Survival Poems
I thought without thinking
by Sisekelo & Lindelwa Simelane & Manana
I held on to your sweet little nothings, convinced myself there was forever in nothing in particular. your smile had me going and you laid out a bed of thorns covered in roses, your every word became a safe harbour in the storm, i held on to your warmth, told my heart it was from the yearning of your soul for us. i thought i had you. i told happy y'all look alike, thought maybe you were joy's long lost brother. i fed myself painted pictures of love that your arms led me to postulate and within the blink of an eye i poured out the very bit i had left, i thought i had the fairytale ending figured out. i thought without thinking, i figured that out when you left.
I held you without having never touched you before, I controlled your emotions having never seen you cry, I broke your heart having never heard it beat, I bruised your dignity with a mere look, I undressed you with a crude smile, I shaved your beautiful hair with my razor like words. I remember holding you to the wall, my breath penetrating your pores as the hairs at the back of your head stood as of looking to give me a standing ovation. I remember how you tried to stop me with a sweet trembling falsetto as though it were your last breath, I could feel my fingerprints bite into your melanin skin, in the same effort I felt your skin fight back my palms. As I came closer I could feel your sweat flow down like the Victoria Falls but my privilege told me that was your way if inviting me to swim. In hindsight I realise that I did all this thinking I'd put enough thought to it only to find out that when I was done with you I'd look at you and see the horrid work of misguided masculinity hidden under the shade of privilege. I guess I played myself.
Breathing!
by Rukma Banerjee
She never cried, never uttered a word. Only her eyes spoke. Big tragic eyes.
She had been fed on lies and smiles.
This new, blue and lonely section of hell was uncharted.
And this is when she had a revolutionary idea :
She would make more time for life's truly important things.
First on the list - Breathing!
You just come out on the other side or you don't.
You win
by Adam Greenwood
I bite my finger nails, I gnaw till I bleed.
This compulsion is sporadic with no warning to heed
Just ancient headstones. With blood in the crevice.
Each jagged crimson peak like death on Nevis.
there’s something afoot, its borderline sadistic
defiant to the inevitable, their growth is persistent.
A slap in the face but a one that now cuts
Through the excuses, the ifs, ands or buts
They are driven by soul. their message rings true
That ‘nothing can stop me, not even you’
......
You win
by Adam Greenwood
I bite my finger nails, I gnaw till I bleed.
This compulsion is sporadic with no warning to heed
Just ancient headstones. With blood in the crevice.
Each jagged crimson peak like death on Nevis.
there’s something afoot, its borderline sadistic
defiant to the inevitable, their growth is persistent.
A slap in the face but a one that now cuts
Through the excuses, the ifs, ands or buts
They are driven by soul. their message rings true
That ‘nothing can stop me, not even you’
......
Breathing!
by Rukma Banerjee
She never cried, never uttered a word. Only her eyes spoke. Big tragic eyes.
She had been fed on lies and smiles.
This new, blue and lonely section of hell was uncharted.
And this is when she had a revolutionary idea :
She would make more time for life's truly important things.
First on the list - Breathing!
You just come out on the other side or you don't.
I thought without thinking
by Sisekelo & Lindelwa Simelane & Manana
I held on to your sweet little nothings, convinced myself there was forever in nothing in particular. your smile had me going and you laid out a bed of thorns covered in roses, your every word became a safe harbour in the storm, i held on to your warmth, told my heart it was from the yearning of your soul for us. i thought i had you. i told happy y'all look alike, thought maybe you were joy's long lost brother. i fed myself painted pictures of love that your arms led me to postulate and within the blink of an eye i poured out the very bit i had left, i thought i had the fairytale ending figured out. i thought without thinking, i figured that out when you left.
I held you without having never touched you before, I controlled your emotions having never seen you cry, I broke your heart having never heard it beat, I bruised your dignity with a mere look, I undressed you with a crude smile, I shaved your beautiful hair with my razor like words. I remember holding you to the wall, my breath penetrating your pores as the hairs at the back of your head stood as of looking to give me a standing ovation. I remember how you tried to stop me with a sweet trembling falsetto as though it were your last breath, I could feel my fingerprints bite into your melanin skin, in the same effort I felt your skin fight back my palms. As I came closer I could feel your sweat flow down like the Victoria Falls but my privilege told me that was your way if inviting me to swim. In hindsight I realise that I did all this thinking I'd put enough thought to it only to find out that when I was done with you I'd look at you and see the horrid work of misguided masculinity hidden under the shade of privilege. I guess I played myself.
