Poetry for GBV 2 – Hops and Barley

Hops and Barley

 

Its pungent

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

 

Its aged

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

 

This tongue

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:

Facebook @ Thuto Vanessa Seabe

Instagram @ nessa_unapologetic_black_queen

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