Hate Me

The following poem is from the section, "Secrets" of She Wanted A Love Poem, a collection of poems.




Hate Me

source

"Can you hear me?"

I could hear him

As I sat on the other

Side of the locked door.

My back on said door

As I waited for him

To do or say something.

"I can hear you breathing

So I'm sure you can hear me."

"Then speak your mind

And be on your way."

I spat, hoping my bitterness

Will quicken his pace.

"I know you love me..."

"I do not!"

I interrupted.

"It saddens me that

You lie so quickly,

So easily and yet

I still love you,"

He continued.

"Is that it?"

I queried, hoping

That that was all

He had to say.

"Woman, why do you

Test me so?

I love you!"

He sighed and

I came close to crying.

"You've said your piece,

Now be on your way."

I say quickly for fear

Of a toad jumping

In my throat and

Croaking.

As I listened to

His retreating footsteps,

I sank down to

The floor and curled up

Into a fetal position.

I loved him but

I wanted him to hate me,

Hate me now instead

Of later when......

No, he will never

Know the truth.

Hours passed before

I got up from the floor.

Morning had come and

With it came morning sickness.

No, he will never know

That for a short while

I carried his baby

And what I was about

To do this new day

Is reason enough for

Him to hate me.

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of this collection
of poems,
click here.

The Only Man

source

The fever never broke,

It held for a few days

Before his temperature rose again.

I held him,

I never thought

I could love him,

This man I met

On my wedding day,

And yet here I was

Holding him, willing the fever

To go away.

The fever never broke,

Instead he broke,

Slipping into the cool waters

Of death never to reemerge.

There were days when

I wanted this,

I prayed for this,

For my husband to

Cease being so that

I may live the life

I wanted to live.

Now I would do anything

To see his smiling face,

To reach across the expanse

Of our bed and find

His solid form fast asleep,

To live happily ever after,

But....

But the fever never broke,

It instead swallowed whole

The only man I loved,

The only man I hated,

The only man who mattered.


Submitted to imaginary garden with real toads and dVerse Poets 

Untitled

 source

She sat staring

At the dead

Cockroach

In her bowl.

She sat studying it,

Wondering if, out

Of the blue, it

Would come to life.

She was a smart girl.

Top of her class,

Primary school,

Secondary school,

Even in college.

Yet here she was

Staring at a dead

Cockroach

In her bowl.

It made her

Ponder about life,

The cockroach did.

It made her question

Life and death,

Questioning if it all

Was nothing but an illusion.

Was life nothing more

Than a two bit act

That never made it

To the big time

In Vegas or Broadway.

Was life something equal

To an act found

At the circus amid

Acrobats and animal trainers.

Or did it even make it

That far, more on par

With the freak show

Filled with all its oddities.

She sighed,

Then removed

The cockroach

And ate it.

She ate it not because

She was a freak,

She ate it because

She did not want

To be viewed as a freak.

In her world of

Mass consumerism and

Big cars with small lives,

Eating the cockroach

Would be freakish

But she was not in

Her world.

The world in which

She now found herself

Possessed delicacies that

Ran the gamut from

Palatable to disgusting,

And to save face,

She ate them all.

She ate them all

Because in a world

That appears to be shrinking,

One had to eat

All that was presented

So as not to offend,

So as to make that

Million dollar deal.

She was a smart girl

Who became a smart woman,

Who knew what made

The world turn.

She ate it

With a smile

On her face

And money

On her mind.

Nightmare

He sat me down
In a clearing filled
With broken shells
And broken bones.

He swept the debris
Aside and placed me
Gently as though
I was a babe.

He passed before me,
Shells breaking underfoot,
As he told me how
He came to reside here.

I sat watching him,
Motionless except for
My hands working at
The rope binding my wrists.

With a piece of shell,
I bit into the rope,
Hoping he was lost
In the story of him.


Then he stopped,
He stopped pacing,
He stopped talking
And he stared at me.

I dropped the shell,
I held my breath,<
I prayed to who?
To all who could hear my prayer.

I knew it was too late,
I knew nothing could or
Would save me now,
But I prayed, nevertheless.

As he came closer,
I screamed through the gag,
A muted cry and
Closed my eyes.

Then nothing,
No rough hands,
No lethal blade cutting skin
And flesh to find bone.

Nothing.

I opened my eye,
Then the other,
I was alone
On my bed.

The nightmare receding
Into the darkness.
A nightmare that was
Once my reality.

Her Sexuality

source



Her sexuality

Was like a rose.

Starting as
A tight bud
That slowly
Unfurled itself
Until it's beauty
Was revealed.

A rose that
Dared all to
Observe it's
Beauty.
Dared all to
Pick it despite
It's thorns.

Thorns that drew
Blood as red
As that rose,
But it was
Worth it,
Picking that rose,
That is.

With time,
Her sexuality
Began to fade,
Petal by petal
Falling away,
Leaving nothing behind
But memories
Of her glory days.

"But isn't that
The case with
All things,"
She would say,
Lying to herself.


Submitted to imaginary garden with real toads and dVerse Poets 

The Next Big Thing

I had the pleasure of being tagged to talk about my eBook, Martine, by the acclaimed Antiguan/Caribbean writer Joanne C. Hillhouse, check out her interview here. Just to go the extra mile, here are two interviews by fellow Antiguans, Floree Williams and Bak2moi. Now to the interview:


TNBT:    Where did the idea come from for the book?
Like most of my writing, out of nowhere or a dream, or in that moment that I put pen to paper. I just had a story that wanted to be written and I just wrote it. Normally I could pinpoint the exact thing that triggered a piece but with this it just flowed.

TNBT: What genre does your book fall under?
Fiction, Race and Life, are the last two even genres. I guess I am a keyword/hash tag kind of person. But it is definitely fiction although part of me believes that people's life stories exist in a kind of ether and they flow through a writer in another time and space.

TNBT: What actors would you choose to play the part of your characters in a movie rendition?
Gosh! I never really thought about this becoming a movie or even a short film. Let me see... Viola Davis would make an interesting Martine.

source

 

It would be lovely if Jesse Williams played Allain.

source

 

Dennis Haysbert would make a great James.

 source 

 

As for the girls, it would be great to have unknown actresses.

 

TNBT:  What is the one sentence synopsis of your book?

When the past comes looking for a woman who had made a new beginning and was at last happy.

 

TNBT: How long did it take you to write the first draft of the manuscript?

The beginning took three days, but to complete it, it took me a couple hours about four months later. It's a short story and it just flowed.

 

TNBT: What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?

The fact that race is an issue within a race.

 

TNBT: Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?

This book is self-published, it is more of an issue that I don't see myself as a writer. I think of myself as a person who writes and puts things out there for people to enjoy. It's also for that reason that my future work will be self published, there is also the fact that I'm a control freak and I like things a particular way.

 

 

I would like to take a moment to thank Joanne for tagging me, definitely check out her book Oh Gad! It is a great book, had me hooked from the beginning and the twist and turns were so compelling.