I am starting to see life for what it is.
A series of mistakes, that if repeated, lead to destruction of self.
Languishing in it makes misery my home.
I could push past myself and love me ’cause I’m lovable.
I am starting to see love for what it is, not what I want it to be. All the words I hold in my tongue so I don’t offend you and the decisions I make despite your advice. And the frustration you have with my ways.
My frustration with you not being on my side.
You won’t love me to my death bed, I heard you say that.
I don’t want to be the kind of person that constantly surpresses who I am and what I want to fit into a world that couldn’t care less.
I don’t want to run away from things that haven’t happened yet.
I fell into the darkness I thought was myself and couldn’t get up.
I am loving myself. It means looking her in the eye every day and giving her pleasures she’s never had.
And that’s okay.
I want to do that.
I want to be true to you in my fear and faith
In my heart I know that I am yours
So my mouth with gusto will say it
I love you
As the trees love their maker
And their flowers blossom for Him
You are the reason I flower
I am your vine, one of your branches
A grape on your great grape tree
I am a fig made fit for your garden
I am a root stubbornly growing through the desert soil
I will not faint
I will persevere
And yes you are the God that makes it rain in this desert heart you planted
My storm bit rock of a being
My soul dry bones
You reigh in me
And I flower I blossom like the Ivy I am
In awe of your awesome
You are a cool Dad.
Father of nations
Constantly constant in this inconsistent world.
Beautifully lovely loving
Words cannot contain, explain or proclaim enough about how magical, yes magical
How marvelous are your ways
Way more than imagination can explain
Words upon words
Poems young and old
Prophets here and there
Fake and real
Will not dare
May not phathom
We can’t say enough about you Lord Jesus
Yaweh we cannot do u justice
And the rocks
Poets and poems
He is here and isn’t that beautiful people.
Baby, it’s too early in the morning for resentment.
Please have your tea, eat your brekie and breathe.
The world and its shit will be there when you are done with your me time.
So let the apple cinnamon tea in and take your time with your conquest.
Your magic isn’t short lived or fast acting.
It’s slow and savory, and succulent, sour and sweet.
And slow acting, slow in speech and has grammatical errors and unfinished sentences…
But it is your poems Ivy.
It is your magic Susan
It’s your power Joy
It’s your picture Sieg
Its your genius Nick
It’s your heart Eu.
It’s your love Srishti.
It’s your words Alex O.
I dedicate this post to my tribe.
And to the five years I have spent on this Platform.
To WordPress for allowing me to
Pour myself out for myself and for you guys, and for my readers.
This space has opened up my eyes, heart, soul and mouth. It has given me courage.
I love you all.
MUTHEU WA MBULA