Flower 

Now Deeply rooted in my grey matter, emotions stem from a flower that never leaves. I lay there, mired in thought, wondering how different my plot would be, if her seeds were never sown… If she had never grown on me…

Her petals shine like gold medals, on my podium of pandemonium, cropping up ever more awesome with each blossom…implanted in my dreams, almost magically…

Tragically, She radically soils my clarity…
I work tirelessly to harvest reality, supersede her from train of thought, weed her from my memories…an endless lobotomy, aimed at this enigmatic botany… My efforts are fruitless…

But the truth is, she is not to blame for this matter, It was I who plowed my grey matter, till it was conducive, exclusively for… my flower

Shallow tears

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Her heart breaks, not for the player and his promiscuous ways, but for the homeless lady she sees in the same spot everyday. Her heart bleeds, not for gucci bags or anything else she might wish to keep. But because she heard about families in Grenfell towers burning in their sleep. Her heart weeps not because of her flaws or insecurities, but for the mother of that little boy that was stabbed on her own high street. She’s human too. Full of her own doubts regrets and fears. But her angelic eyes would just not let her cry,  shallow tears.

 

Buried alive 

‘Buried alive’ 

Feelings that had blossomed into something beautiful, thrown back into the undergrowth, like a beam of  light sucked into a black hole. I couldn’t see the picture, you couldn’t play the roll… So we fought what felt right, and turned dawn back into night. We buried our emotions… a thought that has left me terrified. because I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty sure I burried mine alive…and that is such a cruel thing to do, to anything at all…

Shadow of supremacy

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 They stand against the light to cast shadows, that make our paths dark, it’s no wonder we got lost on our way home. We once sat on gold thrones, now we beg thieves for a place in our own home…

we’ve been taught to fight their shadows, with the shade we throw, while the grave they dug for us grows and grows…Go to their schools to borrow our own ideas, the innovators become imitators, in hopes to integrate, into their hateful ways..  

 When they can’t break us, they’ll force us to bend, and blend, into the violent trends they set without regrets. They’ll pretend to be our friends, tell us they mean “no offence” …while keeping our very being misunderstood.

Until we end up in a shadow war with no end. Cast by burning crosses ,pointed hoods…and fear 

 

miss kemet

They would ridicule, they would laugh.

They would stand in her way with envy and wrath.

but she builds pyamids with the blocks they place in her path.

she knows the shadow of the great sphinx could be cast by a scare crow,

and so, her fears would rule her if she didn’t learn to let go…

when she did, miss kemet had become  Pharoah.

 

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“I am not a perfect soul, i am a soul perfecting… i am not a human being, i am a human becoming” -egyptian book of the dead

A Pegasus perplexus 

A zebra, made to stand out, forever wild and free.

It seeks to rid itself of those that would ride on its back.

It strives to know it’s stripes, not to earn them…

For with that wisdom comes a new genesis of elegance, the birth of the peagusus.

Made to fly high above life’s perplexus…controlling the reins of its own destiny… Reigned over by no man.

 

Forever wild and free…

 

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