Gold Tears

Sometimes she thinks to herself that it is a beautiful world out there. Not necessarily in what people do, or what people say, but it is beautiful because through its darkness there will always be light.

Mostly as she leans back, slightly inclined to be supported by the bathroom sink, she tends to let her mind wonder. Wonder to the beauty of it all. The nature of being a 25 year old fully blossomed woman, drenched in sadistic differential thoughts. On such days it’s different though. Particularly this fateful day, she cut a little deeper. The need to feel burning pain that comes along with the bleeding always overtook her sensible fragility. She was going to win this battle, not the war. In this life, as she came to realize you win some, the demons win the rest. And not just any demons to be clear! Those that deem themselves best friends, to ride or die. Demons that guide her to put down the razor, only to open the door to the kitchen for her to pick up the knife! That was her reality.

Why? She never came to understand.

How could she hide from them if at all they are all she saw hiding in her crystal clear musky brown eyes when she look in the mirror?

Every night, they chose a reason to make her stay awake. As if to torment her to count her sins, to bleed them out, one after the other, to cleanse her inner self. Inner beauty was her best chance at survival within her own body. Swearing to cease every morning, and to brood over again and again the beautiful pain they bestowed upon her.

A rite of passage, the pastor said, to fight one’s own demons. She pushed on, with nothing left to lie out for other’s to have a glimpse of. Deeply seated pain she fought to cut it out, to bleed it slowly out of her. The body could only take as much, but not that particular day. The only savior left was her knife. It went deep enough. Although they didn’t trust her anymore, alone, they couldn’t be her guardian angel in the bathroom.

Her guardian angel watched her, tears of gold waiting, patiently for her final breathes, to trickle down. A sign from the gods that indeed it was a precious life! In complete disregard of her reality, she ran away in her mind. Empty inside, her anchor had been cut and fell. No one lent their ears to hear her insecurities, her lacking abilities for the society. In those moments she didn’t exists, just her demons. And that day she smiled knowing to well of the battle looming inside, coming out to her.

She faced it all. And nothing mattered anymore. It was getting beautifully worse for her. Finally, embracing them all! Why pluck a flower when you could let it grow and become a garden inside? She thought wishfully for her demons.

Colder exhales, deeper inhales, ice cold breathes. She closed her eyes gracefully. To her, she won. A battle! No one saw. In a field she was too familiar with. Her own mind!

But her world, just paused, as the door swung wide open, distant sirens of an ambulance rushing through the streets brought her fallen anchor slowly. Everything quieted, as if they had been shut out! Pushed out of existence by her victory!

Her heavy eyelids slowly gave way to her musky eyes. To a light brighter than her darkness, ready for her next battle that she hoped wouldn’t be too soon…

Screenshot_2016-04-05-01-47-56-1-1 (1)



If The World Listen

If the world only listened, he would have laid out his silent words.

If the world only talked, he could have corrected his bent ways.

If the world only breathed life, he should have distinguished his thoughts clearly.

But it only listened to none, so he drank his words back into his empty vessel.

But it only talked of its ways, so he drowned his ears in their understanding.

But it only breathed life of a fiery, so he coiled from within setting his own sunset.

Dwelling on a past so far, one that steered him down a path to lose his voice.

Dwelling on a limited belief so compelling, the one need to always be right.

Dwelling on a resistance so intense, it had to make him change.

Dripping with desire to live, anticipating for his possible chance to be heard.

Frightened to talk, his silent words remain behind his folded lips.

Startled by the speed of a world that he didn’t belong to, yet!

Dripping through scars, were his rewards.

Frightened to be asked for more, due to his heart, it was already captive.

Startled with the turns of the bearings, each turn carries message of sympathy.

That he’ll make the world listen, if not talk back the way he wanted to.

He just had to cease from making things seem right according to the world,

And grasp the struggles of lending his ears to the world,

To let it hear his waves of motion, to find a voice through the world’s words.

The continua of laying a bare soul to a world that barely sleeps.

No longer of loneliness, but of desire to sleep with his thoughts well conquered.

A world that listens at 4a.m., when waken up from nightmares conflicting in his mind.

A world that talked back to the moon,

To remind him tomorrow will be a gracious day, a welcome back to reality gift.

If he only paused and remembered to live!


Gentle-Wrong-Men, Right?

Let’s be not-belligerent here, nothing is ever perfect, especially men in relationships.

The momentum we have in going into a relationship as a man and keeping it up are always indirectly proportional to each other. It’s not, actually, as easy as it sounds for a man to put up with distinct aspects from his life. Deep down, it takes courage for any man, in whichever age-bracket, to come to terms with failure. Even more so when it comes to admitting it in front of a woman he loves. Therefore, many times a man will need not to be judged by his woman. Some say the strength of a woman is not in what she has endured or achieved in her life, but in how much she has uplifted her man when he was nothing but a dead beat. Well I’d say it takes courage for any feminist woman out there to accept such sentiments.

A simple sit down with a woman who wants to hear more about what lingers in your mind, appreciating how you articulate the language of your heart into words, and drive your dreams to manifest them into tangible reality goes a long way in a man’s book. A woman, who not only listens to your language, but is driven with initiative to act on it, deserves the best kind of love. And a man knows that deep down. Sex will no longer intrigue him the moment he crosses path with such a woman. What will fancy his liking is the desire to cherish quality moments with her, a desire to step forward in unfamiliar waters, chartered by the very few brave souls.

Molded men, often from self-enlightenment, will desire to initiate intimacy. Intimacy to open up hidden doors of love, that didn’t exist before you were acquitted. To connect so deeply that he’ll always be at the back of your mind. To establish a connection that is dangerously vivid even when 5 other women are giving him attention, you are the only one who has his. Another day to such men is nothing but a blessing to love you more, to care for you until you feel heaven on earth. Tailor-making attitudes along the way, learning, step by step, different ways to show you love. When life pushes him back, he has a reason to push back harder! Because of you! He won’t change because of you, but because life has delivered him to the weighing scales. Scales where he has to make a choice to either make one towards you which he will not regret, or take cowardly strides to be the same and lose a perfectly good woman. Not that all women are good, then again neither are they all bad.

At even given time of a man’s life, he knows exactly where he wants to be. And why he feels the desire to be there. Sometimes bad things happen, consistently, but it is at those moments that redefine how he sees you and your position in his life. So why not take your position as a woman and help him glide through murky waters. It might be long and weary, it might happen to the best of you, it might be dark and scary, but at the end of it all even stars shine brighter on a clear sky. He’ll be gentle in loving you, disciplined in loving you yet so motivated in life to bring a difference into your lives. Because of you, he will have the strength and passion to reach for the stars to light up your world. He will be going nowhere without you. You’ll be a compass in his hand.

So at the end of the day, any man who opens his heart to love is brave, yet so foolish in society’s view. For the gentle-wrong-man of the society, even after enjoying the fruity rewards of a woman, they’ll immediately tumble over to long for another woman’s embrace, indulging their lust with her. No matter how hard a gentleman will seek to love and cherish you, the reality of the matter will never change. He will become oblivious, his life destroyed the moment you separate his genitals with his brains. So what if men are compared to dogs? Dogs love unconditionally, loyal to a fault, self-sacrificing, protective of their loved ones, cute and fierce at the same time, a man’s best friend and the most consistent companion. They are known to even wait forever or starve themselves waiting for their master to come back. At extreme ends, dogs take long journeys just to be reunited with their families. The only bad side that crops up is when they are abused and they have to defend themselves with every wit in their bones.

But no, men are gentle creatures, misunderstood by a society that encourages stereotypical set branding and banishes any re-branding efforts to term our men as loving, caring, nurturing and hands down loyal to a cause. 277856

Men, Right?

Practically every man out there wants to fall in love. I don’t mean the buying a girl things and taking her out on rampant dates and traveling. It is about that intense love that gets a man to love a woman, unembarrassed to even talk about you over the casual drinks with the guys in a respectable manner. A place that nurtures a man, nourishes him to be a better version of him. Maybe that’s what it’s all about at times, the feel of belonging in her arms.

It takes a considerable amount of courage for any man to go down on one knee. He’ll have assessed a woman and monitored every angle of her beauty. And no, not physically but emotionally, spiritually just to mention a few. Love is beautiful, but for a man love is a constituent of various variables going from I like your beauty, to I want to impress you, to I love you with all the sorcery in between those stages!

For men to be deemed just physical creatures, i tend to understand that men want the simple precious things of life, not the complicated segments women come with:

If they miss you, they will dial your number up.

If they want to understand you, they will go out of their way to make sure they do.

If they are ever in doubt of something, you will be their go-to woman to seek out advice and possible steps to take.

If they need to meet you, trust that he will initiate everything to the extent of even casually picking you up from your door step, if need be.

No one will ever understand what goes on truly in a man’s mind when in love, until you forego your traditional knows and learn to see him from his perspective. If I can quote Who Moved My Cheese, it says that you should be able to adapt to change quickly, “the quicker you let go of old cheese, the sooner you can enjoy new cheese”. So why not leave that Stone Age mentality of what a man should be doing if he loves you, and savor your adventure with your man and enjoy the taste of new cheese with him of how he loves you.

Men will often breakdown, behind closed doors, when they are finally alone, why? Because society has brought on us the crown of dealing with the world as a stronger species, yet we are of the same species. Now that is not fair, but life itself is fair for treating each one of us unfairly, right?

Often stress creeps in and lurks behind his mind’s shadows, things get harder without a sight of “relief” anywhere near, and until he finds himself a nurturing woman that brings patience to his life to make him open his eyes that things will indeed get better if you only get through the bad. Assuring him that everything doesn’t have to happen right now but it will happen. She brings to his life, things that he could never buy her because she valued him for things he could only offer from within. So don’t wonder why your man has never broken down in-front of you yet you hear of tales of men who silently breakdown in front of their women behind closed doors. All men need it, that shoulder to cry on once in a while. When their path is destroyed, they will need someone to help them rebuild and prosper, not someone to leave because the taps ran dry.

As a man, one would need a firm support pillar, away from his peers, back at home that cracks due to immense pressure but never yields. A pillar so strong that drives him to jump out of bed each morning to make something out of nothing and return to that very same matrimonial bed satisfied but still hungry for the next day.

As impossible as it may seem, men need guidance. A little bit of push to go the extra mile. A pat the back for every deed done, regardless of its success or not! A bow acknowledging they are indeed loving their women right in their own capable way. A nod for their everyday efforts to be there for a woman they truly love.

Actually a man just needs to be seen. Not to be taken for granted. To be understood that no all will always be rosy with him, but he can help you see the beauty of the thorny parts if you stick around enough. And as sure as the beauty of a sunrise and sunset goes, he will buy you those heavenly-white fresh roses you love so much on the regular.

A man wants woman who keeps his emotions in check, and guides him in a spiritual journey that will not only transform him into a prayerful man, but one who walks with valor in his path because of it. A man will fight to keep a woman who supports him in his mental growth, spiritual strengthening and still have strength to love him.

After all, all that a man wants is a woman who makes him feel secure, remind him every day that he’s the only one she’ll ever want and love, and hold him tight consistently.

So, it’s only fair for man to find a woman that appreciates him for just being him. But then again, life is just that unfair, right?

…Wrong? (Part Two)




Doctor Said No

No one ever remembers, well, seldom anyway,

The trying times, the misguided shots at random instabilities.

Until her hand, is on your shoulder,

Her leg slowly parting, slowly moving, sitting on you

Riding, they called it!

The sensual lips, the back to back instants!

Throbbing heart beats, but doctor said something.

Doctor said, no more vigorous exercises, didn’t quite understand that.

Why? Because 10 years down the gutter,

Still paying the government, banks on your neck, literally!

Least you forget the mortgage, as she slowly unbuttons.

The three piece suits, how did this happen?

Vibrancy was a state of mind back then, just an illusion of state at the moment.

4 bed-roomed house, sure!

A car that can’t keep up with the neighborhood’s sophistication’s,

Nagging wife stuck and build with, beautiful as years go on.

Wine perhaps? But doctor said, no more.

Vehemently stuck with an inviting mouth-watering wine that you can’t touch,

But doctor said, no,

Routine mornings allow the distant thought to be brushed off,

But this was three o’clock; simmering afternoon heat didn’t make matters any easier.

Streaks of sweat make their way down your pulsating jugular,

Who would know? Just as fine wine loves being drunk, she was too fine to the last taste bud.

Years of blinded eyes, no wonder the keenness on patterns of sounds.

Freshly done hair, soaking in scents of her fragrance,

Regretting the instabilities, reckoning the days you’d see the bottom of a bottle,

All in the name of broken sticks and hearts, the unstable you learnt to call them.

Except the one, one who robbed you off your feet into dropping a ring?

Down the length of her forth finger.

But not today, she didn’t mind; neither did you,

Today was a hearty day, only the location was in mind,

Doctor wasn’t there, yet forbidden fruits,

Wine was to slide down your incoherent throat, reminding you of waves,

Waves that set the instants in motion, far away from her,

She’d find out, the moment she took a swing at the door!

Her lips move in, aware of the drift in your eyes, on the hope of driving you in,

In the exact moment, your hands made their way down her womanly curves.

First times, unforgettable!

Lips tremble on the brush against hers, the gush of rushing blood!

 like two stars on a collision course without fearing the impact explosion,

Men need a place; women just need a reason,

And today was a reason, unanimously agreed upon,

Freighting times, hardly last, you believe.

In spurring of moments, a light knock is followed by a fast swing of the door!

Men…just pause!

Just at the touch of back her zip liners, going all the way down her peplum short briskly black dress, opening fine wine they said,

She runs in, fumes of desire casually go unnoticed, as she bursts out with pride,

“Daddy! Mummy! I’m playing Cinderella!”



A Little Bit Different Each Time

It was a little bit different, each time he did it.

He had a high affinity for small details that created a new dementia for him, a new world not even him could comprehend well.

Being broken was his norm, even after a million pieces worth of breakages inside him, he still smiled for the world to see.

Treating people better than he treated himself, in a hell-bound quest to feel normal as society perceived it fit.

Perfection didn’t exist yet to him he perfected the art of being okay consistently!

As if every moment the voices grew stronger, in his mind.

Each breathes chocking him stronger than the last ones, in a world that was closing in on him, fast!

Hoping, praying that his problems were on the decrease as his weight was.

But what use was all these?

Of days he felt everything; it dangled on next to his torso.

On the day he finally felt nothing, he pulled the trigger.

How he was still breathing, he wondered, day after night.

The curtains, grappling gently with the cold evening breeze not to let it in, hang neatly from the rusted brown window frame.

Its distinguished laced edges, as if on a mission to fight off evening last light, barely obscured any rays that hit his rough, scaly skin.

A condition that arrived immediately after his weight issues commenced.

He was taught too well to be brave because that’s what men do!

From his view all he envisioned was a life spinning out of control to his certain 6 feet.

Without any essence of direction, he had no guiding path, reason as to why he missed the shot.

Sparing his vital organs, from the desperation, of surviving in another receiving body!

Tired to create something better of him each day, only to be tarnished the next day by a perfect society was his vantage point.

So was his last resort, aiming, firing, ridding the world of another burdening soul?

He was numb, unable to feel the sadness, the horror of being killed by self yet again.

Playing over and over, like a broken record, in his already overdosed brain.

Somehow his nights grew longer, meals got smaller, society barely took a notice,

How could it when it had been so preoccupied with itself?

Inability to hear the deepened screams, to feel the heightened pain, made him wiser.

Wiser enough to just make a difference, to do it a little bit different each time.

Not aware of his trembling right hand, firmly gripping on the handle of the Series Pistol.

Face your fears, the doctor said as he handed it to him the last time.

A warden passing by to let him know of his impending session with the mind doctor,

Stood cautiously as he raised the alarm to his colleagues,

Sure enough, he wished society had raised the alarm for him to his life colleagues,

Sure enough, his smile was to be an enough is enough

He pulled the trigger!

But men, just pause…

Too tired and confused, his whole body went numb, falling down where he was standing with his eyes firmly stretching out the horizon for possibilities!

The only thing that left the barrel was the terrifying click sound of an empty clip!

Someone should have seen him and made him realize the spinning cycle was a spiral staircase if viewed from rock bottom!

Life Was Too Kind

It was his only option, to overdose on the recently purchased pills.

He was tired of the cuts themselves, the drinking to get rid of the pain.

It was part of him now; at least he believed it was.

That way he wouldn’t be alone, scared, abused by the instability of his thoughts.

Just but a distant memory to others, no one fathomed his existence.

A silent shock to his system, it was.

He has been through enough, but the universe wasn’t finished with him.

Even the once energetic full of life friends were no more.

He was deemed too shattered and un-repairable!

Should have kept better friends, but why?

Not even the unveiling of the spirit world saw it coming.

The betrayal, the anxiety, the reprimand, the deeper voices,

With every breathe, he reckoned too well of the broken pieces,

Pieced together with the hope of having one normal night, like everyone!

Sleepless nights were his deal, to be awake in the middle of the nights.

Hearing his own thoughts, traveling across his own built up nightmares.

Maybe to get her thoughts tired enough and out of his mind.

To acknowledge there’s more music to life, than pieces of a broken symphony.

Rejection went through his nerves like a drug, stimulating places he knew nothing about.

In full reverential respect of a new world brimming with bits and pieces of suicidal emotions,

You just had to pick your preferred!

But not him, he chose to feel it all.

To fill up his temple, in the hope of one day drowning in it!

The mere understanding of zero outcomes, aftermath of remitting his all to her,

Couldn’t receive anything at all!

Completely drawing the last straw, Life was too kind however.

In a way, his awareness to cover his wrists no more, the scars had healed.

He craved for a new antidote, because his wrists weren’t edging him off.

Lost in it, life was too kind to give him time for the healing process.

Slowly, as sure as the moon rises over the horizon, scars became fairy-tales for his sleepless nights.

Deep enough, the scars reigned on, asking for more!

More reason to stay awake throughout the dark nights.

To him, they were better than reality, better than the rejection he faced alone.

That was the deal for rejection, being alone, in a life that was too kind.

He watched consistently as mist formed against the cracked pane-less window,

An amplified showcase of what he was, broken, without her love!

The arguments, the break ups, the jealousy, all led here, the finale.

He placed one after the other, in his eagerly awaiting mouth, five to the count.

Reaching out for the glass brimmed with water, to gush it all down,

Lips drawing closer to the glass edge,

But men, just pause!

His phone rang!

And it was hers, her number calling in the deepest parts of the night.

Picking up, her mother yells she’s unconscious! Come to the hospital! She swallowed some pills!

In the tension of the moment, he swallows!


















Recent Posts