Planted

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Selected, there I was a simple speck in the universe

Broken down to tiny constellations

My purpose, to exist and develop

To multiply and grow.

I was set in a particular position

planted, deep into the moist soil

sprinkled with hope, faith, love and happiness

covered, with trials and tribulations

watered with grace and mercy

He watched me Grow…

 

 

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PRAY – address a prayer to God or another deity.

POETRY

I think there is a presence following me

I can feel it filling my space with its presence

Leaving me a prisoner in my own head.

He was my imaginary friend, I didn’t know he was real

that when he said he imprinted on me,

my soul was marked.

I once said a song of prayer to a God, who I wasn’t even sure existed

that before I pull the trigger

and silence the voice inside my head

that I will find a place in Heaven still.

The no strings attached love

POETRY
Fall in love with me, I dare you.
Crowd your thoughts with endless tales of my lies, I beg you.
Stay up all night questioning my love for you, I promise it was not real.
Read my note back and forth,
Trust it’s just a blank letter of unknown love.
Come, let me drink coffee with your torn heart,
I’ll kiss your dreams away, I sell a murdered kinda reality.
Did I not tell you, it’s a no strings attached love affair,
You didn’t have to go and fall for me.
Maybe next time, you’ll heed the warning signs,
When the road curves and the mist hugs the sky,
Maybe then, just maybe;
You’ll understand,
I cut the string when I said I loved you.
If only you had listened to whispers of mockingbirds
Singing the lyrics of the false words imprinted on your heart
Nearly beating you into a coma, attacking your essence
I didn’t ask for you to hang on to the thread
Of love I never promised

Void(s)- a completely empty space.

The story

1

 

Hi.

I think you know me, I think you have heard of me, in fact I believe you have felt my presence when you longingly stare outside the window in the middle of the night hoping for a miracle. I am the thief that sneaks into your inner peace when the moon is full and the tide is high; drawing the blood from your comfort with such hunger and thirst unmoved by the screams of your laughter echoing in the distance. For I, for reasons even I cannot explain, am an enemy of happiness.

I have watched you fill your already empty vessel with new dreams and I laugh in the distance as I paint and picture all the colorful ways. I will murder each one of them, leaving nothing but a rotting reflection of shattered rainbows and golden pots of gold, watch you hold on to the last fragment of your dream before you wake and realise it was nothing more than sugar coated disaster.

I see you clinging on to the false replica of love, filling your blood thirsty vessel with doodles and I heart you on a faded and ashen scrape of paper stolen from your lovers nest. I had wished I could save you from yourself countless times, but I have no room within me that can show empathy to a mind helplessly screaming for an unknown saviour. I wish I could hug you but my very being is molded from snow crystals, I know no warmth, therefore I cannot radiate light unto you.

I have watched you cry deep into the night, hugging the stuffing of your once treasured teddy bear, as you sink deeper and deeper into the abyss I moulded specially for you. I have watched you fill your very being with clatters of remedies that will never let you truly escape, drowning in sexual pleasures and hoping the physical release will quite down the mental orgy playing out in your head. seen you seek out the warm embrace in toxic relations that will never blossom into anything other than the thorns they are, each leaving you further damaged and hanging more images of regrets in your haunted house. You have befriended the plastic cup filled with rotting grapes, thinking, the façade can be hidden behind the distant memory your nights have now become, singing lullaby’s in the shower hoping to wash off the pain that not only fills your heart but burn your very flesh.

Why do you keep going to therapy? What do you hope to achieve in sitting on a well-orchestrated room filled with mediocre paintings with a stranger asking you scripted question that have been tormenting you for months on end? Waking up each morning reciting pre-school phrases of “I am perfect, I am beautiful, I am strong”? I hold in my vomit as I watch you lie to yourself in the mirror with a faint smile forming across your lips, only for me to creep in and throw you just a little over the edge for my own amusement. Do you not tire of trying to be strong everyday only for me to fill your brain tiny termites of depression?? It is mind boggling how you are so oblivious to my continued efforts to break you further, to watch you cry and search for the cause of your sleepless nights. How you delve into self-harm in hopes to silence the voices screaming silently in your head.

I want to apologise, for the fact that I cannot let you go. I cannot let you rediscover yourself and find happiness, I take pleasure in you being lost in the noise of your own wishes and thoughts of redemption. I look forward to witnessing the hopeless attempts of those around you as they try to bring you back from the deep end, I am fueled by the desire to keep you trapped in the hell that is your own thoughts, it’s a shame that I have to kill your spirit so I may survive.

I am that emptiness inside of you, that lonely hour horror movie that is on repeat in your head. I am that voice prompting you to drag yourself through the fields of depression and worry, that little space inside of you that tub filled chocolate ice-creams and burgers cannot fill. That liquor and ecstasy cannot keep you high enough to forget, that little drug that spikes your emotions without warning, and you spend hours begging for mercy from a distant god. Every day I fuel your depression, I fill your eyes with sweet tears and leave your heart longing for something real. I cannot apologise for my nature.

When you wake up in the morning, and the birds annoy your eardrums and the sunlight beckons you to pull the covers closer and weep. When your mind fills itself with an alternate reality where you are happy and you aren’t trapped in if’s and maybe, remember, I am there. When you find a glimmer of hope in the blossoming flowers of spring and the warmth of your mate and family; I will be there, lingering in the shadows of your heart, ready to chip away at every ounce of hope you try to fill yourself with. For suffering is all I can embrace you with, I am the void that you cannot escape.

2

Photography by Bellah Mohitlhi.

This piece was initially posted by Artizens of Joburg in August 2017 as part of the collaborative work I do with them. They have given me platform to showcase my work and explore my talent. I am forever grateful to Percy Napo and Kea Mooka for the love they continue to show me and the immense support i receive from them on a daily.
Follow https://artizensofjoburg.wordpress.com for more work from amazing talents.
Grateful.

Empty – containing nothing; not filled or occupied.

The story

The metal banged like gunshots as I shut the bedroom door closed, hoping to escape the void that lingers in the air. I said a prayer, and went to my make-up drawer and lifted the hidden compartment and stared down at the drug of the day.

My dispensary was packed to the brim with pain relieving supplements I had collected over the years. I do not remember when exactly I began my collection but I simply cannot recall a part of my life where these weren’t there. My therapist had tried on countless occasions to get me to stop, forced words down my throat chocking me with the reality that none of my current problems are actually my fault, but the thing is, sometimes there is no sufficient evidence that can make one accept the truth they cannot bare to believe.

I knew he was right, I knew that I am simply an after effect of other peoples poor choices and I was living through it all. I had let him into the darkest place of my life, a place where I take no one because I fear being vulnerable.

See there is a voice inside of me, that sings out of tune with so much passion tormenting me. It is the constant reminder of how my delicate self and beauty is rapidly eroding, my face turned into the missing piece of the treasure map, my smile hollow, I swear I’d make the saddest clown in the circus. I am at war with pain and suffering, the kind that has you up at 2am drawing constellations on your wrist and still unable to cry. I cannot ask for help from those around me, and that has left me feeling like the ground beneath me is opening and I am falling into the unknown, a cold empty space, a deep or seemingly bottomless chasm. My only escape starring back at me neatly wrapped up in clear bags.

“sigh”, I closed the drawer and went to sit by the window and watched the snow beat down on the grass and streak the night loud as the brittle rain. The funny thing is, or is it more of an irony that my very name and birth was said to have brought so much comfort to my family, yet here I am, desperately needing the comfort Faraja brings. When I do experience that sudden moment of comfort and peace, I cant even enjoy it because it only reminds me of the feeling I lack the rest of the time.

I have come to accept so much about my past because it’s the only way I can possibly ever move forward in the future. A future that exists momentarily as the drugs collide with my blood and fights the emptiness that has me hostage. In that moment when the substance reaches my brain, my thoughts begin to no longer be as disciplined as they would normally be, and for that moment, I feel more alive. I am conscious long enough to not feel an ounce of suffering, my organs rapture with delight at the warmth my blood brings. You can’t tell me to stop, because if I do, I will only be exposed to pain.

I know perhaps I have much more reasons now to fight, but the image in the mirror which has once my clarity and I her life has disappeared. There is a constant heaviness inside of me, I have turned into stone, I stared Medusa in the eyes because my prayers were not filled with much faith and hope. I have been made crazy enough to kill myself one bottle at a time. Father, can you honestly hear me over this thunder?


John 10:10 New International Version (NIV)
10 The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.
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I would like to thank Patricia Cornwell whose book Port Mortuary has helped me to put the vivid description of this piece. Your work is revolutionary, even years later.

 

BACK-UP PLAN – held in reserve as a substitute if needed…

POETRY
That won’t put food on the table, look at what your peers are doing. 

Peering through the window, jealousy my only reflection

Running a race against my own image, imagining a victory with no real accolades.

Hoping I make it with all my limbs intact, yet losing contact with my creator.

Analysing the system hoping to cheat the potter’s hand.

Outer realities and fear catching up with me, my back up plan haunting me

Because I listened to the inner demons that trapped my purpose,

Turning me into a circus freak, my chained up dreams in the audience

Their silence violently audible in my heart, chanting He told you your calling yet

you chose the backup plan…

Sending application forms on empty stomachs to land a job with empty passion

My soul on sale, hope the vultures pick me because it’s better than nothing

Rushing to be first in line to be the best of the worst, a walking contradiction of hope.

I wish my backup plan was the plan A


 

Isaiah 64:8 New International Version (NIV)
Yet you, Lord, are our Father.
    We are the clay, you are the potter;
    we are all the work of your hand.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wait – remain in readiness for a purpose.

POETRY

Wait for me,

Not for the pleasure of our intimacy Illegitimately forming in your head.

Not for the void, I’m supposing going to fill up,

Woman, I am incapable of patching up broken souls.

Wait for me,

Not because I will give your womb a tenant they are temporary anyway,

despite the present they will be.

I am no master of illusions so my love for you won’t leave you in confusion.

So wait for me…

Not because your spirit is shattered, hope battered and misplaced

woman, I am not the fixer and certainly don’t have the exilir to life so forever is only guaranteed in Christ

Happiness may often be foreign because the truth is I am just as broken

But wait for me, as I Pray

That I do not downplay how imperfect I am to you

And wait as Christ molds me into the man your soul deserves.


Wait for you??

Will death not break the covenant and dent the heart you swear to protect?

Will I not lose the happiness I have fought so hard to attain?

Have my heart detained in the prison of our memories? the treasure unearthed seemingly meaningless?

Yet I would have waited.

When I lay my heart to rest in your arms, peace residing in me momentarily and suddenly, I’m dressed in black chanting, rest in peace.

I want to wait for you.

But I do not know if my heart resembles enough of Christ to invite you in.

Because you intend to stay well beyond dessert, having prayer as our bonding session.

Am I even strong enough to withstand the failures of your storms and calm your seas?

Man, I am just as broken.

Will you wait for me too? as Christ rebuilds me?

A Proverbs 31 woman in the making, submissive to Christ.

Will you wait with me in prayer?


We waited.

You may now kiss the bride.