Poetry from the Past: Two Sides

I ebb between self-harm and neglect
Eclectic voices sound with bated breath
The darkness creeps slowly back,
She’s here to swallow my soul.

Why won’t she leave me be?
I have found happiness, love and seek her mercy
I have sweet souls to protect
If I lose them, I’d have nothing left.
Oh two sides- just leave me, whole.

Taken from Yvette

Poetry from the Past- Sadness loves me Still

Sadness loves me still
Through this pain
I have no will.

She breathes me in
All of me, whole
I cannot win.

I fill her lungs with my broken-ness
Fueling her
And in that
She beams a dark, grey
Like a stormy cloud in May.

Inside her, through her
I see the world as a shade of black
Wet
From tears
And fears
Like the feeling of being sole survivor in a crash.

She loves me still
Her love dispiriting
Leaving me drunk with her pain
Leaving me crippled from her mind game.

Taken from Yvette

Daily Post: Oh the Irony in Sweet Regret

Oh Regret,

I see you have come to visit again.

We used to spend day and night together,

Yes, I remember those times.

I was young and you were bitter.

Sweet Regret,

This time your visits are shorter,

Less bitter.

Maybe it’s in the weather?

Maybe it’s you-

You’ve changed for the better.

Your friends,

Disappointment, grief and heartache have come along too.

That’s fine- let them in.

We can all gather round and have some tea.

I’m so much braver now you see.

Let me tell you straight to your face, Regret.

I no longer fret.

I have lived.

I live still, not holding my breath.

You may taint my memories, a little.

You may mist my eyes, a little.

But this time, you don’t have me.

I guess I have you, this time, Regret.

It’s a fact you best not forget.

I have you, regret.

Oh, The Irony

[New Post: Old Fave Poems: My Africanisms]

my Africanisms by Yvette Adams

Who are you to judge and define my Africanness?

My skin ranges in colour- light as day and dark as the night.

The texture of my hair has its own agenda- from bone straight to a curl that is so tight.

My heritage, so rich and full of colour.

Yet, so much shame to call you Africa, ‘my mother’.

For you see, mother, my brothers and sisters of this land do not see me as sibling.

Rather, I am to them a stranger, a nobody who cannot offer a thing.

If only, they could see that my soul bleeds to compensate for lack of my blackness and being judged on my whiteness.

 Do not forget me in your struggle, because my brother- it is our struggle.

 My identity calls for a revolution- but respect my history, my pain, my struggle to be seen, by you brother-as a proud African.

[New Post]: Bitter Flight

Surge of thoughts and ideas and masterpieces come rushing in
Like a late train catching up on lost time.
Hear the blowing of air around each point made
Each phrase followed by the sound of light
A quiet noise-
All hurled at lips that have no speed to taste them.
They sit stuck on her lips.
She has lots to say.

With the mess of words on her mouth, she smears it on her hands, hoping not to lose a vowel
A sound.
More and more is thrown at her, louder and louder the word wind howls-
Softer and quieter she becomes
As no word comforts her scream.

Awake.

The miniature toy plane, stares
Mesmerized by the sun shining through an open crack of a window.
The light of the sun dances there- where the wind likes to sit and watch.
The stress of surged words and
Newspaper clippings of tomorrow’s journey blown onto my radar has no bearing on my flight.

I fly attached to a short string
My view rotating all the while.
But tomorrow, I fly the Wind.
My widow of words,
Can rest
In the Wind.

Sadness loves me still

Sadness loves me still
Through this pain
I have no will.

She breathes me in
All of me, whole
I cannot win.

I fill her lungs with my broken-ness
Fueling her
And in that
She beams a dark, grey
Like a stormy cloud in May.

Inside her, through her
I see the world as a shade of black
Wet
From tears
And fears
Like the feeling of being sole survivor in a crash.

She loves me still
Her love dispiriting
Leaving me drunk with her pain
Leaving me crippled from her mind game.

[New Poem]: Flirt

Bit lip
Sweet tip
Clenched fist
Soul,
Hurt.

Song sung
Bruised lung
Lost Son
Spoken tongue,
Battle-
Never won.

Mine to give
My spirit
Mine to give
But Yours,
For keeps.

War won
I-
Fought with Death
This Time,
For fun.

[New Poem]: Two sides

I ebb between self-harm and neglect
Eclectic voices sound with bated breath
The darkness creeps slowly back,
She’s here to swallow my soul.

Why won’t she leave me be?
I have found happiness, love and seek her mercy
I have sweet souls to protect
If i lose them, I’d have nothing left.
Oh two sides- just leave me, whole.

[New Poem]: Fallen Star

This star inside has name
But it is not mine.
The star inside me
Makes me feel free, elated and powerful and then suddenly, sad and bleak and deadly.

The star disappears and I all I have to hold is darkness, fears, sadness and worry.
So much worry.

Before my eyes – life crumbles, into nothing- promises broken, lies live on to try to breathe new life into
The hope that this star that hops along.

This star that controls every part of me-
Takes all of me- becomes all of me.
But still-
This star that is not me.

Who is this star if not me?
Who is this star that owns my smile as I cry all the while?

Who is this star that grips my hands tight, stopping me from living openly and with free will and no will to fight?

Maybe the fallen star has become all that I am
And all that I was:
Once bright
Once strong,
Once smart.
All the while strange to the world and all alone.

[New Poem]: Love Hate

Love was nothing more than a shadow, an empty space- pain lay there splattered on the floor. Opened eyes reveal death, sadness and lies- they leave, smiling, as they exit by the door.

I’ll kill you twice and love you less- bite my lip as you say your goodbyes. I want to cause you pain- see you fall to your knees because Jesus deserted you, wiped His hands clean.

You hurt me deep- bled buckets just for you- and you- and you- all the versions of truth and bled buckets of hope for us- especially you.

And what did it mean?
Not much as such.

As we ebb between hate and mistrust, the middle ground remains- sludge and dirty love- all in hope of better circumstance.

A perfect fucking love stays true, all God gave was shitty circumstance.