Another Year

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Another year has passed,
And it is only fair to ask
Very important questions,
Like…..

Have I laughed enough?
Laughed till I cried,
Till no sound came,
Till my stomach and cheeks
Ached.

Did I cry only enough?
Only when I was truly sad,
When I needed to release
The stress, the tension,
The frustrations
That come with life.

Did I love unapologetically
Without rhyme or reason?
Did I love myself,
My loved ones,
Those who have hurt me
And those who I have hurt?

Did I live?
Did I do the things I love?
The things that mattered,
That made my life richer,
That inspired me
To do great and wondrous things.

Did I learn the lessons
That are hidden in life’s hardships?
The stumbling blocks
That trip me up when
Things are going so well.
If I look close enough,
Beyond the dusty surface,
I will find a diamond in the rough.

Another year has passed,
And a new one has begun,
And with some work,
It will be better, sweeter,
More fun, more informative
Than the last.

So today,
Celebrate the year that passed,
And prepare for the year
That has just begun.

Happy Birthday.

Waiting

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Waiting.
Waiting.
Waiting.
Grandpa Mosely sat
On the velvet armchair,
His favourite hat perched
On his head,
Waiting.

Bianca sat beside him,
On the matching love seat.
She was the mini bride,
Just as I was the mini bride
When Aunty Judy got married,
When I was the one
Waiting,
Waiting,
Waiting.

Charlotte had slipped off
The love seat, her right shoe
Sat to her left,
The shoe of my flower girl.
A flower girl becoming more
And more antsy as she
Waited.

In twenty minutes,
The waiting would have ended,
All the characters would
Fall effortlessly into their roles.
First Bianca as the mini bride,
Then Charlotte throwing petals
And then Grandpa Mosely
As he walks me down the aisle.

But till that moment,
They all wait for me,
To complete my transformation,
They wait for me
To become your bride.

When

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I fell into his arms,
I had grown so tired
Of being everything
And feeling like nothing,
And I waited.

I waited for his arms
To encircle me,
Cutting me off from
The rest of the world
And letting me exist in his.

In his world,
I would breathe him in,
I would be warmed by his heat
And I would be soothed by
The beating of his heart.

I waited and
Nothing happened.
I looked up
Into his eyes
And I went cold.

In his eyes, I found
Indifference,
As though I was
Some strange cat
That rubbed against his leg.

He just stood there,
Patiently waiting for me
To realize that
I won’t find affection here,
I didn’t belong here.

When did this happen?
When did I slip away
Form his affection?

Slowly, I eased away,
Slowly, I stepped back,
My eyes locked with his.
With a nod of his head,
He packed his stuff
In a bag, I hadn’t noticed.

Just like that,
He was the center of my world,
Then he was gone,
And all I can think is
“When did I slip away
From his affection?”

His Name Was Marcus

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His name was Marcus.
It smelt of heavy musk
That crept into the room
And pulled me away
From whom ever I was
Talking to.
Marcus.

It tasted sweet
As I said it,
Some of it dripping
Down the side of my chin
Before I wiped it
Away with my tongue.

When she spoke it,
A dizzying array of
Colours shot across
The field of my vision,
As she spoke of their
Union. Man and wife.

His name smelt acrid,
It burnt my nostrils
And still sent a shiver
Down my spine
That permeated through my body,
Leaving me cold.

I should have looked away,
Cowered under her unrelenting stare.
I was wrong and I knew that
I was wrong, but somewhere
Deep in the forest of my logic,
I knew I was innocent.

I did not ignore the ring
That trumpeted their union,
He never wore that ring.

I did not know that he was
Someone’s husband and
Still pursued him unapologetically,
I believed him when he said
He was single.

I did not fight for him,
I did not claim him as mine,
I simply released him
From my existence,
From my life,
From my heart.

His name was Marcus,
And I loved him,
But he had married her.

Untitled

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The white of her dress
Contrasted against the dark browns
Of the stair case.
To me she appeared
To be gliding up the stairs,
An exquisite ghost
That enthralled me
Instead of scaring me.

This was my bride,
The woman who I gave
My heart to and who
I will be giving my life.

I should not be seeing her
Before the ceremony,
Bad luck, they say,
But I could not look away.
I could not slip back
Into my room
And finish getting read.
I stood at the rail
And stared.

Unexpectedly, she looked back,
Catching me gawking at her.
A wave of irritation crossed her face
And before it froze in place,
It melted away
As she registered the love
That was plastered across my face.

I wanted to run down the stairs
And kiss her hungrily.

I wanted to steal her
Into my room and make
Passionate, sweet love.

I wanted to hold on to her
And never let go.

A warm smile blossomed
On her face and she mouthed
“After the ceremony,
Go and get ready.”

With that promise,
I slipped back in my room
And got ready
To start a new life
With the woman
Who kept her promises.

A Little Spice

weheartit

I started a poem, not knowing where it was going to take me, basically letting it flow. Unfortunately, it flowed into the (e)rotic side. There was no way I could make it go unpublished, because to me it's one of my stronger pieces and I am one of those people who embrace her sexuality. The thing is others might find it a bit intense so I've back posted it here. So if you are not afraid of a little kink, check it and don't for get to comment and show some love.

XOXO
Kimolisa

We Are Not Angels

We are not angels,
We aren't the types
That people would point at
And tell their kids
To be just like us.

We are the types
That asked too many questions,
That did things anyway
Because we wanted to,
Because we were curious,
Because....
Just because!

We are the types
That bucked the rules
And turned up our noses
At the ordinary,
The normal,
And while everyone
Walked the straight and narrow,
We ran recklessly
Into the unknown.

We are the types
That laughed too loudly
And cried apologetically.
The owners of a gamut of emotions
That we showed without
Fear of judgement,
A fear we never possessed.

We are the types
That stood behind of
Causes we believed in
Even if they were the unpopular ones.
We are the sentries
Of our beliefs,
Defenders of our values.

We never apologise
For who we are,
We just ask you to accept up
For who we are.

So we walk this earth,
Heads held high,
Stride confident and unwavering,
We are the type
That change the world.

It Was Like

It was like when
A violin player,
A fiddler,
A Ukulele player
Plucked that one string,
That one note
Over and over and
Over,
Rising you higher
To some unknown plane.

Then stops,
Leaving you suspended
And just as you fall,
The orchestra,
The band,
The social gathering
Starts playing
And it doesn’t matter
If it is a whole new melody
Or the same melody
They were playing before.

In that moment
The melody is beautiful,
Extraordinary,
Divine.
And when the song ends,
There is no sadness,
Remorse,
Unhappiness,
Just the sweet sense of
Contentment
Because you have been moved,
Touched,
Left sated.

Being with you
Was like that.

Onyx

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The sun rose
Melting the darkness away
And exposing the world
For all to see.
I dug deeper
Under the covers
Trying to coax
A few more minutes of sleep.

Onyx had other plans,
As he jumped onto the bed
And proceeded to dig me out
Of my comfy grave.

Upon finding my hand,
He started to lick it
With his sandpapery tongue,
Stopping only to mew
In that high pitch tone
That drove me crazy
On a good day.

I tumbled out of bed
And stumbled into the kitchen
Where I tossed cat food
Into Onyx’s dish
And refreshed his water bowl,
All the while wondering
Who was the owner
And who was the pet.

As I was up,
I figured I might as well have breakfast,
I opened the fridge and winced,
Letting out a curse word or two.
I forgot to go to the supermarket,
I ended up with a black coffee
And a nuked muffin from two days ago.

It was still too early
To go out and meet up with Sofie,
So I settled into my lumpy sofa
And caught a rom com
On a movie channel.

Onyx trotted over from the kitchen,
Curled up beside me
And promptly went to sleep.
It was in that moment
I remembered why
I had adopted him.

He was the one thing
That got me up
On the weekends
To enjoy them,
Instead of sleeping them away
And waking up to another week
Of work I hated and questions of
What I was doing with my life.

Onyx kept me sane.

Soul Mate

I once found my
Soul mate.

He was about my height
With jet black hair
That flopped down
Over one eye
And his smile
Was the biggest
I ever saw
Making me want to smile too.

I met him years ago
In a class
And we were drawn
To each other.
Two island folk
In the big city,
He was Hawaiian
And I was Caribbean.

Over the short time
We had together
We developed a friendship
That was uniquely ours.
A friendship that had us
Spending evenings watching
Aunty Mame,
Or eating in the cafeteria,
Or talking about his boyfriend.

Oh yes,
My soul mate was gay.
A deliciously, happy gay man
Whose spirit and soul
Was what I needed in my life.

Everyone believes a soul mate
Is relegated to romantic entanglements,
But sometimes a soul mate
Is a good friend
Who makes your world
That much better,
That much brighter.

Unfortunately,
I didn’t see
How important he was
To me, and we parted
And disappeared from
Each others’ lives.

Of all the people,
I’ve met since,
His memory still shines
The brightest,
He was one of the few people
With whom I was truly me
And for that
I thank him

He was my soul mate.

Lydia

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Lydia was not known
For doing great things.
She lived in a little house
On the outskirts of a little town.

Every Wednesday,
The townspeople would greet her
As she ran her errands
At the bank and the post office.

“Good day, Lydia, lovely weather we’re having,”
They would say,
“Where does she work?”
They would think to themselves.

Every Saturday morning,
The townspeople would meet Lydia
At the farmers’ market.
Her basket full of fresh vegetables,
A pound of beef, a pound of pork
And a fine piece of cheese
From Farmer Grant.

As for the rest of the week,
The townspeople had no clue
What kept Lydia occupied
Which suited her just fine.

Lydia thought it best
That they did not know
About the married politician
That visited her twice a week.
One visit was for talking,
The other for not talking.

What would the townspeople think
Of the preacher man from
Two towns over
Who sought to find
The promise land between
Lydia’s doughy thighs.

Not to mention the three others
Who sought her unique brand of counsel
At various times of the day.
All looking for experiences
They would never find at home,
All valuing the privacy
Of Lydia’s humble abode.

No,
Lydia was not known
For doing great things,
Only special things.

Time Out

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For the next week I will be taking a break from the internet. I've deactivated my FaceBook account, I'm not checking my email, not reading blogs, not watching YouTube videos, not going on Tumblr. Basically, I am cutting out internet use. I've noticed that I can end up spending countless hours online and most of that is unproductive. I also realized that I've been absorbing massive amounts of information but hadn't taken the time to incorporate what I've learned into my life. Yes, I'm excited about trying out a new exercise routine, but I haven't figured out what my go-for-broke goals are for my body. There are so many things I want to try and I haven't put the necessary thought and action into executing them. So I'm taking the time to disconnect from the world out there and reconnect with the world in here.

Plus, this terrible case of writer's block isn't helping.