Moods Of P

A walk through my words


July 2012


I thought I needed you so I could be whole. I thought I needed you so that my stories would not feel untold.

I thought your thoughts would complete mine, that one by one you would see why you should always be mine.

I searched for conversations that could make me whole, that would teach me to reach for my life’s goal.

I thought in you I’d find the answers to eternity.

All my life I waited for you to find the light which would lead me beyond my confines.

All the while I couldn’t see that the moths gathered to the light that is within me.

In you I thought I’d find answer to the question, “Who am I?” And yet, the more I look; I see that in me the answers lurk.

The need to find one with which I can settle my soul with is a hapless pursuit meant to deter me from my eternal bliss.

I thought finding you would complete me whole. It’s my time that you’ve actually stole.

In attempting to cultivate the seed that I planted in you I’ve had to uproot me and lose sense of my bearings. As I await the fruit which may or may not ever come through I realize that I don’t need you to be me but it helps having you because I hate being lonely.

While you may never understand why I act as if I need you to hold my hand I assure you that it is entirely and act.

If I don’t act like I need to have you hold me, you might consider yourself somewhat lonely.

Give me your hand, it’s not a request but a demand, you need to see that I am whole but I seek a companion.

I want but don’t need you. I seek truths greater than you choose to imagine all so that you too can become whole, at one with yourself, truly & well into yourself. See? I’m quite magnanimous for I believe this destiny was meant not just for me but for us.

Make no mistake; I’ll leave you behind if you think without you I have no life.

I thought I needed to grow old with you by my side, our two little boys and our girl tagging along for the ride. I thought you would make me whole until I had you but you weren’t playing your role when I needed it & sought you for your comforting role. In your absence I found, I’ve always been whole I just didn’t like being alone.

I like me as a whole but I’m unhappy when I try to get you to complete me.

None possess what I need to be me except the being I am already. SO as much as I had hoped you’d make me whole, I didn’t need and don’t need you as a second soul. 13/11/2011


Mother’s Sin

No one knows the weight of a mother’s sin.
You couldn’t possibly fathom the pain I’ve had to bear.
Would you ever survive the shame I cannot share.
You can’t possibly know the kind of hell I’ve been in.

Don’t tell me I have no conscience.
My guilt goes beyond my grave.
If only it were that easy, my daughter to save.
My heart, twisted in its shape, by the weight of the wrongness.

No one knows the weight of my sins.
The burden I bear through guilt, fear and depression. All as a result of my lover’s rejection.
You cannot know the pain I bear, my tears would fill containers and bins.

Image courtesy of Idea go /

My daughter lost for fear of social rejection.
The pain of seeing her withdraw further and further behind a shell.
All I wanted was that picket fence and big yard perfection.
My daughter through her rebellion creating yet another form of hell.

You couldn’t possibly be able to see what my lover did to her.
You wouldn’t know what his grunts, her cries did to my soul.
In a 3 bed-roomed house one would think that you’d be able to ignore such sounds over running water.
And yet all of it I heard like a silent but potent fart, ripe and foul.

No, no one knows the weight of a mother’s sin.
It was my failure alone to turn that bastard in.
My fear of a lack of consumer goods entitled me to a front row seat.
While the beast of hell feasted on my daughter’s innocent sacred meat.

And now I await with equal fear,
the toll of the bell for my daughter.
It was my foolishness that led us here.
She slit her wrists and lay in a tub of water.



I’m sick of being a field of ideas.
Daily, hourly I imagine how YOU can make yourself bigger, brighter, more.
Weekly you come with promises of me growing with you and yet monthly I see myself becoming poorer.

I’m sick of being the womb that nurtures rich ideas.
I feed your young until they are ready to be birthed.
My labour pains as I struggle for breath to make sure your businesses, plays, books, project, jobs make it in this all too real world are all for nought.
My struggles are forgotten as you feed your bellies with my sweat, my love and my energy which I offered because you said we could grow together.

I’m sick of being the nurse who you bring your sick and ailing minds to!
I heal you, body, mind and soul and yet all the thanks I get from you is post cards from Paris and you recalling how sick you once were.
My sleepless nights poring over possible solutions to what ailed you are long forgotten.
You used to whisper what you would do for me when you got well!

I am sick and tired of being used!
I love to help but I am done with pretense!
Your pretenses of love, growth I am done with!
My art I do out of love. Love for the ones who fed me when I was hungry, nursed me when I was sick!
What do I feed them now that they are hungry? What do I give them now that they are sick?

I am sick of your empty promises.
Leave me to work honestly for the one who love me.
Your words are like empty cans kicked about; all they do is make noise.
I am sick of myself for having faith in you.

My spine straightens today.
I have done my part and made you strong.
All along I have been going about it wrong.
At least to myself I have proved my talents.
I will be on my way.

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Trust Me

But don’t neglect me or the love I have for you will be like water evaporated still there but evidently missing from where you could see it, touch it, taste it, feel it.

Don’t say you love me then leave me like a baby buffalo in the dark of the night, alone and seemingly protected yet encircled by skilled hunters who will muffle my cries as their powerful jaws rip me limb by limb & leave my bones as evidence of my trust that when you said you’d come back for me you would.

Trust me but do not desert me in the wilderness with no food or drink. The flesh of my body requires frequent nourishment and though my heart remains true you can feed my flesh and leave it to starve until you remember me for I may accept the wares, company and food of passing merchants to tide me over until your next arrival.


Don’t say you love me but lock me up in a room with no windows, no door and tell me you’re just outside if I need you. I have called to you until my voice is hoarse & my knuckles have bled from knocking against the walls hoping my songs of love will reach your ears and you will bless me with your presence so that we can create that home you spoke of when you left me waiting here, reserved for you.

Trust me but do not give me freedom and leave me in a room full of ice cream on a hot day when you continually deny me water. I am capable of refusing but if I am uncertain of your return and the cool air that rises off one particular ice cream drives me to thoughts of getting a spoon I may longingly savor

Alone in the desert: image courtesy of

the coolness long enough for sanity to bring guilt and remorse to mind

Trust me but do not neglect the need in me to be a part of an active whole.

Trust me but do not feed the fire that others want to stoke.

Trust me but do not bank on the fact that my love will forgive you for abandoning me.

Trust me but do not assume that I know what you do not tell me

Trust me, when I am tired of fighting temptations both real & imagined I will stand stronger and know that I will do fine without you. 13/11/2011

Unforeseen Maybes

The truth lies somewhere within just under my skin. If I had kept quiet would there still be so much silence? If I had sealed within me the black words that seem to have set you free would I still have you beside me?

It’s hard to tell with my eyes close if you’re looking in my direction.

I wish I could tell without seeing you, how you feel.

It’s hard to tell if it was really the reason or you chose it because it came from me.

How honest is honest going to be if you’ll hang she that spoke it? Tell me, should I fight my blind battle while you swing your sword with ease or shall I surrender? A seed has been planted, will it ever grow? If it grows it will only know the soil from whence it came. It will never know the sun just artificial lights to show it the way.

A tear rolls down a cheek in thought of a unique blossom denied the other basic.

Yet all of this is still a maybe. Perhaps the soil will not be able to nourish the seed. Perhaps there will be sunlight. Perhaps, another planet, another sun, another seed will accomplish what we could not. Perhaps, perhaps not.

I am…1

I am the proverbial black pussy cat.

Black Cat: Image Courtesy of

I can devour you and leave you feeling whole.

Men seek to conquer me and yet when they succeed I still manage to be me.

My heart is open to break but he who breaks it never gets it back whole.

You can make me purr if you touch me right…it’s no secret.


Do me wrong & I can smile a smile of no depth and you will be so far from me that you will feel as if I have opened my bosom and let you in.

I am so far from what you’d like to be and yet I’m all you need.

Yes, I’m the proverbial black pussy cat.

I look like I’ll do you harm but I’m no different from any other cat.

I may seem to be bad luck and yet when I leave and let you go you do so, so, so well.

Mmm, I am the black pussy cat

It’s easy to hate me because you can’t see what I’m really like beyond my dark coat and gloomy exterior.

I am a cat, black pussy cat.

Blue 2

The signs were there I just didn’t want to listen. The signs were there I just didn’t want to see it. The gifts you bought, the cruel words you said, the little ways you made me feel like less of a woman. I saw it coming.

You broke me like a wrangler breaks a horse. First you started with things that I swore didn’t hurt but they broke my spirit but by bit until I swore that I couldn’t even feel it. As I lay at home in my own bed I knew that you were killing me bit by bit.

I couldn’t bear the thought of my friends seeing me as a lesser being. My nails, hair and face were always freshly done. I could buy my mother the little things that made her life divine and slowly I could see her esteem of me rise. I could act like the person I fear to be and floss with your money.

Picture courtesy of

You created my dependence like a drug dealer with a junkie. First it was material things and then it was your laughter, love and your anger. You gave me until I was drunk and felt material bliss, the latest clothing, make up brand, my favourite designer hand bag, the luxury of takeout grilled on an open fire and then you tamed me by conditioning responses like Pavlov’s dogs and the bells.

I saw this coming. I just didn’t want to believe. I knew one day you’d kill me but somehow with every beating you never once got my blood on your sleeve.

You were always so sorry and always so forgiving for my bad behaviour, I knew you needed me, I knew I was nothing without you, only you can/could love me the way you do. If I had just gotten home earlier from my father’s funeral you wouldn’t have gotten mad. If I had just insisted on getting home earlier it wouldn’t have been this bad.

As my body bleeds and I feel my spirit wanting to take its leave I realize that you’ve never really loved me. As my breath is air and blood I realize that they were all right, you’re bad for me. As my body stops feeling pain I realize that you are weak, or else you wouldn’t wait until we are alone to speak to me with your hands, fists, shoes, feet and elbows. As you beg me not to die on you I realize if I ever see you again I will kill you.

Picture courtesy of

You fill my hospital room with flower, fruit juice, and chocolates. My sons stand with clenched fists. My daughter flinches with me every time you caress my cheek. My sisters roll their eyes. My brothers murder you slowly in their minds. My father doesn’t come to visit and my mother pretends. I swear I will never find myself here again. Shame burns my face when my best friend tells me that is what I said the last time.

This time I realize that next time I might just become dead as well as black and blue.

Next time this could be me. Picture courtesy of


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I’m frightened to speak

 I’m not sure whether what I’ll say will make my future bleak.

You say you’re sorry

 and I don’t want to be wrong again because of what you do to my body.

I need to leave but I’m scared that I will not be able to stand alone,

 I just wish you didn’t feel the need to constantly go through my phone.

You say it’s for my own good

I just wish that I really understood.

Picture courtesy of

If you were an appliance I’d read the manual.

 I try to follow your instructions but the punishment you exact is final.

You say you’re sorry and we should visit Chicken Inn.

I agree although I am ashamed of the colour of my skin.

My eyes are brown,

my skin is clear but when others see me they frown.

You say they won’t notice and I know this isn’t true,

that girl who just asked me what my hairstyle is called looked scared when she saw my brow and cheekbones are blue.


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