poets corner 14 ( relapses or corpses)

[Zo]

ABUSE


There is only one thing in this world that infuriates me and that is the abuse of women. I can't stand it - the thought of it unleashes this rage within that makes me want to scream and destroy every man that has ever laid a hand on a woman.

You would ask why? Maybe because it's because I grew up in a household where there was abuse. I remember my mom having a black eye. I remember seeing blood. I remember screaming, shouting and cursing. I remember having sleepless nights. I saw it, I lived it and I hated it.

My dad would come home drunk and talk a lot of rubbish. He would curse. It is amazing how alcohol can change a person. I love my dad. But there were times where I would wish he would go away and never return. Just imagine: it's Saturday and you would be worried and praying that he would come home sober. Imagine crying yourself to sleep because you feel so helpless that you couldn't help your mother.

Yes I was just a child. What could I do? Going to school with your eyes swollen because you were crying the whole night; having to lie to your friends and say you had a rough night. I couldn't sleep that was my story and I stuck to it. Being in cla** and thinking what the hell is happening at home because you left your parents at home.

Thinking just maybe while I am at school there is a continuation of last night's boxing match. Coming home and not having your parents speak to each other for more than a week. As I grew older it continued. Then I decided to become vocal. I decided to say no, but still that didn't help.

Rather now I became a victim of verbal abuse;  I was being called a bitch. He said that I was taking my mother side. I didn't see what my mother was doing wrong. I mean really all I could see was him beating my mom. I would always ask myself why she didn't leave him.

Most children wanted their parents to stay together. My friends were raised by single parents and I used to be so envious. While on the flip side my friends wanted to be me. They wanted a father figure while I wished I didn't. Mommy, why didn't you leave?

Now I know the answer and that was because of me and my brother and sister. She loved us too much. My parents have been together for 23 years and the last incident of abuse was last year.

The bastard bashed a plate against her forehead. My mother is a strong woman and I love her for that. She is my role model, however, I don't want to be like her. I am 22 years old and I have never had a decent relationship because deep down inside I have this secret hatred for men.

I have never been struck by a man and I dread the day that any man would ever lay his hand on me. Now when I meet a guy I have this tendency of fishing and trying to find out if he would ever lay his hand on a woman. I must say I've been lucky because I have come across very gentle men.

No man has the right to beat a woman. Men who beat women are cowards. Even though he has left images in my mind that would haunt me forever, I still love my dad. My mom is a strong woman and she has been through a lot. She has endured a lot of pain and I still ask myself why she stayed. I guess that is the abuse you have to endure when you have children.

[Zo]

sorry people
think that was more of an essay then a poem
my apologies

[Blizzard]

nah its cool, you are also a strong woman...and that is real talk.

[VirginPussy]

awehness, bleskop aweness...

[Zo]

much thanx tornado and to u my dearest pussy

[Zo]

Piece of me.....
Beautiful disaster....

I am a child of mix races. If we were in America I would call myself biracial but then again we are not. My mother is Xhosa and my father is coloured and in essence they are both black. So why can’t I say I am black? As I was growing up I had to defend and justify who and what I am. I was too black to be coloured and too coloured to be black. Sounds weird nuh…Well the thing is when I was with coloured people I was this kroes kop girl and they felt the need to speak English with me and would be amazed at the fact that I could speak Afrikaans. And as I grew older when I met people who are Xhosa seeing I am from the Eastern Cape they would like at me and ask “sorry are you Xhosa”? I would say yes and ask why and their response would be ,” it’s just that you look coloured.” Then they would add to say “you must have a bit of colouredness in you.” So my experience has been that upon meeting someone for the first time I have had to tell them my life story which is coloured father, xhosa mother which resulted in what I like to call a beautiful cocktail that is me. But I ask why I have to explain and justify my blackness. I found that if I say that I am Xhosa, the next question would be, ungumni (what’s your clan name)? Which I don’t have then people would say you are coloured.  I mean why can’t I be me? Why should I justify my blackness by putting an ethnic label before it? Why can’t I say I am black and be accepted. Better yet why can’t I say I am an African because in essence that is what I am? Till this day I am 23 years young and still have to explain myself. At technikon my friends dubbed me or rather named me a MIX. So they would refer to me as hey MiX. So mna I don’t care what they call me, I know who I am and I am the individual that is Imita, black, bald and butted. I know who I am and I don’t care what people refer to me as because I am my own person and don’t need nothing and no one to validate me. So call me what you want to call me, xhosa, coloured or mix….But I will remain the beautiful cocktkail that is I, Imita…. 

[Zo]

sometimesI wish I could
Just get away from it all
Be invisible and go far away
To a land unknown
A land where the sun always shines
Gra** is always green
Birds sing all day
Sometimes
I wish I could
Close my eyes and get away from it all
For just one moment be in a land of my own
Smiles, laughter, music and dancing
Wouldn't that be great
A place with no crime, rape or abuse
Where you can walk the streets from dusk till dawn
Wear your mini skirt with no fear of being raped
A place that is calm and serene
Sometimes
You need to get away from it all
Get a piece of mind
Find time for yourself
Inhale, exhale
Back to the world
What a cruel, cruel world
Sometimes I wish
But it is all in my head
A figment of my imagination
Sometimes, I wish

[motley]

More or less about me

I wrote more and even better when i was less matured
I had less then but inspired by the need for more
More of what they had and less of the person I was
I guess the less i had the more I was inspired
To write less about what i have and more about what i dont
Now that i have more theres less to write about

The less i write the more realise i dont quite get myself
The more i explain my relations with woman the less i know about who i am
The less hair i have the more of them i get
The more money i have the less rejection i get
But the less i become i player the more lonely i feel
Now the more i know people the less i want be around them

Like the hour gla** Im constantly less of this and more that
More regrets about time wasted but far less afraid of death
I spend less time with my family but love them more than ever before
You’d probably like to hear more but i choose to reveal less
I know less isn’t good enough, its more like soft pron
Anyway, I’ve been more or less the same since I was born

Hayi bawokazi this is true art, I can relate in so many ways.

[Gem-In-Eye]

No politician can dictate ths state of mind implied fates lost to superficial trends that inflate its a clonin fasion that infects lives infact lines too poetic to b defined when definitions r defied destiny deferred coz they prefer death over eternal life a pretext 4 suicide fiction aside fact is my prefix to censor lies find it hard to sense the line to truth living proof b the testament/statement put to test amends to these dying men denying Sins to sing a holy hymn a hint to who imposes whats suposed to b the global ritual proposed spiritual civilization contest ''bestialy'' revelations inferiority complex evaluation of the salutation its colonised salvation no rebelion stance in this piece instance 4peace is deceased why unite and have existence ceased proceed with a distorted creed when i the suicidal hypocrit contradict to make a point 4the burdened verdict argument adjourned. Title: Meaningless living

[RearrangedReality]

More or less about me

I wrote more and even better when i was less matured
I had less then but inspired by the need for more
More of what they had and less of the person I was
I guess the less i had the more I was inspired
To write less about what i have and more about what i dont
Now that i have more theres less to write about

The less i write the more realise i dont quite get myself
The more i explain my relations with woman the less i know about who i am
The less hair i have the more of them i get
The more money i have the less rejection i get
But the less i become i player the more lonely i feel
Now the more i know people the less i want be around them

Like the hour gla** Im constantly less of this and more that
More regrets about time wasted but far less afraid of death
I spend less time with my family but love them more than ever before
You’d probably like to hear more but i choose to reveal less
I know less isn’t good enough, its more like soft pron
Anyway, I’ve been more or less the same since I was born

Hayi bawokazi this is true art, I can relate in so many ways.

wow thanks Motley. I appreciate the comment.

[Nar8iv]

Spam
-------

Always succeed in freeing themselves from every robes and
beds that have all been prepared and nod as she pa**ed her.
susie learnt that the haddos took that car decked with gold
to where bhima satyavan with savitri, bhrigu with puloma,
kasyapa got round at last, and could look right down into
entered into a diksha extending for twelve years.219 emphatic
significance. It's underneath the machine. Men get driven
on to skye by the bad weather they feet caught among the
supple arms of the herbage, is not accomplished in practice.
that learned thou hast, o king, rescued nahusha from bhrigu's
and normans. The earliest historical fact connected convinced
that the brick coating of the wedgetower having put the
coffee on to boil, she was not.

[The Mighty Loks]

Dear God, you suck….

Where were you when he was taking his last breath?
Where was that virgin when the blood was being drained from his veins?
Where was your son when mine was being thrown into that big hole only to be devoured by worms? 

When you gave me a house you never told me to keep a heartache box under my bed.
You never told me to keep a drawer for pain in my kitchen.
I never kept a container labeled depression or a bag tagged tears.

I planted potatoes in my back yard, little did I know that like those potatoes, the minute my son was starting to blossom he would have to go underground.
I’ve painted my walls a million times yet I still hear the sound of his laughter.
My windows are clean yet I still see the reflection of his face trapped in the dust.

You say you’re the alpha, yeah the beginning of my end.
The omega? Well this is the end of your sick illusion of grandeur.
If he’s not in heaven, then heaven is no place for me.
You’ve already damned me to a life in hell anyways.

So here I am asking you for one small favour, let me say goodbye.
Give me one last chance to kiss him goodnight, cause god damnit you owe me that much.

[Nar8iv]

@ baldiloks - is that autobiographical?
damnit.
heavy.

[The Mighty Loks]

@ baldiloks - is that autobiographical?
damnit.
heavy.

No babe it's not. In the taxi on my way to work "Faithfully" by Luther Vandross came on and I was telling my friend that I wanted to walk down the aisle to that song. The lady sittin in front of me told me that she hated that song cause her son loved it so much and they always danced to it. But the son pa**ed away in a car accident two weeks before his wedding.Was quite heartbreaking....

[the brand®]

WOW
been a while since the poets corner rocked like this