Truth Hurts.

I couldn’t stand being rejected, so I rejected. I couldn’t bear the weakness, so I suppressed. I couldn’t risk being cheated so I cheated first.

The truth is a tough pill to swallow but it heals the wounds that the eyes cannot see and the flesh prefers not to feel. The lies are so comforting, not taking the pain away but turning me to another direction and wheeling me further away from the pain of having your life-long dreams lying slain in plain sight, all that little boy called “me” wanted to do was board a plane for the first time and fly off to see Spain.

Growing up afraid of the dark and now I’m so dark deep inside where the sun don’t shine, until the day when the devil says “now you’re mine” and doctor’s flashing that light into your intestine concluding your autopsy – “too much wine”, your death is nothing devine and your mama is left to whine over your graduation picture captioned “The world is mine”.

The truth hurts, that means your happiness is a lie and that’s why you’re so offended every time God enters the conversation, telling you that he knows the drill – the devil just wants to kill – and steal – destroy. If you’re looking for some muscle you’ve got to lift some real weights. And if you’re looking for knowledge you’ve got to read some real books – Oh if you’re looking for some joy you’ve got to seek the real you.

The comfort zone is a prison cell, a rotting hell – leave some bread there for a week and you will tell, do the same with some cheese and you could sell. Some billion people out in the world and I chose to live in a shell, I can’t take the criticism but I need their love to fill a “me” museum big enough to rival the colosseum. And if somebody threatens to dent my pride, I’ll run him over and film it for the world to see him.

I told you I’m afraid of rejection so I came up with my own objection of everybody and everything and there was no exception until it became a real obsession which turned out to be a sad reflection – that I’ve become the very thing that I feared and hated and now my childhood dream to change the world is looking outdated and I might not ever get to shout out a loud and proud, err …”Mama I made it!”.

Movie Nights

In an age where the night life seems bliss I appreciate the moments like this. I told my friends that all I need is a true Queen to kiss, I’ve found her, so tonight any other girl can count me as a miss – For tonight I’m saving the costs of the bill because I’m staying in for some genuine Netflix and Chill.

I’m counting my losses and multiplying my blessings, I mean no disrespect to those who are still chasing, but I’m done entertaining the glitter in their many shapes and sizes because I have found a diamond and I swear she’s priceless.

We were young but I wouldn’t say foolish because when you’re made for it you just have to embrace it. Yes I’m talking about turning up while your young blood is burning up for something exciting for the sake of exciting the masses and showing up at the coolest addresses.

That was the life made for a guy like me, spent more time vibing instead of hitting the library. All the things they had flashing in your face on the screens, I was always planning them behind the scenes. By now I could have been the face on magazines with a title of a young boy who caught fame like a disease. They would pay us for being the biggest party animals and then film us as we caught game with some rich boys from overseas.

Yes I was your typical one day nigga and a real day one nigga. But something unusual was always within, for example, I knew the difference between Hoe and Ho Chi Minh.

So life hit me with big questions that I relentlessly began to ponder, like if I wasted my talent what would be my answer when one day I die and go to the life-after to answer to the Mighty God seated at the alter.

Then I turned and looked around me and you were there, so patient and gentle and fair – then I wondered that maybe you weren’t just another dirty dish that I would rince a few times and leave you to wish that you had been wiser and kept your love for a true Prince.

I am that true Prince. And it’s because of you that I know this. It’s the moments like this that are truly bliss, having someone occasionally calling me Chris, reminding me that I’m not just some typical – for all your troubles one day I’ll take you somewhere tropical.

~Dedicated~

Right my Wrongs.

What is it going to be this time? It’s with this question that I open my mind – I’m currently in the mood to write something that’s motivated by this burning eagerness to right my wrongs.

I spent countless hours and precious brain cells dwelling on the things I did not understand. I spent so much time thinking my talent was a crime that was holding me caged in a cell of creativity when what I had to do was finish my notes on objectivity, impartiality and judges and the Law.

I spent so many days in so many ways allowing a book and it’s author to write my life. I’ll probably hate myself more because I could write a book about my life, dedicate it as a present to my future with lessons from my past.

I’m sure it would help me when I need to get around certain obstacles that I don’t need to get tangled in, like that time when I thought I needed to write a rhyme on each page just to make my story sound right.

But I’ve still got time, I’m far from my prime and my youthfulness has given me a drive to survive and every time I come across as flooded by useless thoughts I’ll remember to dive straight into my words, write them down and just hope I don’t drawn in myself and my mind – which is probably what had me feeling so encaged in creativity, neglecting the opportunity to write my life.

Now I can right my wrongs, I’m feeling blessed because I can write my wrongs with precision and persuasion and oozing a creativity that has set me free from the cage where the books and their authors and judges had me convinced and convicted and sentenced to a life unwritten.

Stop Writing.

I need to stop writing because I might just be good at it. Okay maybe that’s too extreme, maybe I can just stop publishing my blog posts – they might be better off as drafts.

Yes maybe drafts are better, I can pile up all my thoughts and they will never be seen and I would never revisit them just in case I get tempted to post them and let the whole world see.

I’m surely no Shakespeare, my English is far too simple – but oh how convenient, people cannot handle complicated, they don’t even understand my previous post.

Oh snap I need to stop writing. I might just be good at it and I’ll get what I wish for; write some books and get rich and famous – then my biggest fears will come true and I’ll end up like my beloved Avicii.

Many times I never stopped to think what the consequences of success could be. Everyone who’s holding my secrets might just come and spill the beans just to get their name on the community mop and wipe away all my innocence and privacy – I don’t want to be rich and famous.

So maybe I should stop writing or maybe I can just stop making sense, I can never try being boring so I’ll start now with the mathematics that birds don’t dwell on and neither did I when I passed through the tunnel and became man and then boy and then faded into thinking – yes surely I’ve lost them and they’ll never read me again…I can continue writing never to be famous today.

Alone with Money

He could not take it anymore, the pressure and the waiting. How was he supposed to know that the money and the women would never satisfy a brewing death from within?

A big man on the brink of Obesity and his Soul is starving. Every night he does not know why his Rover isn’t enough. It’s big enough but there isn’t room for it on the road to the afterlife.

How can you blame her for thinking so smart? She’s hungry, going to bed on an empty stomach is no fitness routine. So she took this precious beauty and hung out it with a price…at least now she can see it’s value – it’s put some food in her mouth.

“I’m doing what I have to do” is what he’ll tell you. “I can’t afford to play around while accumulating these debts, I’ll get this degree just before I get rich and then I’ll take all my boys out and we’ll celebrate by the beach” – but how was he supposed to know that thinking for the future could cost him the gift that was the present and now the boys are no more, they’ve moved on with their wives…

And now you’ve got an old man chasing around young girls trying to make up for his wasted days of youth. But his body is not the same now, the alcohol doesn’t go down as it used to – now lying on a hospital bed with nobody by his side…

How was he supposed to know that he needed somebody that would care to be there? How was he supposed to know he needed somebody for better or for worse?

Loveless Love Letters

Dear Dorothy

Is it your comforting touch, your cheering laugh or your tight squeezing hugs that’s got me missing you? Or maybe it’s just my regrets, of the pain I caused you that has got me thinking so deeply.

I remember how your big eyes used to light up when we were together. You would smile as you lay your head on my shoulder telling me about your friends, the real ones and the fake. You thought I was one of the real ones and set no boundaries for what you could say next, you just said it all and I was all ears all the time.

I, however, could not even begin to tell you what was on my mind. It wasn’t you… maybe it was what we were doing together but looking back at it now, I did not really have your best interests at heart. You are Beautiful, always have and always will be. But I took that beauty for granted – I had somebody else.

Yes, it’s by time I confessed. My heart has always belonged to Diane. I lied and told you I was getting tired of her, but every night I rested in her arms and had no trouble falling into peaceful slumber.

I kept you hopeful – of a time when you and I would pack only our favourite clothes and note books and run away together. We said we would leave it all behind, the money, careers and past lovers…but in truth that was all just a dream, a youthful fantasy – it was never going to happen.

Diane has gone back home to care for her young siblings while her ill mother is in and out of hospital, and although I should be worried for her and their family’s pain – I am now missing you. Maybe this is just a lonely man trying to satisfy fleshly urges, or maybe this is our time Dorothy – maybe we could set sail with those dreams we once buried.

I’ve always loved how you composed your poems, although I have never been able to produce words under such a rhyming pressure and for sure I never will have the pleasure. But still you loved my short stories and we said that together we would take over the world of free-lance literature.

I heard some birds singing a song about how you had found a new love, but you and I both know that he is just trying to fill up my old boots. What we had, no – what we have is real, a true connection you know – chemistry. I will come by real soon to take back what is rightfully mine.

Until I come my love, do prepare some poems for me…I’ve got so many apologies to sing to you, and some ice-cream too. We can sit through the sunset on your porch as we let our words do the talking. It will be like old times. It will be a Grand time.

Sincerely yours.