The palimpsest my beloved Mzantsi is

At one point the colours that make up the multihued, my beloved South Africa is, seemed nicely allied and resilient. These days, nonetheless, there seems to be a gap dividing these ensigns. As a result, the question to be noted insensitively points at the reasons causing such a breakage and rapid seclusion. The answer is unknown.

 

Poverty continues to heap on and this is accentuated by the number of robberies that never seems to diminish in many cities in South Africa. Of course, national statistics play a ping-pong game with our minds; unsubstantiated decreasing statistics while our neighbourhoods tell a different story.

 

Hunger has found comfort in many households. In such homes any twinkle costs thousands. Hence many negated bellies see no problem in killing a young school girl for earrings that possibly cost no more than R60.

 

It is starvation, and possibly the love for money or for the actual syndicates, I believe, that has led Nobanda Nolubabalo to hide, in her dreadlocks, 1.5kg of cocaine. Perhaps, R16 000, to deliver the drugs to an unidentified punter at a hotel in Bangkok, was worth jeopardising her life. At 23, she did not, like the drugs would have; destroy anyone’s life, but hers. However, a 38 year-old Janice Linden did not survive consequences of this despicable act. Her illicit trafficking clashed with the Chinese authorities. Hence they executed her.

 

Of course, the main dealers, in this case, are free; possibly engaging other young and unemployed hungry – even horny - women.

 

Poverty breeds crime and many people do not seem to understand this. I would love to believe I do; the indication is detectable in the animal I become while I propel my brother to do well and endure his school time as well as his teachers and what they are compensated to feed him.

 

With that being said, my dear president is an excited man who, for reasons possibly known only to him and his cabinet, persistently declares plans to create employment and to titivate the lives of the impoverished; a concept that continues to fail up to this day.

 

Happy read!

Eccentrically flawless

The face structure accentuates his cheekbones and I am called to look, but not to gaze.
He does what he does and I become inundated in his actions as he does.
My mind is here; as he speaks it follows the batting of his nicely carved lips.
I am not slumbering nor am I dead to the world.
I can hear him, he knows and I understand him and his stories.
Go on, my nods command him. I hear you, my eyes tell him. I am pleased, my smile assures him.

He speaks furthermore and I devour all the verses his lips recite.
I munch away as he feeds me.
My head is halfway. Come, come closer, my eyes converse.
I open my lips wide. He thrusts, nicely; his natter and I do not vacillate to swallow.
He feeds me some more while the surrounding stares.
Reciprocally we are nonchalant, but he cares that I’m assiduous.

Happy read!

Poverty wars vs. greedy potbellies

Our governing system in South African has seen the worst of days, predominantly during the legal racial segregation era which lasted for over 40 years.

Some of us have relatives and neighbours who bear emotional and physical scars as a result of the abuse that came with the segregation. Their scars narrate the era way better than lyrics that escape the lips of seasoned artists like Simphiwe Dana or the magnificent poetess, Lebo Mashile.

Victims forgave their perpetrators and races became one dominion. Black people learnt twang while white people enumerate sawubona accentuated by a notable grin. Sadness and anger vacated South African premises and oneness became the supreme head boy.

The books we read and the stories flashing on our computer screens acknowledge a positive objective that Nelson Mandela meant to implement. Due to running out of time, he merely spoke about the concept. I assume, those who were to succeed him were expected lay the actual brick on the cement.

Rightly so, the current ruling administration does not skip a day without making it known just how fuelled up it is to embark on a trail to enhance the lives of the previously disadvantaged South Africans while upholding the objective of bringing balance in racial, political and societal standards. 

This excites many people, but I am not fooled.

The efforts of the current government might have worked, in some measure. The old pensioner in the rural Natal can testify and my HIV positive relative shares the sentiments.

However, political leaders and policy makers have became short of transparency and honesty; a tendency that has impacted negatively on many communities on grassroots level.  

One would have thought the year 1994 painted South Africa clean. But, it appears the battle is not over.

We are half way through wiping racial discrimination out, but the trend of corruption and empty promises has taken several politicians by a storm.

This is why there are still households that have never had electricity. This is why, even after 16 years of democracy, there are still schools that are running short of desks, books and even chalks. Why then do we question the roof-hitting fail rate in black schools?

And, that is why many routes to Newcastle have the worst potholes any car could drive on.

It is because; the people entrusted to represent the poor and unemployed South Africans care more about feeding their own pockets and going on a bender using taxpayers money with the belief and confidence that although big brother can see them he will not punish them.

The system we have in South Africa is a joke. The politically affiliated broadcasting institutions have proved this.

No, not by doing their job of reporting – vague details – on the issue of corruption, but by chipping in on fraudulent activities that have left a question mark and a huge dent on the ingenuity of journalism in South Africa.

The people chosen to be leaders have failed to represent poor communities in South Africa and they have failed to represent this country as a society that value of humankind and human rights.

All we have in us is the hope that, in the near future, things will be better. Of course, this is if individuals learn to clutch as much education as they can and cling on it. This does seem to be the only route linking people to white bread and away from brown slices.

We need to put into practice methods aimed at providing useful advocacy tools so as to promote grassroots prioritisation in South Africa. This needs the sane people left in South Africans to work collaboratively towards a goal that will benefit everyone equally.

Or at least better the lives of poor people.

Happy read!

As we lay, foolishly

He belonged to me just for one night. Stupid me, I failed to keep it at that. I had to strut around town carrying a feeling in my heart. At least, I think that is where it was and not in my pants.

Signs cuffed my belly as I humped and pumped his rubber, but I forced my mind to focus on my near destiny. I even faced complications reaching that destination due to being intoxicated, but I loved it. So did he.

The night faded and it dawned; the sun penetrated the window and its reflection hit the wall behind me and off to his face it went and it found comfort. He was beautiful. He was sexy. He was mine; tall, light with a loud mouth.

The loud mouth he is, he seemed to have exhausted his speech during last night’s blurting at the bar. Therefore, I took it upon my smitten abilities to chat him up. He reciprocated my efforts with looks and smiles that drag me to the deepest route of love. Now and then, his head would meet mine half way and our lips would lock. And every time my lips brushed his, I died a million deaths because I could not believe what I was experiencing; it was more than I had ever experienced before. And to think I have heard and seen it all.

It had not even been 24 hours yet, but I was in love already. I realised I had been transformed. And that exact moment I was hurt in advance because I knew what was coming. Even though we both did a great job in making that night the best time of our lives together, him and I were an illusion.

I forgot to acknowledge one thing; he can never be mine. Instead, I went ahead got lost in the moment. I sank in his kisses and I refused to shift from his side while we lay. But I had to go. I left, but it feels like he left me.

Poor him, he’s going on with his business, unaware that I wish one of us could get on a Santaco plane and fly over to play a scene of two fools in lust.

He belonged to me just for one night, but I feel like I have lost a soul mate. With that being said, it is killing me to have him in my life. So I pray to God and ask him to give me strength to get over this man.

Today, I have a price to pay. I mean, for every choice we make in life, there are consequences; good or bad, it does not matter. In my case, I have to endure a sore heart.  So far, not even one episode of Sex And The City has helped to erase him from my mind. I miss him every day. Hence I have opted to watch Glee with the hope of approaching the mending from a different angle. Being infatuated by him is killing me.

I know I am to blame for taking tomorrow for granted, but even fools deserve a third chance.

Happy read!

Subject imminent

Man, oh man he’s a good man
Fixed to his word, he’s keeping up
He makes up for the less I hear of him
He listens, he remembers and he does.

I told him. He acted
Like I had asked, he spoke on time yet he broke me into pieces.

His speech was packed with fruit. But I don’t like oranges and litchi
His words tore apart the tubes conveying blood from various parts of my body to the heart
He hurt me. I made him hurt me.

My heart is tired
Leaving my mental supremacy in doubt of the intense feeling of deep affection my heart exudes from its aperture.

I made a fool out of God
Now my nose bleeds stupidity
He must be glad
Though appalled, I will applaud the timing.

Happy read!

Oh Twitter, thy excellence is a charm

The masses have dubbed Twitter good while some see it as bad and very ugly; with a tinge of backstabbers, groupies and ass-kissers. Nonetheless, judging by its ever accelerating membership, it is only fair to agree that Twitter is popular.

A number of ordinary South Africans have celebrities because of this form of social media. Certain people’s egos and personalities have become bigger and more ostentatious due to how smart, rich and important Twitter people have measured them.

I’m thinking, this is the reason some companies have taken up this platform with the aim of promoting their services and products. Twitter brings an audience that carries some power in regards to publicising something without being paid to do so. This is exactly what some companies sought after.

Many companies have succeeded is utilising this tool while some have struggled and, to some extent, failed dismally.

Their mistake, in my opinion, has been to emulate the typical angles big corporates have already worn and tired. They failed to build their subsistence outside the box.

I believe that the lack of creativity (in these companies) can be blamed to not completely understanding the majority of people who dominate on Twitter and how they can actually take advantage of their presence in the sphere.

Case in point, many companies tend to associate their brands and products with musicians, actors and whoever is always on television. The intention here is to make sure that their product is always spoken about or at least seen on television without having to go the traditional way of advertising and selling it.

That is good and it works. Sometimes.

However, these companies fail to understand that Twitter exist on their laps free of charge and with it comes a number of people (let us call them Twiples) who are willing AND able to promote certain products to a reasonably large audience.

The majority of these Twiples have ordinary jobs – that which we never consider exciting – and some of them are just students. But, their tweets are read, and considered important, by many followers who are impending customers for these companies.

For example, I have less than 300 followers on Twitter and many of them are industry individuals. But, I follow – and get followed by - two people; Tendai Sean Joe and Lelo Boyana.

When Lelo and Tendai comment or retweet a photograph I have tweeted it gets viewed by thousands of people. Sometimes, if they retweet one of my tweets or comment on it I will get tagged on comments by a several people, whom I do not even know from bar of Twitter soap. At times I would get follow requests based on their one and only comment.

One more example: I usually tweet English translations of Xhosa terms and expressions. So, a few weeks back, Lelo was asked by one of her followers as to where can s/he get Xhosa lessons. In response, Lelo tweeted my name. From that one response, I got loads of follow requests within one hour. For me this was unusual and very scary. Thanks to having locked my tweets, I was able to opt for people I thought were of interest to me.

These are the people many companies, public relations agencies and products should be associated with. I know only two, but I bet you there are many where they come from.

While they might not be musicians, actors or leak nude photographs of themselves to get attention, they carry a very useful audience on Twitter.

So, using them comes in handy, literally.

Besides, many of these musicians, actors and ‘celebrities’ (God only knows of what) do not have many followers on Twitter. Of course, this can be blamed to the fact that they hardly tweet anything remarkable. Not even something that helps their image.

Possibly, I have just blogged about something many people have already said or tweeted. But, I see no harm in repetitively preaching this kind of gospel. Especially after receiving more than two thousand views on a photograph I tweeted last night simply because Lelo commented on it while I usually get less than five.

Happy read!

I would have been the one

Sweat flowing from my dreadlocks, rolling down to my neck licking my grey collar and  loosening my tight black tie; I hopped Johannesburg streets heading to Bree taxi rank. I had knocked off a little bit late, but I was okay with time. My worry was getting home late for The Closer.

I would have been the one, Solange Knowles tormented my ears. I loved it. Enlightening charmer sent from where a Casanova lovely glare and I was chosen, I was there. To the whoreous doors of the rank I was appealing, as always, and so I let them swallow me. I saw my taxi and headed straight to it. I was tired but surety of how good looking I was carried me towards the transport to my destination. And yes, the fact that one day I will pass this building with a very expensive little thing rolling on four wheels inspired the strut in my walk.

Down with the headphones, I got inside the taxi and sat right behind the driver next to a guy who looked at me like I was some kind of fruit waiting to be eaten selfishly. I am sure he had never seen a creature so full of himself. Bless this poor guy’s perplexity.

I settled on the seat, sorted my fare and put back on my headphones. The well gets deeper, more unfolds. And then appeared a very dirty boy. He was dirty and I could smell him. He was a boy because he looked nothing like the man I am.  With the corner of my left eye I saw his lips move. I lacked interest in him since I knew he was most likely begging. Yes he was. I thought you plus me divided me from him but I discovered many more, and again and again...

Like a typical beggar, he attempted to look so sincere. I felt sorry for the few inside the taxi who had no music to drown into. I was far away. Or so I thought. And you don’t know you fill many spaces.

I could hear a sound. No, never mind the skinny Knowles; it was a voice that somehow merged into the song just fine, building a sound I would only imagine Euphonik and Black Coffee to produce. It went so well with what was enthralling my ears.

And he don’t know how he’s stole many places. And we all know we can’t fix him even if we tried.  I would have been the one. The boy was clapping. His lips were still on the move, only this time he seemed to be uttering fast and with passion.

I freed my left ear because I had to hear what he was cheering for. Ngiyakwaz’ ukukhanya kwakho, nokulunga kwakho, Jesu wam, Jesu wam, zungangishiyi la... He was singing; a song I got to know and fell in love with when times were extremely bad in my life.

I was boy, and had run away from a suburb I stayed in to a shack in which I had to share a blanket with six other children and could only eat twice a day. I left what everyone thought was the best life in exchange for a shack in an area where your neighbour’s door was practically two feet away from your and in your face!

Phelisa ukwesaba kimi, nokungakholwa. Msindisi, oh msindisi zungangishiyi la... There I was, with my Blackberry and its R400 worth headphones, comfortably and deliberately ignoring the boy in front of me. One would have sworn I was never poor and that I was rich.

I was the one, yes I was the one and yes that was my name inked up on his arm...Keyword was, yes I was the one. I figured out he was empty on my own. He had to find the answer in something not someone. The man beside me poked me waving a R10 note in my face. So I freed my right ear paying attention to the man I had puzzled earlier. He wanted change because he wanted to give this boy R5. It is fine, I will give him for you, I said. Guilt was there and only then did sympathy grow. This boy was me 10 years ago, only he was worse.

And we all know we can’t fix him even if we tried.  I would have been the one. My hand sank inside my Nedbank bag and came out with a Mr Price wallet. I took out the gold coin, handed it over to the boy. He refused it.

Ngicela ningishayeleni izandla, he said smiling and then walked away.

Solange Knowles was still playing, but it was as if there was still silence in the car. Maybe there was or maybe I was switched off reality – again - attached on a bubble inspired by the money I carelessly spend and the life I am never grateful for.

Those who were attuned with the world clapped. I could have betrayed my pride and ridiculed my ignorance by applauding as well, but the buttered sliced bread I had had for lunch that day was still fresh in my mind. What a hypocritical blessed creature I was; oblivious so prematurely of a journey I had had.

Yehova, ndicela Uxolo...

Happy read!

My boys of miscarriage

I lied to myself so many times, when I was single, and said I am NOT looking. Love will find me, I would say. But deep down in me, I knew I was looking for the one person with whom I can talk about things that other people hardly understand nor find interesting.

I went out with friends at night and on weekends; drank, laughed and ate all the fattening food. I socialised and met new friends some of whom felt like I was too much of a pink diamond to be single. So, I was hooked up -unwillingly- many times with other single sheeps. Though disappointing in so many levels at times, the experience was fun and very insightful.  

I met men – and boys - I felt were the right ones. With some, I slept, I had sex and I loved. Many of whom proved to fall for me for the many get-togethers I am loved for. Clearly, boy eyed guaranteed entrance tickets – to a house I do NOT even own - whenever yours truly felt Oprah-ish and fed the ‘nation’; making it rain while he would come in with arms folded. I am guessing his wallet had one big hole through which his cents escaped on his way to mine.

The last one though, boy I mean, was a figure my friends felt was the most ludicrous relation I have ever pursued. He liked me and I liked him back. He had deep issues and I had to have tissues always. Of course, I had problems too.

Nonetheless, he was not a hard tiff to swallow. Or so I thought. He left me bending picking up my jaw when he had no shame sharing with me that his ex did not only have horse of a pipe, but he –my boy- was the only one whom the ex told could take it all in...

Yes, I was single and in like, but I was not foolish that I would dip my being in a hole that had taken in objects dubbed to be larger and bigger than my arm. Besides, I had an ego to grow NOT to bruise it. Imagine, me humping and pumping a ride with someone who’d probably be focusing on how slow my beard is growing.

Oh, what a loss though. But he left me with a lesson; never take too lightly petite boys, particularly those who compliment me every chance they get.

All the same, the one before him was another tale to be reckoned. A song I would have chosen Amy Winehouse to sing. I and he were what many considered a match-made in heaven. However, we both knew we were nothing like that. Instead, we were simply lusting for each other.

I told him many times how much I wanted him. I don’t care what everyone thinks of you, I want you, I would say. He would touch me and get playful with me in public and he let me kiss him whenever I wanted to.

Yet, it appeared he had not only been touchy and playful with me. Right across my house, my coloured neighbour knew him. In fact, my neighbour and his friends knew him very well. He had photos to prove it. I saw the photos, he was right; they knew him seeing that we all had seen him.

Happy read!

Mzantsi - Not so juicy!

All women deserve to be treated with immense care and respect. This is a notion shared by many countries around the world.

Some states went as far as advocating for the 50/50 concept, to promote women beyond households en route for higher-ranking settings in boardrooms and in politics. Consequently, the likes of Shirley Lue Arnold, Khanyi Dhlomo, Wendy Luhabe, Pam Golding and Helen Zille are amongst the many women who are widening the female footprint in areas that were once perceived as male zones.

South Africa has progressed from being a tyrannical (gender and race bias) state to a country that recognises and advocates for many aspects of human rights and women empowerment initiatives. As a result, misuse of these rights is frowned upon.

Contrary to the latter, women are still the most susceptible to crime, abuse and discrimination in South Africa. In recent cases, women are lured to the country and subsequently forced to work as prostitutes. Lesbians are subjected to corrective rape by men who claim to be “curing" them of their sexual orientation.

This is the country that once had a woman for a deputy president. Businesses operative within South African parameters are compelled to acknowledge and practise gender equity. In fact, for the local government to do any business with private companies such companies must show where they stand in regards to representing women of any race in their businesses.

However, human trafficking is still rife in South Africa. Women are subjected to sexual exploitation and forced labour. Yes, many of them are foreigner. But, the fact is, all this takes place IN South Africa.

The United States government recently released Trafficking in Persons Report which states that South Africa is a transit and destination country for women and children subjected to forced labour and sex trafficking.

Why then do we still have such problems when we can only be dealing with issues regarding unemployment rate of women and more empowerment initiatives for them?

Last year, Jeff Radebe, Minister of Justice and Constitutional Development, said the government was planning to fast-track a new law against human trafficking before the start of the soccer World Cup. It is a year later now, the Western Cape still has women who bring other women into the country under false pretences and force them to be prostitutes. What happened to the Prevention and Combating in Trafficking in Persons Bill Sir Radebe was planning to “fast-track”?

Educated minds know better than to pay attention to what the government says and promises. That is why the issue of human trafficking in South Africa is only fought by small private organisations. Chances are, had several women and children’s rights groups not warned about this exploitation last year, the government would not have uttered a word.

South Africa comprises political parties that tend to promise to build Jerusalem for the homeless, feed those whose tummies are echoing emptiness and free education for all. Not even one of them says a thing about the human trafficking issue South Africa is facing.

Is the human trafficking issue not a mention during their speeches in parliament? They are waiting to host another big event during which they will try and impress tourists and outside investors?

Clearly, the government dreads the process of establishing rigid restrictions for human trafficking; hence the safe and easy route to take would be to assist the existing anti-human trafficking organisations by providing them with necessary resources to combat this crisis.

Oh, my dear political parties lie at least. Say something is about to be done just like your vague promises about fixing potholes and combating corruption amongst yourselves. Hold those pointless conferences annually. That way, at least young minds can learn about human trafficking JUST from hearing about it. Possibly, that could make school teachers’ jobs a bit easier and perhaps the ever accelerating HIV/Aids rate could decrease even if it is with one percent.

Happy read!

It's in me

Congregations can now pray for my freedom

Drama, urges and failures reside by me

Mama is clueless, but she is watching me

Carrying me in her dreams, I have my pocket elevating her

Chivalry escaped me; I am left with a grin

 Shivers cover me, I am left with remorse

And, singlehood welcomes me.

My soul is bleeding

I scratch the surface while looking for a cent

Rotten clangours sting my heart, joy vanished ages ago

I carry in my palm shame

I beg. I beg. I even nag.

I’m told I have exhausted my options

I see no room for action

I feel so slow, therefore I fake any option

My feelings are shapeless

I hear I even look the part.

I see new dawn ahead of time

The evening is quick to cast

Though cupid has died, Lucifer is around.

There's a hole in my heart

You would swear I am not sorry

I use toothpicks to clean my face

It’s in me to choose to bother

I infuriate liaisons.

But I come right on time

And, with me, I carry a pipe that tends to take a little bit more

I could be happy, but my people are happy so what?

Wisdom? Tell them I had it, but my ex is wiping his ass with it

Shame? Only you can see it. I simply love you.

I swear there’s a peg in-between me and my people

I never want them to go

Their toxic lungful of air is sweet to me

Never mind the knives stuck on my back, they never mean it.

Happy read!

Sit down and listen!

No! No! NO!

Sit down and listen!

Yes! You, sit down and listen!

Yeah, sit down and listen to me!

I am talking.

Man, I’ve been watching you pace the streets, moving up and down

Strutting the ramps and expressing His and Hellos to strangers and common men

While I struggle to get you to pay attention

I walked wide miles, at times, helping you sweep your adversity

Today, your glance my way has become short in supply

You forget the city has painted me all sorts of colours for you

Third parties intervene, for you to even look my direction

Were we not a niddle and a thread at one point?

One of us had a hole in which the other penetrated, being the thread, of course

Woman, I see you ripping the runways with your long legs carried by your fierce attitude

Your lips following suit, as they seem to have forgotten to keep mum

You walk past the homeless, waving like Elizabeth at the rich dudes

The next thing you will be blowing kisses at Charles

Gosh! You are talking and you've been talking

But, I need you to listen.

I need to speak and you need to hear me

But first, sit down and listen!

Your lips have been moving

Not only when you were eating, but even when I was bleeding, you didn't even see 

You were not paying attention!

Sit down and listen!

I have always wanted to tell you I love you 

Time permitted, you deluded all chances

Now, my courage is garbage that has filled my whole being with fear

Just like water flowing shamelessly on a drain, I am miserable

At least, I look the part

Girl, sit down and listen!

Forget the sidewalks, who walks anyway?

My opinion is choking my throat

I am bleeding and my oesophagus will rot.

My eardrums are filled with your voices and the words you utter every day

Simply because I listened to you and I heard you

You silenced my view; hence I am dead inside

I have pursued your traits, and I’m led to your ruin
But, I want to open my eyes.

I want to see.

But first, do you hear me, sliced and torn to pieces screaming out your name?

Can you even see me?
Clearly you reside in infamy

No! No! NO!

Sit down and listen!

Gosh! I have been walking around like a zombie

I pleased you, forsaking my core existence

Actually, I lived you. I was you.

You made me you and I grew so day and night

Just like the best of my rival, you beheld me corpse

You knew it was not me, but you held up high the idea

I am done.

Men, women and beings of forged essence

Today is the morning after

And all things are neither your scrutiny nor plan

I am talking. You heard me.

Don’t glance this way, either way your ear will face me

Your veiled perception faded along with your pathetic spirit
With bare feet, I am stepping on hot coals carrying an aim, a voice and no resentment

Those will carry me further

Hopefully lead me away from your feeble handmade crown.

Happy read!

A reminder for those who care

Without a doubt, you have experienced not only a chill this morning, but also a wind blow, accompanied by rain, that is bound to leave our teeth clenching; not because we are scared, but because we are cold and freezing.

Winter has arrived. And, I bet each one of you we are prepared for it; we are all geared up with winter woollies and sipping on teas and coffee. What about those who cannot afford to get warm? Can't you do something about them? Can't you help them?

Never mind the street kids, many companies, government departments and NGOs are doing something about them. However, I do believe you know a person who can do with gloves, a jersey you don't use or an extra blanket you don't really use.

This could be your colleague, you friend, your friend's baby or sibling, you next door neighbour. Please guys, show some love and care. I actually think buying that person a cup of tea/coffee is a VERY good gesture.

I am certainly NOT telling you what to do. Instead, I am reminding those who care, those who have hearts and those who were once stranded and someone else came through for them to do something within their means. 

I speak love, joy, success and happiness upon your lives...

Happy read!

Couldn't have been love...

So many times, he’d say “I’ll be right back...”

I believed him, and with that look in his eyes I felt his truth

He promised me something, leaving me with a guarantee, certainty and his word

Tightly knotted with his, my heart felt the honesty in his voice

He never lied, he loved me

He loved me, I knew it

I knew him and I loved him

I watched him care for me always

He nurtured me, kissed me and splurged on me

He did things to my body and my mind would blast of ecstasy

His touches, kisses and love making tactics blew my every part

I could have never been ice, he melted me every time

He was mine and I was his

We shared not only t-shirts and secrets

We shared the sheets, cups and sweets

We shared a dime, our families and styles

I gave him my heart, I swear I had his

I walked the streets with joy

The love I got at home could catch me when I fall

I had eyes looking at me all the time with jealous minds and envious bitches eyeing shine

I thought they were jealous,

Then I heard a word; he hadn’t said things, he’d done things, I see

My sandcastle had collapsed, you see

This was a lie; he and I were a lifetime

We were more than just lust

My peace threatened to flee

NO! This was NOT the day

What were they doing to me? Breaking me?

The golden thread connecting his love to my heart a figment?

This was a lie; jealous minds and envious whores had spotted my shine

Because he loved me, he had to know

Good old us, were to deal with this; together

Mama, NO! He dealt with me, the way daddy dealt with you

Old memories emerged with shocking incidents, he was abusing me

He dealt with me, I could not believe

He’d mistaken strangles for stroking my throat

Coiled up in the same bed we’d lay in when he loved me, my ribs were in pain.

Today, he was hurting me, had he lost his magic?

Mama, he was NOT loving me, love had left our temple and it had dumped his sight
My screams cannot be heard unlike when I moan with him inside me

But, I had to ask him. Jealous minds and envious whores were denting us

But his punches were messing me

I see all we are had never been, his love had cost me a tooth,

And this way, I had never been free

In my face he’d set his footprint,

Then I knew he’d never loved me, he wanted to see me broken

My teardrops had built up streams, finding sanctuary on my scars

The most beautiful butterfly in my heart had died

As I looked up, I saw no glitter not even a star,

I saw a man whose expression was confronted by guilt

His penis had betrayed him; hence my love saw the door.

Happy read!

Me & Mr Jones: I remember

I remember having drinks with two friends; a very attractive guy and an elegant lady. To me this was a foreign land. A home and where school is for her, while this is where he use to study. Now, he only comes to visit his peers from church.
 
I was very familiar, and friendly with the double shots of Southern Comfort and lime I had in my hand. He was having the same while she went for something she felt was less 'hard', a Savanna.
 
With a cigarette at hand, she was blurting away. One would swear I have known her for ages, but I had just met her a few minutes ago. Thanks to Twitter, she asked to meet with me because she had heard of my PR proficiency. I'm not that good in the field, but I fitted her criteria of a young, vibrant, smart gay man.
 
We were chatting. She was enjoying us. He was entertaining. My Blackberry Messenger (BBM) was demanding my eye; Mr Jones was dining right across where we were. I wanted to see him. Gosh, I have been looking forward to this day.
 
I knew he was dark, but unsure of how tall he was. His Facebook photos depicted a tall skinny boy. Contrary to what he believed, he was good looking. He is near News Cafe, his text showed. I excused myself and up I went, carried away by self-reliance that would have fed a lot of starving children in Rwanda.
 
There he was. Cute, I muttered. He wasn't tall. He was not tall at all. He was still dark and very lovely though.
 
Hand shakes, wry smiles, hotness oozed between the two of us. Within a few seconds I had made him relax. Or had he made me relax? We were both not nervous; clearly we were two adults who were very much used to meeting strangers.
 
I walked him back to his res. At least I had established that he's not so busy, hence I had planned to have him hang with me, him and her. This was his territory, but I could tell that Mr Jones was did not go out much. Well, his time had come.
 
I went back strutting in excitement. I informed the crew that we will have a 'guest' among us. They got even more excited when they learn that I wanted to pursue Mr Jones.
 
I remember we moved from point A to B because freshmen are not allowed anywhere else except point B.
 
I remember the number grew from three; two men and a lady, to three men and a lady. The big man was in the midst. Rounds flew, allowing intoxication in the mind. By now everyone wanted to see Mr Jones. Right then, my BBM was buzzing. I'm here, where are you guys, his text showed.
 
He's here, I told the crew. I went to meet him halfway. He came to join us. Everyone loved him. Everyone loved him alright.
 
One drink too many. Stones was getting even more packed, but we had reserved our space so that we had enough to dance on. Or should I say that space was for me and me alone? I mean, I was the only one dancing.
 
I believe it was during my dancing that Mr Jones managed to forge, between himself and my male friend, what I had expected to develop between him and I.
 
I remember the big guy pulling me aside to ask me if I could see what was going on between the two. It was clear, but my mind was to slow to capture such disturbing moments. My friend entertaining my lovely Mr Jones, no harm in that, I thought.
 
I remember seeing their lips lock. I giggled, not because it was funny but, because it was strange just how roles have changed in one day, over few hours, between two good friends; all for a stranger. My then potential lover.
 
I remember the big guy and I waiting on Mr Jones and he to finish smooching. How lovely. No! How weird? Actually, ouch. Very ouch.
 
I remember confronting him inside a cab we took as we were heading home; to his place. "I can't believe you," I said, with a mouth that surely reeked of liquor. "Can we not talk about this now Dladla," he suggested. When was the right time? After they have established a solid foundation for their love for each other?
 
I remember, not hugging my friend when I left for work the next day. I remember nursing a weird pain in my belly every time their BBM statuses suggested they were together or going for a night out together. I remember forcing myself to accept that I had lost and my friend had won. I remember texting both of them wishing all the best.
 
To be honest, they made each other happy. I do believe they loved each other.
 
Despite what I thought in the beginning, me and Mr Jones could have never worked out. The fact that I was a R96 away while my friend was merely R20 confirmed this. Besides, Mr Jones was a student, something I had recently decided to stay away from. I, on the other hand, was very clingy; something that would have annoyed him to the point of ditching me.
 
I believe this is the realisation that brought me to man up and be 'happy' for Mr Jones and my friend. As a result, I had just the perfect idea. The plan was to invite both of them over at my place for a day or two. We would chill, eat and have fun just like old times.
 
The main idea here was to restore my friendship with my friend while setting things with Mr Jones to however they were before I found him appealing. Also, Mr Jones had never been to my house. He had always heard of the parties and braai that I usually host. Now, the time for him to come had arrived.
 
"When do you want to host us? Mr Jones and I have broken up," text from him showed. I gasped alone in a taxi home.
 
I remember feeling anger intensifying inside me. I almost lost a friendship with him. For what? A fling? Couldn't they have worked harder on whatever the problem was? After all the shit their relationship put me through, they failed to nurture what they have started? Actually, I was hurt. For what? Just for a spare of the moment kind of thing?
 
It's like they were both spiting me, with him saying let me get the taste of what my friend was after while Mr Jones pursued his inquisitiveness in regards to how it feels to be with the friend of the guy who wanted him.
 
I feel their relationship cost me. Now they threw all that away. Just when I was beginning to get my head around the idea of them dating.
 
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