some people seem to have been created
for the sole reason to agitate others.
perhaps to also kindle the fires of hell.
‘it’s just a joke’
how funny it is that the fire stake you use to taunt with wit
will be your stoking stick in infernos pit
I guess as tough as my shell may be
it’s there to protect the utter fragility I am inside
You assume the joke you pass
is a testament to your wit
you laugh on your own
on my own
You assume the slander
the stories you made up in your head
the ones you so easily spread
that you allowed to fester,
ever the molester,
you’ve made your bed
Now sleep in it!
Know that your weakness
your utter bleakness
will be your lot
you’ll never have my nearness
Seriously, wtf did I do except offer utter sincerity towards you,
for you to think you can just spread lies about me,
assume things about me, make up stories, gossip, backbite, lie, manipulate,
incite others against me.
What part of me is it you want before your wit will be satiated,
before your lusts invigorated
before your content and liberated
discarded be my way
it’s better than being
the ball between your rackets
for another day.
Ornamented in a cocoon of lace.
The subtle texture of her soul,
Iron clad by skin of shed.
I like my women the same way.
I don’t mind rough hands,
I don’t mind a little rage,
I don’t mind fragility,
As long as she can take off her stilettos,
And stab a man in his eye,
If he steps out of line.
But if I step out of line,
Plant a kiss on them,
Making me as fragile
Please see the talented work of Heather James Nicole from Heather James Photography. Inspiring and perfect time captures. The above photography belongs to her, used with her permission.
You smell of fragility
And what does fragility smell like except,
The naked body longing for clothing,
Or the pomegranate of heart bursting and ripe,
Fists, lowered into open palms.
I smell you because I have lived with the perfume,
I know it is as tender as incense stick ashes,
Unforgiving of yourself for the smallest of mistakes,
Chipped tea cups cutting your lip.
I’m finding it hard to keep writing now. This past week, I put brakes on myself.
My aim is to share parts of me, small parts as I coax myself into believing it is ok, some people may need to read some of my words, my thoughts, my heart. But now the weight of burden rests heavy on me.
I am feeling guilty for feelings being aroused in some people that illicit hurt, pain or remind them of suffering, vulnerability or fragility.
In the conundrum therefore I am, of deciding whether or not I keep sharing at the expense of hurting people in the process of identifying sensitivities in myself or to stop sharing and keep writing to myself only, perhaps one day mustering the courage to see if anything I write may be worthy of a wider readership.
But I apologise in advance if for whatever reason I made you hurt, suffer or cry.
It was never my intention to purposefully hurt.
My most haunted and beautiful moments were not in the times I was most strong, I have endured battles of the physical, mental and spiritual kind and they mean nothing to me. I’d fight them all again without fear, they taught me ought else but rigidity and harshness.
The moments I treasure most and gave me the ultimate strength of character, resolve, bravery and poise in the face of devils are the ones where I was most fragile.
From them came my art, came my brutality, came my savagery and came my subtlety.
Words flowed when I was broken, not mended.
My soul developed when I was downtrodden not when I was upright.
My heart grew fonder when it was annulled not when it was coveted.
My body became stronger when I fasted, not when I ate.
My ego was destroyed when I starved it, not when I gave it what it desired.
Brute strength served it’s purpose but the real strength came through fragility, that’s how I elevate in learning and understanding.
Be fragile, be vulnerable, let your guard down, everyone can fight, but learning to take the blows is what makes beauty.