't know where he came down
He was a tad bit longer

-o0o-

The Sheep

It was late in peak September, on some day I can’t remember
Whilst I typed of peace and splendour on some spreadsheet, version four
And the noontime birds still tweeting, and my thoughts were ever fleeting
And a knock, knock, knock repeating found itself upon my door
I inquired with elation I had never felt before -
“Who is knocking at my door?”

Who could it be? Some gruesome sprite? Sent here to torment in the night?
To move my pen and make me write, to leave me sprawling on the floor?
Would it be some pallid raptor whose mere stare could write a chapter…?
Or vengeful hearts’ tapper-tapper, beating beneath the wooden floor?
I had to know who was behind! Who was outside of my front door?-
What did cruel fate have in store?

There as I opened up the door, nearly ripping off the hinges
There I stood upon the fringes of the world I knew before
How could my hopeful action cause such deep dissatisfaction?
There a greyish sheep in traction bleated just outside my front door
Such a stupid sight had never been witnessed in days of yore
Cripple sheep and nothing more

It’s poor legs were cast in plaster, it had suffered great disaster
And he stood there ever bleating with the stale bandages it wore
It could barely have dared to bleat upon his broken plastered feet
And it spoke out with words complete as if Athena did implore
But it was not Pallas who spoke as she tends to be a bore
Talking sheep and nothing more

And I stood there disillusioned by the lame sheep upon my floor
As if asking me to heal him, as if begging me to restore
I wondered why this muse of mine would rob me of my word and rhyme
Other poets are blessed while I’m frequented by sheep at my door
The thing that spoke now was bleeding more than it had done before
Bleeding sheep and nothing more

Such greatness came to sulky Poe in his own vocal blackened crow
That did sit atop a statue squawking of his long dead Lenore
Vincent’s dog, his Abercrombie, who he turned into a zombie
As penned by the great Tim Burton, the king of bold and darkest lore
But what do I get on this day, bleeding on my wooden floor
Stupid sheep and nothing more

So it spoke out in words so bleak, than should some poor and broken sheep
And it bleated out a pale bleat, on his poor plaster coated feet
And it breathed which seemed quite the feat as it did limber up to speak
And it spoke such dreadful words that I had never heard before
Was I to be a great poet as the ones who came before?
Spake the sheep then, “Nevermore.”

Outright I failed to believe it: the talking livestock’s parable
That brought my troubled soul as low as the grey dust upon my floor
So I shot it and chopped it up. For fear that all will know the truth.
Of what the talking livestock said upon the wet and bloody floor
So I had mutton steak for lunch on that sunny day of yore
And the sheep spoke nevermore.

-o0o-

The Skinny Little Man

He always sits there
Behind my head
Clinging on with nailed fingers...
...digging into the back of my head
Using my hair like a stepladder
Telling me that I need another go
Another line
Another dose

He's at his worst when I'm around users
And he tells me,
"Look at them,
Aren't they having fun?"

He's been growing thinner
But his voice is just as loud as always
And it's easier sometimes
But not today
I will always be an addict

-o0o-

A Collective Sigh

And the Physicist told the Artist
“Draw me! Draw me!”
And the Artist drew the Physicist.
“Here,” he said.
And the Physicist was smug.
“It’s childish,” he said,
“I can do much better.”
The Physicist drew the Artist.
“Here,” he said.
“I don’t understand it,”
The Artist said handing it back,
“It’s just numbers.”
“Yes, but it’s accurate,” said the Physicist.

-o0o-

The Other

You made me this way
Shaped me with your words
Like crude tools - hammering and chipping
You made me the other
With your faded ideas
Your improper plans of who I should be
-according to you
So I became the other
The counterbalance of you
Because without it you cannot exist
You need the other
So that you can be self
You made me who I am
So that you could hate me
So that you could love yourself

-o0o-

Hard Day

It's warm
I'm sweating
The labour is hard
But it's good

Pushing more and more
Carrying the stock by myself
The other guys are on site... I'm here alone
But it's good

Customers changing their minds
This then that
No... they want that now
But it's good

Making money
Making progress
Getting better at this
And it's good

Pushing myself further
Sitting down in the office
Back in pain
But it's good

Head is spinning
Faster and faster
Paperwork won't sit still with the fan blowing
But it's good

Drink lots of water
Sing a happy song
Keep my mind on the good things
Make it good

I've never done anything
Never mattered
Been told before that I don't matter
That I wasn't good

But now I'm working
with my hands
Pushing hard
Becoming good again

It's a hard day...

-o0o-

The Alternate Sexuality responding to Conservative Evangelical/Calvanist Christianity

All my love runs so deep
Through darkest veins unseen
All piled up in a heap
Kept from your staring eyes
All hidden from your sight
In a safe place I keep
All my love from your spite
And the hatred that ties

The faithful judgmental
The cruelest discourser
Your “God” elemental
The bitter divorcer
Self given election
My forced genuflection
To the will of this cult
Of elitist rejection

-o0o-

Wings of Sky

Written on 30 May 2005

Have you seen the stars,
   as the moon falls shy

Have you remembered this,
   kept the hills in mind

Have you seen the clouds,
   watch the birds fly by

Have you rode the wind,
   on the wings of sky

In the night I see,
   Where the world is blind

In the fall I feel,
   Where the sky in numb

In the spring I bear
   Of the things I find

In the end I sing
   Where all else is dumb

Have you sung of peace,
   and the earth defy

Have you walked the fields,
   in the lions eye

Have you heard His call;
   of God on High

Have you climbed to heaven,
   on the wings of sky
  

-o0o-

Good Enough

You expect lots of me and you
Expect great things that I should do
And I should be as dead as you
And honestly I’d rather die

I should work the hours away
Respect authority and say
“My Lord why you look good today”
And honestly I’d rather die

And I should bow at everything
Your every move, so poisoning,
Your every whim you puke and sing
And honestly I’d rather die

I’ve done those things you’ve said I must
And it got me nowhere, there or bust
I slaved my life in stupid trust
And honestly I’d rather die

Than do such stupid things again
For selfish greedy filthy men
That steal and rape and kill and then
Well I’d be dead
So fuck you
I think I’m good enough

-o0o-

Facebook Status 03 November 2009

Written on 03 November 2009

Been writing poems,
Been up all night,
Can’t make it rhyme,
It’s mostly shite,
But this will do,
No silver mint,
I hope that this,
Makes it to print

-o0o-

From and Empty Page to...

Written on 11 August 2009

I write my poetry here
It’s an empty page
Well, not any more
Now it’s full of letters and words
Like a glass filling up far too slowly
The patron begging the waiter to fill his glass
Just a little bit more
Just a little bit more wine
Just a little bit more self-indulgence
Just a little bit more fat and grease

This is where I write my poetry
Or rather slather it on the page
As I spit out the chewed bones
And somehow feel fed
Now the page looks like a used napkin
Stained with the remnants of myself indulgence
And I hand it to be read by people
Like a child expecting praise after having wiped their face

-o0o-

Buttercup

Do you remember
The day I showed up on your doorstep
Crying my eyes out
So desperately afraid
Nowhere else to turn
Like a homeless dog
Out of breath
Restless
And so desperately afraid
I couldn’t say much
I was already afraid of the church
Afraid of more betrayal
My mouth was stitched
I just kept mumbling
“He’s angry, he’s angry”
I couldn’t say anything else
He would have hurt me
He would have hurt my mom
He would have hurt you too
The church would have hurt me again
You kept asking me
“Did he hurt you?”
I couldn’t tell you
I couldn’t show you
But you were there for me
When I was alone
And so desperately afraid
You just sat there with me
Neither of us could do much
I couldn’t say
Getting him involved
You couldn’t act
Getting the church involved
It was Bible study that night
You asked if I wanted to go home
Before my friends arrived
I just laughed
I didn’t want to go home at all
I sat through Bible study
My eyes bloodshot
Uncomfortably
Painfully
And so desperately afraid
I just wanted to say
Thank you for being there
Thank you Buttercup

-o0o-

Rubicon

I’ve done it now. You can’t prevent,
the things I’ve done, I’ve said and meant.
No trail to track. There’s no way back
So all that’s left you now resent.

So scold me, tell me to repent
To change the past that came and went
Destroy my hopes of freedom’s notes
And all of heaven’s wonderment

Don’t preach at me when you’re to blame
Had this been you you’d do the same
Don’t judge to soon there is no room
For eyes that have a plank to wane

I’ve crossed the streams of no return
I’ve walked on roads you can’t discern
And lessons taught have come to naught
And still you never stop to learn

So in the darkness where you prowl
And at the speck in my eye scowl
Adjust your view and see anew
That all you trust in fact is foul

And where are you and all your laws
That subjugates with iron claws
Your broken vows from empty mouths
Were lost in all your futile wars

And I am gone, far out of sight
And bask in things that bring delight
Ambrosia leaves and olive wreathes
Away from all your war and plight

-o0o-

Blood

Written on 2H03 4th October 2008

I love it, it’s simple
Not much more to say
I crave it, it’s staple
In that carnal way
And I want it to flow
My skin I must carve
to get it, I know that
Without it I starve

You judge me, I see you
You cowering there
You fear it, the blood goo
My veins opened bare
You run from me anguishing
Run from my pain
And I sit in such lavishing
In the blood rain

I helps me, it guides me
It takes all the blame
It takes all the sorrow
It takes all the pain
It purifies me and
it lifts up my heart
It sanctifies me and
It tears me apart

This I make of my skin
What men should not know
All this menstrual blood sin
Where men should not go
And through it I birth life
A life within me
And the holy blood knife
I plunge into me

You judge me, I see you
You cowering there
You fear it, the blood goo
My veins opened bare
I love it, it’s simple
Not much more to say
I crave it, it’s staple
In that carnal way

-o0o-

Mr Blade

Hello Mr Blade
It’s been some time
Since I last came to visit
Taken you out of your pouch
And run you over the surface of my skin

Can’t help it
I promised myself
But it makes the pain go far away
I promised I wouldn’t do this anymore
But it feels so good and your kiss is so seducing

Have some tea
The red, sweet and ferrous tea
Drink the chaos away, draw it out
Make me feel connected again, in touch
Break the hands that hold me back, on the other side

When they come
Like hands reaching
Through the madness
Through the infinite pains
Holding me far from everything

There’s no help
And the chaos sweeps in
Shatters the pleasant little tea cups and saucers
And I have to rebuild from scratch again without the help of the civilized
And I have to cut, to make the pain go far away again, abandoned by all the powerful

-o0o-

Vir Ouma

Written on Tuesday 04 August 2009
The day she passed away

I know the things that they expect
To bow my head, to show respect
To still my mouth, prevent neglect
Such silly things in retrospect

But better a world for you awaits
Beyond the dark and gloomy gates
Free of pain and mortal bates
Of cosmos buds and sundried dates

Of vast fields of orange blooms
Of roasted lamb and black mushrooms
Of waltz and songs that no one knows
Where trees of eternal autumn grows

Where I rejoice when others pray
I know the things that I should say
And with some tears I know today
That heaven took you on your way

So don’t wait up, in time we’ll meet
And together stand at the Maker’s feet
So tell Oupa and our friends in the sky
We’re thinking of you, we all say hi

-o0o-

Cannibalized

There's little left of me
The rest was butchered by you
hidden behind the lines you drew
by the blue mountain's beach
Where you broke off my hands
So justice cannot reach

And I cannot wipe my eyes
So your knife cannibalized my bones
And left nothing but lies
with my guts scattered among the stones
And my tears lubricated the pieces
Made them slide down easy

And my mouth is stammering
With words marching - one / two
Like you and your little soldier boys
How proud you must be, such toys
With your little guns and knives
And you fuck other men's wives

And I am left behind
Just a chopped up faggot child
Not worthy of love or care
Bisexual, broken, wild and parted
The prime meat cut for your pleasure
The rest discarded

And you tied me down
Like a dog and yelled at me
Trying to fell my tree
by screaming at it
And you beat me and I bit
And you were so indignant

After all, why should the faggot bite you
You only did your worst for him
He should be grateful
And I did all I could to fight you
I'd be so terribly spiteful
The militant gay boy

You taught the recipes well
And I learned
Maybe not the lessons your taught
But I spurned your hunger
And I burned your books
And I ran away

And you saw my love for the black skin
and you threw your toys out of the cot
And you poured another soda and gin
So that all your little abuses may be forgot
But I remember still
And I bet you do too

And you do, you still do
Everywhere I go I see it
The lines drawn by your knife
Telling your story bit by bit
and you cry, "It's not true, not true."
Your own protest defaming you

Your uniform has faded a lot
And your lot is up
along with your time
spilled from your gin cup
along with my blood and pieces
mixed with your spit and grime

And I'm ready to be slaughtered
With rope and lace
Clamped into one place
with my pace stuck
Like I'm held down by glue
The remnants parts of you

When I stole my pieces back
They came back covered with dirt
The filth from you
Splattered over my shirt and boots
Years worth of accrue
eating into my roots

But I washed myself clean
Baptized by fire
Free of the dogmatic dream
the illusory liar
And my pieces found rest
And peace found the missing bits of me

And the smallest bits of me
Find their way home
And finally start to grow
Some semblance of life
To be left alone
The last few inches of me

And your racist tongue is gone
And your teeth are out of my soul
The year has been long
Since I last saw you
And you called
and I hung up on you

It felt so good
Everyone thought I was in shock
You must have hurt me
But I was elated
such an arrogant cock I was
and I was happy

And I found my pieces
hiding here and there
Behind another CD
Behind another glass of water
One piece longing to be a son
The other longing to be a daughter

And one just wanting to be a man
Lost in a bitter world
Fatherless from one father I ran
Into an uncertain world
Without your thoughts
Without your plan

And I put myself together
Fillet, Sirloin and Chops
Gizzards, heart, the lot
All dancing to be amalgamated
Thrown into the cooking pot
Praying that I be reanimated

-o0o-

Once Afraid

I was once afraid
So terribly afraid
So dreadfully frightened
Of the dark things
In the corners
Afraid of the dark
In the corners
Afraid of the dark man
In the corner
Sitting on the leather seat
Watching television
Fat and bloated
Stuffing his face
Mouth breather
Pig-like beast
Scoffing at his plate
Spitting out the bones onto the floor
Where I have to pick them up
I have to pass another plate
I have to make another cup of coffee
Sweaty and smelly
And stinking of Brute Deodorant
His poisonous words
With his threatening fist
Fuck I hated that man
Sitting there
Frightening me
I was only a child
Not even a teenager yet
Stuck with my fat and stinking lord and saviour
Pigging on the lard
That was slapped in front of him
In piles
Simba chips, and Coca Cola and cigarettes and another cup of coffee
Driving everyone away
Putting everyone to sleep
Leaving me alone
With the awake man
Who enslaved me
Tied his chains around me
Made me his little kaffir boy
Calling me kaffir
Because of the company I kept
Black friends

He spat on me
Dragged me by my hair
Into his service
At his beck and call
Covered with his stench
That lingered in the air
Producing a foul taste
Stuck at the back of my throat
Along with my objections
And my pain

While he struts naked through the house
Shitting on the toilet
Leaving the door open
Calling me to his service
Calling me to listen to his self absorbed ranting
Listening to this opinions of the world
And how black people ruined it
Listening to his theories
Of what he thinks the Bible is really about
Listening to him telling me that he will
Abandon me if I am gay
Or if I don’t marry a white woman
Or if I stop being a Christian
Listening to him telling me that he loves me
And that he only says these things because he cares
Listening to him shit
Shit from his ass
His body leaking the putrid slop
And shit from his mouth
His mind leaking more putrid slop
Silently wanting to puke
As he lights another cigarette
And I thank God for the cigarette
That kills the smell of him
The stinking man
The foul creature

Every five minutes
First this, then that
Always, constantly
Incessant calling
Ringing his electric bell
Summoning me with his siren
Like crows screeching
Calling me to be devoured
By the filthy man
The disgusting man
Whose teeth bit into me
Nightly
Daily
Hourly
Breathing his filth into me

Telling me that I am filthy
Telling me that I’m a shit head
Telling me that I’m a faggot
Burdening me with his weight
So that he can slather another layer
Back onto himself
Wallowing in his mud
With me waist deep in it

And then his friends come
And then all the disorder must be shoved under carpets
And into cupboards
Far away
We must make the pig god respectable
We must make him ready
And I must become prim and proper
Joe Sunshine for everyone
To be placed on my pedestal
So that the pig can tell them
Tell them how well he takes care of me
Tell them how proud he is of me
Tell them what a good boy I am
When silently I want to slit his throat at night
And bathe myself clean in his blood

And when his friends go
Then the shoes come off
And he beats me with his shoes
Because everything wasn’t perfect
And he pukes on me
Telling me how shit I am
Covering me in his filth again
Wallowing his greasy frame over me
Pushing my head under the grime
Drowning with lungs full of his
Pestilence
Bubbles bobbing beneath
The brim of his belly
I barter to breathe
But I breathe more blood and blubber

And I went to the church
I went to many churches
I asked them to save me
I asked them to show me salvation
But what salvation is there for the gay boy
What salvation is there for the boy who loves both black and white skin
What salvation is there for the boy who doesn’t believe in the Bible anymore
And the church told me that I was to blame
My Christian friends told me that I’m deserving of death
The pig ministers and pastors and priests
They told me I deserve it
One church helped me
Two pastors listened
But even they had their hands tied
Because after ten years of pleading for help
I couldn’t speak anymore
I couldn’t act anymore

I went into dark places
Where nobody could see
Cutting at myself
Let the blood flow
To make me feel something
And then when I felt
I wanted to die
Cut a little deeper
Every time
More and more
Scars across my stomach and arms and legs
Stretch marks and cut marks
I broke into pieces
And what good is a broken mirror
To a narcissist
The pig god hated me
And spat at me
And I hid in the corners
In plain sight
Cutting at my skin
Snorting another line

And fuck I prayed
I prayed to God
I prayed that God could tell
I prayed that God compel
I prayed that God rebel
Against the false pig idol
That was set before me
I prayed that God showed me
I prayed I prayed I prayed

And God came
Like fire
Rushing and sweeping through me
Sweeping up the rubble
Mopping up the grime
Blowing away the neglect of fathers, friends and faithful

And the fire burned the filthy man
And to this day he is still dying
Slowly, painfully, eternally

I found clean blood to wash myself with
I found pure springs to wash it all away
And I was clean
And I was sober
And I was whole

And the man with teeth
Jumped up and down
Flailing his arms angrily
“Worship me, worship me”
Screeching
Scratching
Scorching
Scalding
Little toddler throwing a fit
But the chain was snapped
Like twigs for a fire
Effortlessly broken by a child

And God touched me
Electricity
Surging through my veins
Over my lips
Opening my mouth
Speaking the true tongues
Not the languages of angels and humans
But the language of truth
And the dark man scampered off
Hiding in the bushes
With his cheap camouflage outfit
Pretending to be a soldier

And I wasn’t afraid anymore
And I didn’t know why
And I didn’t hate him anymore
And I didn’t know why
And then I saw him years later
He stopped smoking
But as he walked
the trail of shit still dragged behind him
like a giant snail
His self-assured arrogance stank
Echoing his brute deodorant
Like a badly sung harmony of honing huffs
He sauntered glowing with self-importance
Convincing himself that heads turn to see him
But I saw that day
He doesn’t exist
Only the grim memory
He is only grime and grit
And goo and gunge
There is no man underneath it
And nobody turned to look
Nobody cared for his presence

And he dissolved
Like an effervescent
Simmering slowly away
His shape shifting
Suddenly solvent
Disappearing swiftly
Sweeping spryly away

And he was gone
And I wasn’t afraid anymore

-o0o-

Hypocrite

My friends always wonder why I get upset
When they say something racist.
Why I have to walk away sometimes,
when family talks badly of
black people
or Indian people
or coloured people.
They wonder why I often change the subject
of a conversation before they've finished their...

I am incapable of racism, you see.
I hate it.
Strange don't you think?
Because all white men should be racists.
It’s only natural, isn't it?
But I am not.
Thanks to you really.

You know my uncle was a black man.
My grandfather adopted him.
Of course you know, but you don't like it.
You hate it, because we are supposed to be white.
We are supposed to be pure.
Because somehow white skin is purer than black skin.
How can I be pure if I am related to a black man?
You like to think of yourself as pure,
But we all know that's not true.

My best friend at the time was black,
But you didn't know that.
David is such a "white" name after all.
My mother didn't teach me discrimination.
I never learned the language of hate.
So how could you know he was black?
I just spoke of my friend, not his skin colour.

Then I brought him home one day.
We were going to watch a movie.
We were going to walk to the cinema from home.
But you hated it.
I saw it in your eyes, he did too.
You told my mother to drive us there,
so that none of your friends would see
me walking with a black boy.

I remember my mom dropping him off
at home after the movie.
I remember getting home.
You grabbed me
You threw me down into your study.
Everyone was quiet.
Nobody said a word as you abused me.
"Kaffer lover!" you screamed,
"You want to go sleep with the fucking kaffers too?"
I didn't understand.
I was twelve.
I just cried.
I didn't want to be thrown out of the house.

Afterwards I just sat in my room, silently, for hours.
I heard you screaming at my mother.
I saw you throw her out of the glass sliding door
Into the palm garden by the pool.
"I know you had a Kaffer brother!" you screamed,
"I didn't know you fucked him and shat out another little Kaffer!"
You screamed pointing at my room.
Ironic coming from a man
Who fucks women who aren't white
Behind closed doors where his friends can't see.

Silly little hypocrite.

Since that day
Whatever seed of racism that may have been in me died.
Make no mistake
I still see skin colour.
Colour doesn't go away.
Nothing makes colour go away.
Without colour what would the world be
Dry and dull and dead.
Difference between me and you is;
Where you see a white man versus a "Kaffer"
I see my brothers and sisters in many colours.

This is the rainbow nation to me.
A future where colour is wealth and wellbeing.
Not, a cause for violence and hatred.
This is my dream South Africa.
A world just beyond our dreams and hopes.

We aren’t there yet.
People like you have made sure of that.
Hate mongers and racists.
Child abusers and hypocrites.
My future has no place for you.
My heaven has no place for you.
Heaven will spit you out.
And your skin will burn black.
Blacker than any skin you’ve grown to hate.

[Thanks for letting me use this David :D ]

-o0o-

Strangest Church

This pastor a thief, has passion galore
To hide the true fact that he lives like a whore
Christ dies on the street with no food to eat
When pastors rob beggars with sermons’ implore

His church has a train and a restaurant too
Telling the people just what they should do
To abandon their friends, this he recommends
If they be a Hindu or Moslem or Jew

Money changers in the temple most high
They steal from the poor so the poor must rely
On the whims of the great who will always forsake
The true kin of God who must suffer and die

Their worship a noise, a horrid tumult
Offensive to God, to Love an insult
Their babble’s elation sans interpretation
Words without love, such a pallid old cult

And should your afflictions dare to show face
Or sully their comfort or burden their pace
They judge you and spit and then call you shit
And strip you naked of all of God’s grace

Basking in gold from the ones they’ve raided
And then they condemn us pretending they’re jaded
Throwing their slurs, reality blurs
And the role of the church becomes every goal faded

Remember to give them your payslip to tell
Before you forgot all your tithing as well
In case they expel you and drive you to hell
Neglecting the price of the God that they sell

-o0o-

Potato Prophet

Potato prophet tell me all your sweet lies
And tell me that my kind are nothing more than witches and spies
And tell me why it is we all should die
To satisfy your need to believe

Potato prophet tell me more and more
And why it is that human rights are nothing worth fighting for
And lay our battered women face down on the bloody floor
To satisfy your need to believe

And I am flesh and I am bone
And in the end God’s love is my foundation stone
And I am mind and I am soul
And in the end I will go home

Potato prophet are your tales for real
How can you assume you know what I feel
While your presumptuous words both kill and steal
To satisfy your need to believe

But all in all my God loves me as I am
He made me from the clay beneath a human man
So maybe I can’t do the things you can
To satisfy your need to believe

And I am flesh and I am bone
And in the end God’s love is my foundation stone
And I am mind and I am soul
And in the end I will go home

Potato prophet have you more to say
And when I’m dying at the end of the day
Will you still hold my hand even if I’m gay
To satisfy your need to believe

And will you mark us with your triple six stamp
Or maybe just round us up inside a concentration camp
Maybe an electric chair with Jesus as it’s killing amp
To satisfy your need to believe

And I am flesh and I am bone
And I am mind and I am soul
Am I’m at one in peaceful rest
And I am good
And I am fine
And I am saved
And wholly blessed

-o0o-

Yellow Livered Theology

Again the swell and ebb
Of Buchan-fever has gotten
The zealous fundamentalist
And the fervently evangelical Christians
Drunk with a theology
That stinks of misogyny
As old as the pyramids

And how can one further improve
A sermon aimed at the wife-beater
When the preacher is preaching
From a boxing ring
And then labelling the wife-beater
A Mighty Man

Admittedly:
Not every mighty man
Is a wife-beater

But certainly any husband
Who comes home
And loudly proclaims
That he is the head of the home
And his wife must submit
Encourages a power play
Which will inevitably set up
Either husband or wife
As the winner or the loser
Of the conversation
That is shortly to follow
Especially if it is the wife
Who is the bread winner

I have
First Hand
Seen Five Marriages Fail
Because of this
So much for
The Sanctity of Marriage
And the Commandments of Love

I find myself shocked that
South Africa
Which rather naively boasts
With one of the most advanced
Constitutions
In the world
Still entertains
An extremist cult following
That not only
Blatantly seeks to undermine
And oppress women,
But a cult
That is filled with homophobia
Sexism
And Implicit hate speech.

Our constitution
Allows for the safety of all people
The freedom of belief
And the right to live
Without being undermined
By an idiot no less

An idiot blinded
By a religious belief
So exclusive
It wants to pin up the veil
To the Holy of Holies again

Granting
White
Heterosexual
Middleclass
Able bodied
Drunk
Abusive
Unfaithful
Men
Who are more prone to pee in the sink
Than to act charitably
Exclusive access

Buchan’s message
Is severely jaundiced
By drinking from old wells
And threatens
The social work
Done by millions of South Africans
Whom
Have fought and suffered and died
For the very political, social and sexual freedoms
That Buchan’s followers so arrogantly
Flaunts in our faces
In the name of
The so-called
A God of Love

-o0o-

Little Narcissis

You
Little Narcissus
I never did tell you
Why I ran away from you
Me, coward, as the sun set on your world
A coward, by text message to your phone
Afraid of your lies
Because I knew then who you were
That you were a liar
A dark liar you are
Some colourful stories of yours
Penned by your hand
And your mouth

You
I saw you
Staring at yourself
In your mirror
At your reflection
Mirror’s lust for yourself
I brushed it off because you
Seemed so innocent you
and your sad puppy eyes

You
I was a mirror to you
A piece of glass through which you
Could see yourself
You saw my success as yours
You saw your failures as mine, you
Saw me as bad, you
Saw me as broken, you
Made it so when it suited you
Always when it suited you

You
Used me, you
For your own needs, you
Never saw me as a friend, you
Just saw me as a convenient thing, you
For your pleasure

You
Thinking of everyone as less than you
Treating everyone as less than you
Disposable to you
And you thought of yourself
As indispensable, you
Became your own god

You
I fought for you
You and your dismissive attitude
My friends told me to beware of you
My mother told me run from you
I didn’t listen, I believed in you
I stood up for you

You
When you were in need
When you were down
When everyone spat you out
Even your own family
I opened my house to you
I opened my table to you
I let you sleep in my bed, while you
You let me sleep on the floor
I made sure that you were comfortable
I made sure that you were fed
I made sure that people left you alone
I protected you

You
You invaded
A parasite, you
Into our lives, you
Into my family’s lives, now yours
Your bed, your room, your food
My grandmother became sick, you
Became indignant, you said
“She’s not sleeping in my bed” you
Wouldn’t even let a sick woman
Sleep in your bed
When I slept on the floor for you

You
We had simple rules for you
Simple rules for you to follow
And you spat in our faces, you
Paraded yourself through the house, you
Naked in your underwear, you
Pranced through the living room in your underwear
While my grandmother was sitting there
Shocked at you
Flabbergasted at your arrogance
We asked simple things of you
We asked that you wash the dishes
But you wouldn’t
We asked that you clean up after yourself
But you wouldn’t, you
Were rude to our guests, you
Became an unwelcome guest, you
And I still fought for you

You
And you betrayed me, you
Couldn’t follow the most basic rule, you
Left the windows open, you
Let my dogs get out
We never found Ounooi, you
Acted like you were the victim
You and your puppy dog eyes
Crocodile tears
You selfish bastard
While my dog died in the cold because of you

You
I forgave you
Believed that you would change, you
Even after my mother kicked you out
I stuck by you
Even after your betrayal
I stuck by you
Faithfully, you
Always you

You
One day I told you
I told you that I loved you
I was such an idiot for you
And you rejected me, you
Turned me away from you
Withheld your love
For what reason, you alone knew

You
While you whore yourself to everyone, you
Threw yourself at anyone who hated or loved you
Fucked them at night, you
Wearing your trashy, cheap suit, you
Wearing your stinking cologne, you
Took whomever came at you
I saw the pictures of you
My mother also saw the pictures of you
Both of us from different people, you
Knew them both of those men, you
Fucked them both you did
Different people to you
Different circumstances to you
Same photos of you
Naked you
Being spread like HIV by those you fucked

You
Changed, you
I couldn’t speak to you
You wouldn’t let me speak to you
You avoided my questions put to you
You became shallower
Than you’d ever been before, you
Stopped treating me like your friend
But you made me damage control, you
Handled me with your sly words
You twisted my perception with your cleaver talk
But I had stopped believing you

You
It was unbearable by the time you called
The way I felt, how you liked it
How I felt imprisoned by you
Afraid that I might say the wrong thing to you
That I might insult you
Afraid that I might lose you
I became a wreck before seeing you
Afraid of what you might say
What you might do

You
By now I stopped trusting you
I couldn’t even look at you
I became sick at your presence
Unconvinced by your empty words
Your empty claims of your love
Your care
I asked simple things from you
Basic things from you
Things you seemed to brush off your shoulder
Like dust I became to you
Your lies became bold and reckless, you
Got caught you in a few of your lies
And a number of your boyfriends told me
They told me what a bad person I was
They told me how I should be grateful to you
How I was taken care of by you
They told me that I abandoned you
When I was needed by you
How much I hurt you

You
So I left you
Because by now I felt used by you
Because I felt dirtied by you
And you panicked
I was harassed by you for weeks
You accused me of some misunderstanding, you
Said that I was insulted
because I didn’t understand you
Your friends harassed me
Telling me what a bad person I was, while you
You were crying your tears
Acting like the victim, you
Telling them how bad I treated you
How will the last one feel when he knows you lied
And now your subterfuge means nothing
When he shouted at me
On your behalf

Two days after I had my grandmother’s funeral, you
Had him chew on me like your lapdog
I had to listen to your lies
From a foreign mouth
While you hid in the shadows
A coward who hid behind this strange mask
Your assassin
Someone who knew everything about me from to you
Your broken intelligence
He told me how I abandoned you
He told me how I hurt you
He told me how I was a bad “Christian” because I should forgive you
Regardless of the fact that I had already forgiven you
I’m just not stupid enough to get within ten feet of you
I’d already forgotten you
You had already become nothing to me

You
And then two months later, you
Came to me
You asked me how I was, you
As if you cared
I had just buried my grandmother, and you
Had your bitch chew on me, because you
You lied to me and him, you
How do you think I was doing?
You said sorry, you
Not really knowing what you were apologising for
I said nothing to you
And then you ask me for a hug?
I was taken aback
Surprised
A hug?
Seriously?
A fucking hug?
Will that make it all better for you?
Will that make all your pain go away?
Will that make it all okay for you?
Are you insane?
Fuck you

-o0o-