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I never imagined I’d be so insignificant

I never imagined I’d be so

insignificant.

I always thought I would save the world.

I always thought I would do

something –

history would preserve me;

The Great.

 

I cannot recall the exact point when,

but after innocence and the muck of puberty,

destiny gave way to

the quiet, chipping away of conviction;

the slow dissolving of

faith.

 

And I find myself woken up to

someone I would not recognise –

a stranger sans fire;

grappling with time and

the timelessness of ashes and dust;

grasping for any mention of special.

 

I find myself warm in my mediocre,

and the aspirations of others

yet uncomfortable in myself.

 

I never imagined I’d be so

insignificant,

nor so far gone that

I know not what to dream for anymore.

Palestine

Women are dying people are crying.
Lives are scattered bodies battered
Bombs are flying but they say we are lying
They live in a bed but we live in a shread
They say its tragic but we know as barbaric
They sleep we weep They use weapons we use stone
We live on the door of humanity but they are insanity
They know we dignified
they drip in green of of our
hard earned land
they eat sleep tear our land
but we says its in gods hands

In the kingdom

I suckled from the tree of life
Lost sight of the light
Painted my soul dark so I walk the nights
In paths frightening the fearless of souls I ride
Schizophrenic brain abluted knight
I feint the saints at sight
Stories told of me are legion-are we?
Fighting a lost war, to what glory is a won battle?
How does one fight his creator?
With every blow we throw my spirit worsens
Still seek I nurture
Away green pastures further
But farther seems my departure
The only hope of escape lies in God
A God of which I oppose Not
By choice
For I mistakenly suckled from the tree of life
And lost sight of the light

My heart is a homeless man.

My heart knows what it wants

Yet it knows it cant have

It is like a homeless man who knows what he wants to eat

But cant afford to eat it

My mind knows what is right

Yet my heart is the stronger of the two

It is like a homeless man fiercly pushing his cart

But the car will always out pace him

My mouth knows what it wants to sound

Yet my mind comprehends the future

It is like a homeless man who knows what he wants to ask for

But his pride cannot take a bigger load

My senses continue crucial conflict

Yet I will always be at peace with my love.

– Jerry Wooters

Mzanzi

Her smiles are always golden, and she always makes us weep. with great hope and much embrace we chose her fate to not be weak, which way to go which path to take, she will never hesitate, to take whats hers without debate. She never sleeps and hardly blinks without a care she’ll let you sink. Uplift you much , this is her trade but just for you to sooner fade. Beware her sting and yes she bites, as hopeful souls stand up to fight, nowhere to be but in her arms, her touch her love her sweet, sweet charms. Cruel and loving she can be to make many fall to their knees. We love her so , she treats us well, but for so many a lonely hell. she is you and she is me, we fought so hard to set her free. Her work is done , she got her prize , all the joy of many lives, her waking eyes are filled with glee, this is yours this is mine, this our mzanzi. By Angelo ‘benjie’ Jordan.

My little world

It must be the greatest feeling to be truly happy with yourself and your situation; Like actually be at the place where you are able to accept that you need to forget what’s gone, appreciate what still remains and look forward to what’s coming next. Heavens, is that difficult! Our little world – the place that we all escape to, is the gift that can never be opened by anyone else. My little world is consumed with words: words of greats, legends , poets. Words are my escape, my own little hide-out. Sometimes, it’s even a guilty pleasure. Words, to me, are what boxing gloves are to Ali. For the time I’m with them, I am able to defeat crippling inhibitions and be champion of Self. My little world of words is my pocket of bliss against the hems of flames of the world.

My Concealer

Of all sorts of make-up
concealer works best for me.
I use it as soon as I wake up,
it has become part of my identity.

At night I clean my face
And my scars become clear.
For when Im in my own space,
there’s no need for me to fear.

That people will see my pain
and offer me their sympathy.
In their thoughts rehearsing my name-
Thinking, oh, what a pity.

Tomorrow, again, I’ll start my day
By putting on a smile and pretending that I’m gay.

Birth

a crying angel
went down
to that dark place
where kings defecate
and the eye
is an empty space
: upon earth’s
soft soiled bed
the weeper
rested his head
dreaming
diligently
divinely
of daylight’s
pregnant dead
alas: the virgin cave
begot
a blind
God

The fish in the sea

Others look in on my feelings

Like gold fish in their glass bowl

Only if I remembered this feeling for 3 seconds

Life would not sting as much

Although this sting keeps me swimming.

I am the struggling worm on the hook

Others wonder why I struggle here

Yet I want nothing more but to be stuck forever, no matter how it hurts

I catch nothingnoff this line

But my reel is yet to reach an end.

-Jerry Wooters

suicide note

Dear mother,
Please do not cry too hard, it is not your fault
That I got rid of myself.
Trying too hard to make you proud,
I ignored reality and the commoness of being,
In fear that my being a typical youth
Might raise your brows. At least,
If I was not normal I could have
Been a rebel. But all I seem to be against
Is the intrusion of sunlight on my mornings.
I became a being of little significance
To the world, a wallflower choked by the
Weeds in your little garden.
My dear Jules*, I think you are a beautiful person
But a terrible liar. I think every time
Your husband loved you enough
To feed you, and bathe you and wipe you off;
You wished he didn’t.
You hate that he had to but you should know
You are more than enough of a person
To admit it. And good God you deserve
Ice cream and walking on the beach
And a day to cry! But you will need him for that too.
Darling, he will need your hand for it too.
I just thought someone should tell you. And
That I survived this long thanks to your emails
About the ducks in your garden
And everyone around you’s Alzheimer’s.
To my best friend, the one
Who started to stop liking good music
And Friday nights in:
You can keep the photo collage of our
Time as friends I never took down from
My living room wall
Since I was still able to look at the pictures
And see the happiness and not the
People I depended on for that happiness.
Really, take it! No one has to know
We forgot to know each other lately.
You were always a person of the world
While I could never seem to climb out
Of my own. For a while now
I’ve been my own keeper, burying myself
Alive under memories and nostalgia while
You grew up, I guess.
Anyway, I wish you all the good luck
You can bear and all the bruises on your
Heart it takes you to learn that you’re
Not his saviour and tequila is not yours.
To all the teachers who influenced me
In my short time alive: Because of you
I appreciate Literature but because of you
I appreciate Literature and that’s not
Making me a lot of money or making me too
Many friends. Thank you.
A big ‘fuck you’ to the boy who didn’t get to break my heart.
I wanted so badly to be known by you, to get felt up
And used by you like all the girls around you did.
But you were too busy being the ideal guy
To pay me any mind.
I know I’m partly to blame, I overcompensated
Your gentry and underplayed my interest. Still.
I hope you feel a tinge of guilt when you hear about this.
A special word of thanks to my neighbour,
Someone Somebody,
Who only ever wanted to know how I was,
When his key didn’t
Unlock his front door fast enough.
If you were some nosy little shit,
You might have walked in on me standing in my window
On the 15th floor of our apartment building,
Ready to fall into the night.
You might have been able to stop me.
Finally, to my colleagues:
I will not miss the random
Conversations at tea and at lunch
About bad television series and how much you
Hate the people you love.
When this body wakes up, I will be dead, and glad
To be rid of this miserable person.
Sincerely,
Old Me.

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