Misfit poetry

What arouses the spark in you,
Is it me or is it our love?
Because if I would be Jesus
I would give you everlasting love
If I would be Zaccheus
I would climb places just to see what could save us
If I could be Peter
The doubt of walking on these waters to reach you would be gone
If I could be Thomas
Then the words would be enough to know you,
For we punch holes into each other at times
But these feet are ready to run after you,
These palms want to feel you too
For your palms are warm
And when they meet mine,
My heart is given a rythm
My mind is given peace

When those hands become touchy
And our bodies become adhesives
I feel like jumping right into your heart
To experience the feeling that is not distorted
And when I come back from in there
And see those brown eyes look into mine
I will sink into this love
And let myself suffocate,
Die in this feeling
So that my soul could find itself in your world

~Script Amwanzo (Tamsus)

Most say that when all this is over, they’re going to hug a little longer, tighter, enjoy life a lil’ more, travel and not take things for granted. For me the opposite will do.

Be if there is something these past few days have taught me, it’s that I don’t need some of you as much as I thought.

I have made many mistakes. I have attached importance to people who were of none, spent too much time with others who weren’t worth it. Laughed with people who hated me. Hanged out with some who couldn’t give credit where it’s due. Invested my energy in things that weren’t beneficial. I’ve wasted time I’d have spent on myself. I hate to admit that I’ve settled for less than I can.

So after this, I’ll hug a few of you, hang out with even less. I’ll pass others on the way and pretend I don’t know you. I’ve realized I only need myself, and few others if any. And for those that I’ll stay for, it’ll be for all the right reasons.

Sometimes bridges have to be burnt to create a hella lot of distance.

~JnK / Kamungu_413/ Soulless_soul ~

I see you broken,
Your body rejects your heart, I mean that’s why you stay up late
’cause your mind is at war with your conscience,
In the midst of all the confusion a therapist found you,
The cracks of your broken vase were filled with gold
And your scars looked oh so beautiful,
The ugly duckling turned into a swan and graced again
You came outta yo’ lonely cocoon,
A butterfly crazed in Savannah colors.
One thing they never told you though is,
Don’t fall in love with your therapist.
You see, a mechanic does not keep a repaired vehicle,
But’ll always be glad to a few engine checks if needed
When you unnoticeably noticed that you were not the one and only
You became the sleek Porsche jealous of the 80’s Peugeot
You fell in love :
With the repairer, not the repair that made you alive for the road,
With the artist, not the artwork of nostalgic moments
With the wordsmith, not the poetic stream of words that made happiness flow into your heart,
With the singer, not the songs sang to you whose lyrics curved your lips into a smile,
With the doctor, not the stitches woven onto you,
That was a shoulder to lean on and not a dick to ride on, your selfish denies you freedom
You don’t belong to your therapist because there are others like you in line for repair,
A therapist knows and belongs to a therapist,
I would’ve told you that Jesus is the only therapist that’ll love you back,
But you’re too naive to understand,
Now, now, we have to go back to the first line;
I see you broken

I like to say that the bravest people are those who commit suicide,
I guess that makes me a coward
’cause I can’t master the courage to face death by my own hand
Indeed I’ve had disturbing graphics in my head,
Having myself dangling from a tree
A rope around my neck holding a flightless being offering himself before the heavens
Before mother earth opens up for her son
But the thought of shitting myself doesn’t excite at all
so I have to pass this dishonorable death.
Maybe I should throw myself on the road and let a passing truck be my butcher
But that’ll be too painful
Dyeing like a roach flattened on the kitchen wall by a slipper?
I can hear the driver hooting endlessly
As if giving me one last chance to reconsider my fate
Adamant to his mercy; four, three, barely two… Impact!!!
I see my flesh being peeled off the tarmac
The driver scrubbing chunks of meat off his tyres
Minced meat for a burial! Too disgraceful
You might think of advicing me on poison
Thank you but if I needed help with that I’d consult the rat nation.
Your reccomendation isn’t sidelined though, chances of survival being high removes it from my list
The frame of a pregnant woman freaks me out,
I just can’t see myself with a bloated stomach
I know the doctors will have pipes bored into my tummy,
they should say hello to my burnt liver
It must not have been easy drenching all that liquor.
You live every day and you only die once
that’s why your grand finale will be so worked up
Some of you’ll have coffins cosier than your beds
The idea of having a bullet in my head,
though farfetched – cause I don’t know where I’d get a gun, let alone cork it –
It would be an honor to experience Hitler’s way to death
Jumping from skyscrapers are for the desperate, that’s what I say to myself
When in truth, I know the friction with gravity will kill me before I touch ground
And worse I fear maiming myself into a more miserable life
I desire not broken limbs and oozing abdominals,
I could electrocute myself, a toast for my coffin
I could slice my wrist and bleed to death
I could drown myself in a lake
I’ll do anything to die
But what I wish for is to die in my sleep and that’s the best that I can hope for.
The opposite of depression is elevation,
But what if the only way to elevate myself to His Grace is by letting this depression take its toll
When the voices in my head start talking and their intolerable laughs itch my head,
My thoughts are thrown into suicidal tantrums.
I feed from the darkness
I’m unable to speak of a horizon for there’s no light
You watch as I descend into the abyss
I did not dig my grave and will not dig it
It is you who dug my grave and will dig it
At the end of my demise
You will say ,’He fought well, He finished the race and kept the faith.’
But in reality,
The battle was well fought but lost
The race was a heat but was never competed
The faith was lost and was never restored.

She judges herself by her skin color
She judges herself by the size of her chest and back
She judges herself by the words she keeps hearing from the society which does not embrace natural things unless it is a sunset or a beautiful scenery
The spots on her face stain her heart more than her face,
they’re too dark to her self esteem more than they are to her facial color
She is forced tie and dye her hair,  a sprinkle of orange or maybe brown,
maybe I never understand colors but how I wish
How I wish she could understand that beauty is not skin deep
Well, that is a cliché if I approach her and tell her so.
She abandoned her self esteem on a rocky place called society
which she thought could ask her ‘oh flat African girl, what is the secret of keeping a petite body’
Instead the boys would rather not have the courage of talking her self esteem up
But have more courage telling her that she’s ironed
I do not really understand where we got these terms
Naaaah! I’m lying, yes I do
And she feels insecure each day about her looks
Calling herself savage on social media just for consolation
Calling herself the queen of memes because she could not be happy about her appearance
but us laughing at her memes calms Ugly Betty’s heart
She gives herself pseudo names because it feels like she too is a stranger to her own body,
She does not like it
Is low self-esteem a disorder?
If the answer is yes, is it curable?
I bet you society have a good one to explain that too
Because the writer of this piece has suffered from complex ones,
I do not think self esteem can be categorized as a mild disorder to him
Because the writer of this piece hates women-
the ones who feel too good about themselves
and the ones who feel too insecure about what they look like
He believes that being created in His image
we are all supposed to keep normal
If you feel too good about your looks, do it to you
Because you are the reason somebody thinks she appears more beautiful in the dark
Because she does not have to see herself and judge it all by her

-script Amwanzo (Tamsus)

They say that gunshots are loud
but have they ever heard the deafening loud bang that comes with a goodbye?
They say a bullet from an M16 is too fast
that you cannot feel it penetrate your chest,
you cannot hear it go past you.
But have they ever seen how fast things wind up when goodbyes come?
We are left in a place, things happening too fast,
trying to tap on shoulders of the right people whom we think are right for us
yet we cannot feel our taps.
Stay close, even when I punch you with my words
Stay close and know that I love you and
I fell for you,
And it took my eyes to open so that I could know the meaning of the world behold.
Be there, just there
My chest is cold and prevents this stubborn heart from beating,
so I might be still but I move towards you always.
This heart sometimes burns in so much worries,
but stay there and melt together with me.
Goodbyes are too loud
Let me never be silenced by them,
Let me never feel lost.

-script Amwanzo –

Sing me a song
Be my Piper and play me a sad tune
Tell me why I’m friendly and yet friendless
Tell me why I’m loving and yet unloveable
Tell me why I’m accommodating but I can’t let anyone in
Remind me why I’m a sucker for pain,
Why I suck on it like nectar,
because it is good for me, makes me feel alive so hurt me deliberately
Speak my truth, let it scorch my heart for I’m already dead inside
And the ashes reincarnate me once more
Pipe your rythm through my veins
The hazy feeling, lightheaded out of conscious
Let your notes inscribe on my skin, reminding me why I’m a misfit
before I have a colic bout of thoughts
Psychopath is a fancy word, tell me am I one?
Sing me a sad song