A Poem....

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The truth is prophetic, poetic even

All the times I already acknowledged you would break me

Times I stayed awake penning letters to a still unknown lover

Begging him to release my heart

All the tears I wrote about crying then

I cry now.

I have come full circle

Face to face with the demons of heartbreak I summoned as a child.

I am not speechless now

As I thought I would be, then.

I have a lot to say to you, knower of my road.

 

But the truth is prophetic, poetic even.

You do not need a diviner to see how one gets here

I once I had all of myself in place and I hated it

Now I’m chasing pieces of myself around this city.

I’m catching pieces of my heart each time you speak

I’m trying to determine an unknowable future

From the movement of your jawline and the pauses in your big speeches

I will your mouth to spit out endearments I know you don’t mean.

To communicate to me that I still have a place in your life

Even if I have to beg for scraps of you, owner of my life

 

And yet the truth is prophetic, is it not?

Every home I’ve ever known has spit me out

Fed up with my unsatisfactory existence they all gave up on me

After failed attempts to mould me into a more preferred version of me

I’ve had the rug pulled out from under my feet more times than I can remember.

I thought in you I had found Shakespeare’s ever fixed mark

Even if I had to bend myself to ensure that you would not move.

A shade under which I could rest, if not a home in which I could live.

But the truth is that wanderers will always wander,

the same way writers should always write.

 

 

I have very good taste in men.

I like the interesting cool ones who never look my way.


I like to imagine myself within the impossible, outside of my life.

My mind is a teleporting machine, taking me far, far
 away

I rendezvous with my lover in a parallel universe, he is the home want.

I have no need to exist in the pain I am in. I avoid the truth of my dejectedness

But the truth is that it follows me, even to places that don’t exist.

The empty that lives within me still turns happy fantasies sad.

Because the truth is prophetic, unavoidable in that way.

It demands that I let go of the imaginary, faultless lover

It’s authoritative in its ways, uncompromising.

None of my flaws could ever corrupt it, it stands ready to expose

Years’ worth of disassociation and trauma, it stands

Ready to uncover me from underneath all my layers and lies.

 

Because the truth will forever be prophetic, sometimes poetic

It has promised to return me to myself,

If I can stand still and bear the pain.

I will be at home within myself once more.

The truth is prophetic and worth waiting for

Though it tarries I will wait for it.

It will come, it will come.

The truth will liberate.

It will liberate.



   -by Sibonginkosi Netha

 [SCN1]

Comments

  1. Unknown9 October 2020 at 09:48

    There was no need to make me cry unprovoked. The beauty in your words will never cease to amaze me, and I don't think I want it ever to.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Dudu10 October 2020 at 03:19

    It has promised to return me to myself ....

    ReplyDelete

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