Monthly Archives

September 2016

Poems,

Cloakroom

By a cunning method, strategically devised.You have doused the flame that once burnt in my eyes.My heart has made decisions so unwise.My knees have kissed cold floors for the truth to suffice.I’ll dig harder for the past to rise.And when it does, the opposite shall befall your disguise.Then, everyone will know how you spew your lies.You will be exposed and extracted, just like mice.- JasmineTheJewelimage

Poems,

Something I Should Have Said Earlier

“To protect yourself, you must stand in this circle.”And so, I stood at the center of the circle of salt.Little did I know the things I was trying to protect myself from were already breathing inside of me.The ritual was like an awakening.As soon as they realized it, they joined forces and attacked me.Not all of them are gripping my neck.Some have clenched their fists on my wrists and ankles.The candlelight is unjust; I can only feel their various forms.Four of them are assigned to my upper torso. They seem quite stronger than the bottom two.Resistance is a waste of energy. I will save it for later.Oh no.I hear footsteps.”Please don’t come any closer”, I plead.They grunt unpleasantly and I feel them revolve around me in an aggressive formation.You see me in the dim candlelight.Alone.You only see me.I wonder if you can see, hear or feel them.You’re smiling. It confirms that you can’t.With an outstretched arm, you beckon on me to step out of the circle.”Step out,” he said.”It will be fun,” he said.Where’s that strength I’ve been saving for later? I need it to explain the battle I’m currently in. I am not ready to step out when the war is still in progress.But you are greedy.You pull me out.You still didn’t get the explanation.Wait.For the first time in a long time, there is tranquility.But I fear they are lurking; waiting to pounce on me.I know they are watching.The silence is about to break.They attack again. Dragging me by my feet, back into the circle.I told you to wait, that I wasn’t ready but you didn’t listen.Now you’re judging me by what I was trying to fix before you interrupted the battle and the healing process.It’s my fault you’re hurt?It was eventually going to happen.You returning me like an unwanted shelf toy.Back to the circle of salt.Where I slowly wither away.Because I don’t want to be a burden to someone else.Because my oppressors have started to cut me again.And it’s rather comforting.Soothing pain.I will remain.Where never again,Will I be a burden for reasons the same.

Poems,

Crestfallen

With teary eyes, I write this memoir,
My shaky fingers type this note.
Weak legs, standing on tiled floor,
To write this piece, I mote.

Droplets of tears stain this screen,
I will continue nevertheless.
How I wish I could stop and scream,
The opportunity will come, not just yet.

Everything is a façade,
There is no love at home.
Even if there was, I’ve never had
The chance to feel it alone.

I have been treated inhumanely,
By one of same blood and bone.
Even though he is family,
I shall never call him my own.

His hands have struck my face,
My soul has been bruised countlessly.
The hurt must have me debased,
But I still retain my intractability.

He hits me with no remorse,
Like I’m the embodiment of his problems.
I weep for no just cause,
My head is bowed in solemn.

I am related to a beast.
A walking bag of disaster.
He is a monster, to say the least.
Something no one should look after.

Way too many dents in this heart,
He has left his mark.
It’s a long list, I cannot start,
To see the light within his dark.

I have made up my mind.
No longer will I be called his sibling.
I will live in defiance of the grind.
Do they not understand my feelings?

I seek sequester,
From all of this.
Yes, sequester.
I must find peace.

And so I come to the conclusion,
That love does not exist.
If we live in confusion,
How then can it subsist?

Misogamy.
The only immutable solution.
Tall or short or uncanny.
I wouldn’t start a communion.

Don’t try to change my opinion.
All similar creatures are the same.
I do not want a union.
Not even one with a French name.

Both of my hands are held apart.
One in schism, one with strife.
All in a bid to tell you, I’ll play the part
I’ll live like one with life, sad life.

– Jasmine
(4 April 2015)

Poems,

Dark Games

Everyone wants someone whose demons play well with theirs.

It’s beautiful sight to watch black hands clap, hear songs from chapped lips and follow dance patterns from torn feet that raise soot.

Until one party begins to lock horns and claw at the other’s jawbone.

We never really remember how it started but the endings are always painful.

Now I and my sad black friends are wounded and standing in bloody pools; Le Fin.

As we watch the credits go up.image

Poems,

Vingt

The leaves still rustle when the wind yawns.
The stillness is short lived.
Temper. Temper and controlled storms.
A million bottles of hearts that grieve.
There is beauty in your soul’s brain.
Matchless pairs make up your being.
You are unaware that gold flows through your veins.
Such sanity will cause a stone to sing.
Vingt.
The wounded crawl into hiding once again.
Petals wither at the hour before dawn.
Bleed the oil lamps and drop the curtains attached to the frames.
Then the green light will flood in from the cracked window screen.
20ème
We will slowly rekindle the dousing flame from the beam.
It’s time.

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