I wish I still cared, really cared.
Wish I was as warm hearted as I was warm blooded,
and that clichés weren't all I had now,
clichés of the ugly and the despised.
That these clichés weren't all I now was.
I wish goodness and mercy had indeed followed me.
What I wouldn't give to feel that immaculate joy again,
to become rather clichés of love.

Mirror, mirror on the wall, tell me.
Do they realise already?
Should I tell?
Should I tell of the dark that's everywhere?
Should I tell of the emptiness, deceptive and so full of evil?

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I see you.
My heart does these little flips when my eyes behold you
So by God, I see you.

But fear has gripped this feeble heart of mine
Fear of the intensity of your gaze
Fear of falling and not being caught
Fear of tumbling to a grim future

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Great oceans keeping me from my love
Oceans that I swam across
As I tried to get away from my love

My silliness, so inane
My bullheadedness, so unflinching
I turn away from my love again and again

Undaunted, my love awaits my return with arms outstretched, again and again

-

"The heart wants what it wants"
'What horseshit', I said.
Until mine wanted you, wanted nothing but you
'Oh crap', I said

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She was to be the Mother of Christ, the Mother of God.
Was it not right that she be conceived without sin, she who was to conceive and bear the very antithesis of sin?

So it is that God wanted it so.
He could do it; and so spoke the Immaculate Conception into being.
Today, the Church celebrates Mary conceived without sin.
Today, we ask for a measure of that absolute purity that the Father deigned to grant her.

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Dear Molar,

I quite understand that you're an open book. Naive and devoid of guile, you wear your feelings upon your person.
On the days pain comes visiting though, perhaps you could shut yourself to its unabashed flirting.
It hurts.

Sincerely,
Human in Whose Mouth You Dwell.

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well-brewed wine
The years, come and gone
Lend them a certain exotic flavour

Like water also, they are
Scented water
Some lavender, some rose
Bristling with a heady newness

-

I grew up with an African mother, in an African home.
Now that meant prayer and that meant hardwork.
It meant growing under eyes that brimmed with love, with a simple, calm, quivering love.
It meant many lessons on God and it meant many lessons on generosity and unassuming compassion.
It didn't mean a flawless childhood or pristine memories, but rather understanding and tolerance.
Discipline when due, and a pat on the back with every glistening hue of effort.

I grew up with a great many lessons in war, and in love.
With a brother so strong-willed and a sister so elegantly simple.

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The night whispers still
Beseeching restraint
Echoing the angel's cry
For virtue

-

that begin with forbidden desires

And dive headlong into harmatias so grave.

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