Monthly Archives: February 2017

The Wheatfield

Will I ever truly be free?
To feel the sunshine on my face
And appreciate it without feeling fear?
Fear of my happiness being snatched away
Like the winter brings the night

Will I ever look at the sea
And wonder
Wonder with marvel
at all the colours
that encompass one another and flourish
At the waves causing havoc
Without wishing
to be taken into its depths
And perishing
Amongst creatures and nature that have never known me?

Will I ever look at the birds without envy?
Without jealously calculating
the freedom of their journey
The flow and beauty
of their feathers?
Gliding and swimming
across the sky into oblivion

Will I ever embrace the world around me
Without wanting it
to consume me

Will I ever learn to love
Without wanting
The Love
to devour me

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Short Story – Phil’s Reality

Phil looked at Sylvester, a tear glistening in his. He was thankful to whatever gods who watched over the earth that he was able to keep his son with him at least, he had lost his wife Sylvia during his son Sylvester’s birth he never blamed him, Phil believed in fate so he saw him as a great blessing.

Phil often wondered what his life would be like if his small toddler had not be around to keep him company; surely he would have lost his mind at this rate, he thought to himself. To keep Sylvester and himself company, he had bought a dog and taken in tenants to fill his large 6-bedroom Victorian house; the only place he had kept private was his loft, for Phil was an Artist and an Art Teacher and couldn’t bear the idea of not having a space to escape to in his house, couldn’t bare the idea of not being able to express himself.

 

One fine evening, Phil’s friends had come over for their regular visits. These had begun ever since Sylvia had died 7 years ago, an unspoken pact between Susan, Jabir and Matthew to meet every Friday, ever since they had witnessed the trauma Phil attempted to keep under wraps. Fridays were perfect, that’s when Phil came more into his own reality after playing a gimmick as a harsh and critical Art Teacher – he was able to get closer to who he really was.

 

So there they were, Phil, Sylvester, bon-bon (the dog), Susan, Jabir and Matthew were drinking tea in the large white studio in the loft and talking about Phil’s latest project, which didn’t seem all that fascinating but as usual was encouraged because it was good to see Phil lively.

“I just don’t see it.” said Matthew. Being an accountant didn’t make Matthew all the artistically inclined, instead it made him quite abrasive which didn’t always help the situation.

Susan glared at Matthew before turning and saying “I think it’s great Phil. A real body of work. Shows all the artistic expression of a true Monet or Van Gogh”; Susan was a primary school teacher and was prone to expressing moments of extreme sweetness that could have provided one with a toothache. Matthew scoffed and Jabir looked sympathetically at Phil, which hurt Phil more than Susan’s faux praise and Matthew’s obvious slating.

“Keep working on it mate. I’m sure it’ll get to where you want it to be” said Jabir, the ever encouraging dentist.

Phil sighed. He felt so misunderstood at times. “Can’t you see the artistic expression!?” he asked, flaying his arms with all the fanaticism of a street preacher. His friends, son and dog looked at the 3 strokes of blue paint, all in different shades, on the white canvas. Susan cocked her head to the side, Matthew rolled his and Jabir kept calm as if he knew a secret. Sylv and bonbon were used to this sudden surge of passion that consumed Phil every few days, so sat down on the upper landing on the loft and waited ’til Phil gathered himself.

“Anyway Phil, how’s Sylv and bonbon. I hope they’re doing well with the new tenants around?” Susan asked with a pinched but concerned face.

“Well they’re right in front of you Susan! Why do you like to be sensitive about everything!” Phil said as he fell into his armchair. Susan was hurt but knew to keep her concern under wraps.

“I think Susan was just trying to be sweet Phil, no one’s judging your parenting or owner skills” Jabir added helpfully, smiling at Susan, his University crush.

“Well I’ve had enough of The Arts for one day old fellow, I think I’m going to see how me wife and the kids are doing. And also attend to my massive stack of paper work… I guess one thing I do envy about you Phil is the type of work you do and the life it gives you.”

On that comment, Phil’s friends slowly trickled out the room giving their regular goodbyes and excuses.

 

Sylv looked at his father whilst playing with bonbon’s ears. He felt sorry for him. More developed than Phil noticed he was, Sylv would often sit silently when his father’s friends were around so he could have peace of mind, though as soon as they left he would watch his father fall back into the pit of depression that consumed him when he thought no one was looking. So Sylv did his usual. “Dad! Why don’t we go and pick berries in the garden! You promised we could do it this Friday after you came back from work.” he said excitedly. Phil looked up and smiled at his son; life is always brighter when he’s here, Phil thought to himself. “Of course my son! Let’s be on our way. Come bonbon, you small tyke… God you really are small aren’t you”

 

In jovial spirits, the three went to the garden to pick fruit and marvel at God’s creation (which of course was Phil’s artistic influence), when they overheard a conversation from the new tenants Phil had let his home to. It was the foster kids.

A few years ago, Phil had met Ms Bramley, a 54-year-old divorcee, who was making a living out of caring for disadvantaged kids via fostering but she had lost her house due to her divorce – her lone income wasn’t enough to carry the mortgage any longer. It was from there that her and Phil had agreed to have a temporary foster home for no more than 3 to 4 kids at a time. And so Phil wasn’t surprised to see Michael and Sadiq outside, he was however surprised at their conversation involving their new foster-brother, Sam.

“Yea, I heard he’s a fag mate” said Michael vehemently spitting on the ground.

“Ugh! No way do we have a fag living with us. It’s bad enough we have that fucking Psycho and his shit to deal with” chimed in Sadiq, always desperately to please Phil thought, rolling his eyes.

“Yea well, we’ll see tonight. Might always be that pretty boy, Derek, he brings to the house. Let’s sneak up on them tonight. I hate all that gay shit!”

 

Sylv’s heart dropped when he heard how Sadiq spoke about his father… Well his metaphorical heart.

 

Phil, perturbed by what he had just heard, headed back into his house and headed somewhere he hadn’t been to in a while – the bedroom shared between himself and Sylvia.

As he ran his hand over the rosewood bed stand with its gothic engravings, a favourite of Sylvia’s, his mind flashed back┬áto the day he lost Sylvia and his 3 kids. The fateful car crash that destroyed his mind and created Sylvester and bonbon. Phil knew his friends came by every Friday to monitor is sanity and to see if he had let go of the myth of Sylvester. But still, just because he knew, that did not mean he could stop it or even help it – Sylv needed him and he needed Sylv.

 

Suddenly there were shouts and loud bangs coming from Sam’s room, which was just further down the corridor. Suddenly Phil realised what Michael meant about giving Sam and his friend a visit and dashed out into the corridor, only to be met with Sadiq and Michael holding Sam and Derek by their shirts which had somehow become bloodied.

As if all the years of anger and resentment had hit him at once, Phil laid into Michael and Sadiq, who were simply teenagers and couldn’t take on the brunt of a 34-year-old 6″3 scottish man.

Punching and grappling them with all the zeal of an undergound street fighter, Phil was overwhelmed with the pain of feeling like a victim in his own life and refused to have anyone feeling like that in his own household; to have anyone threaten the safety of Sylv and bonbon, to have anyone destroy his reality.

 

As his fists became covered with blood, Phil failed to notice Ms Bramley devastated and on her knees crying and begging for him to stop.

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The Unforgettable Jinn

As I leant back from our kiss
I tried to mask the pain behind the smile you commanded of me
Only this time my eyes were the expose of all the lies you forced on me
The bitterness and dislike
The dissatisfaction and pain in our fornication

You finally saw it for what it was
And decided to punish me for it

Twisting and turning my sanity, like a dummy on a string, controlling me like somebody with a nervous tic
You grew to hate me for not loving you
For rejecting you and all the iniquity your heart would spew

The taste of your lips was grim and yet I would try to keep smiling
Until one day my smile cracked
And your screaming caused it to shatter completely

And then you punished me one more time completely

Now the fall out has passed
And I am a caricature of happiness for those that are around
Still, the memory of you haunts me
And the evil you did finds me in my sleep, talking of your future, of your past and the women you have caused to bleed in your arms
Like a broken record, the memory of you plays on and on
Imprinted on my skin and lips, the place in-between my hips

So I release you in these words I write
Release you to let you know you’ve lost this fight
I didn’t want a war or a battle and yet I’m left with scars

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Tired of Trying

I am tired of inebriation
I am tired of dreams
I am tired of lucid thinking and hallucinations that make feel like I’m asleep
I am tired of dreaming of chasing dreams and failing
I am tired of all the hope my friends and lovers gave me

I am tired of this hunch on my back that grows larger
I am tired of the pain in my head that’s keen gather

I am tired of the tears that form when I remember life when I was younger

I am tired of the shame that is attached to all the pain I have encountered

I am tired of being inebriated
I am tired of dreaming
I am tired of the little light that shines, that never seems to reach me.

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Death In Paradise

Sometimes I wonder if I’m going to end up on the side of street pathetic and ill
With all my grand plans and illusions gone stale
The Eden of my mind unkept and derelict
With all my possible accomplishments nothing but a fail

Drunk and dim
Drowning all of my sorrows with gin
Outbursts of violence before I finally breakdown and cry
Imagine if I could die?
This cheat code called suicide is not enough
When did I become so bleak within

Hope is not enough to stop this fear from eating me from the inside

My dreams are nightmares now
My Angel hates me now
And death, the vulture, is free to capture me now

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My Tears/Your Shame

You know the depth of my my heart
The evil that I flaunt to hide the light of my mind
The cheekiness of my smile
My sexual nature that I use to make others mine
You too see the obsession growing in their mind

But it cripples the one I want in the mind
Making them back away from my performative lies

I refused to let him see my tears
Who the true wearer of this mask is

That my ugliness would surpass any illusions of beauty
So I decided on the headiness of this strong wine
To give me the confidence to convey my lies

But you my dear guardian angel, you see my disguise and laugh at my desperation for a better life
Cutting through my inebriation with a holy knife

No more games, no more gimmicks
I give you my life
With defeated laughter and tears filling my eyes

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All My Hues of Blue

It’s all hues of blue

The blue in the sky on a monotonous winter day
The blue of the ocean when I catch a ferry
The blue of the vein on your neck as we make love sweetly
The blue-black of your skin that makes me want to taste, lick and hold it
The blue of her eyes as she smiles and faces the world confidently
The blue of the adire, of the batik and of the kampala
The blue of my people
The blue of my Grandma and of the benin eyes of my Grandpa

The blue-grey of the London pavement as my cheeks are overrun with tears

The blue, black and grey that my soul vies to hear

It’s all these hues of blue that represent my love and my fears.

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Murky Meadow

You were sweet
I was sweet too but not with what the naked eye could see
Your blonde hair and blue eyes contrasted so heavily with the depth of soul you hid inside
Your vulnerability was nought but a guise until others took it and made you identify.
Embody this misuse of your body
I cried out for your safety but you told me not to worry – smiling with the knowledge of the true price of your sweetness, of your beauty
Of this forced identity.

Whilst I was whisked off to safety, you were left with the viscious and mentally astray
Burdened by the disarray you allowed nobody to see
I wept quitely
Only to be reminded of you in the other eyes I see
Of other women who had no ownership of their bodies

See I was lucky for not attaining your type of beauty, because in our world it is nothing but a curse I have come to see
So now I acknowledge you, to let you know that even though I got away
The darkness still came for me

I’m sorry. But please remember you are a product of your past and in no way crazy.

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Mad Alice

I didn’t mean to tumble
I didn’t mean to fall
Down this hole that I abhor

I fell past the jeers of mocking laughter
The years of paintings and sculptures that alluded me
Past the grabbing hands of old lovers
Past the intrusive stare of failed ones

Choking on fumes of marijuana
And being deafened by the music that represents years of trauma
Past my mother’s knowing but silent gaze
And passed all my past foolish mistakes

I fell and I fell
Till I saw the future of my pain if I allowed my life stay the same
The tedium and the regret
The bitterness and the ways I recollect, shards of a dream I broke over and over again

Yet, there’s a little door out of this hole
The albino rabbit knows, that’s why he shoved me down here in hope
To face my fears and fight them and finally admit that I can truly run through the snow
No matter how bitter and cold, I should always know that those fears of the white rabbit’s hole don’t hold all the control

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House of Mirrors – Enemy Within

As I wake up in a dream, sheaths of sheer organza are wrapped around me
Draped around the bed, cascading beautifully

I am ance again in the mansion of mirrors
This time to face a true reflection of me
Find this woman who has been locked away since she was a child.

So I run through the adorned house
It’s decorated now.
Damask and floral wallpaper
Marble columns
And renaissance art.

My feet find the corridor of All That I Am, who I was and who I could be.
I walk past many reflections of me
Then I finally see her.

Trapped within a 10ft long gilded mirror. Silver.
Wearing a white long cloak
A hood over her head. And over her eyes.

And so I scream and shout
Beg for her to come to me.

A tear falls down her cheek. The corridor grows cold.

I am desperate now.
I begin to the smash at the glass with my bare hands
Throwing my weight, for my destiny lies within it

My hands bleed, it slowly cracks
splinters of glass hit my eyes, I can see my breath
She reaches out to me, feeling her freedom too

With a final rush of my fists, I break through effectively
Draw her through and hold her to me.

I slowly turn to ice and she becomes me.

I have finally broke the cycle, I have finally gotten rid of my arch-enemy.

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