Hops and Barley
This stench that announces your arrival before the eyes can take pity on your stumbling form
Your voice drunk in misplaced conviction of rhythm and prosaic musical tones
Draws blood from these ear drums
It abuses mine ears
Enchanted,you dance with spirits
Mumbling folktales of should have been, and could be
Your eyes burn a red with hardships nursed back to health at the bottom of brown bottles and cigarette butts
The walls await your wrath
The cracking of glass and insults laced with bitterness
But even as they cry with remains of liquor meant to be savoured by your pauper’s throat
Mine walls wince
These hands you make love to can and bottles with
They inflict pain
I am a canvas of your artistry
Black,blue,purple and red
Ripe with colour and contouring
What A skillful master you are
Your brushes lick with subtilty at times
Careful not to over paint lest colours run too deep and offend the buyer’s eye
Its the well of cum that your tears rest upon
Curbed by a need to overpower,oppress,and claim
My spirit screams from this your body that I carry
I’m burdened with the weight of your possession
This body I call mine,given but taken from me
It disgusts me
How it weakens to your anger
Submitting instead of clawing
I lie with hopelessness,a man more present and reliable for he never misses to show up when called by darkness
His comfort Is like a cloak over my shoulders
A soft touch tha contradicts your harsh and brash hands
Its warm isn’t it?
This sharp drink that rests that beast inside of you
Its hold over you deafens the rumbling of empty stomachs
It lights up dark houses
Feeding open mouths crawled on cold floors
Is it the drink feeding the beast or the beast feeding the drink?
I wonder at times
The faces on this paper,don’t they chide you?
These coins that dance on table tops as you throw them
Do they celebrate your stupor?
Or invite poverty amidst their circle of jolliness
Sweeter with each year
Perhaps your loathing could taste as sweet had your lips been more gentle
Your fists hold a young boys tears
A pain etched in knuckles so deep and rigid
Windmilss of hurt
The devils fork
Tempting your roar
Does it know it angers you?
Even as I sink my teeth into it ,bloodied by your blows it spews with words unsaid.
Forgive my stubbornness if your heart permits
This daft head knows not what pains the world has dealt you
This body knows not it was yours from inception
I was made to be yours
A punching bag with suckling tits to appease your tantrum
These tarvens house beds between diseased thighs
Presents you bring wrapped with lies and polished with sweetness when your journey finally leads you back home to I your rock
Written By Thuto Vanessa Seabe
An unpublished Botswana Born Poet and Writer. She is an avid reader of African literature and takes great inspiration from both poets and story writers across the diaspora.
The writing bug bit her under the guidance of her mentor Legodile “Dredd X” Seganabeng which led to an achievement as the first winner of the Poetavango interschool poetry competiton for a poem she wrote titled “Am I not a Woman”. It is available for reading online using google search.
She is currently immersed in exploring short story writing,a challenge she has come to enjoy.
You may follow her on:
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Instagram @ nessa_unapologetic_black_queen