The Story( famous last words)

Like mantra
I chant these words
Then hand them to loved ones
Too heavey to carry on my own
Free lotto tickets
Promising hope but seldom delivers...
The emotional pain,
Physically real with each downwards spiral
Crash landing from a costly high
Head First

I believed each word
Each time I said it
I believed each time I could do it
Each time I said it
To myself and to others
Each word as sincere
As the one before it
And I believed each one
Untill it happened again

Untill I fell
Face first
Onto the palm of my hands
                                            Again
The fall broken only
By a thick layer of tears
Flowing from the sea of regret
And these words
That are slowly losing meaning with others
But I still believe

" I'm not doing this again"

The story(the begining of the series)

The story is my way of sharing my struggle with substance abuse and addiction. The road I travelled was not an easy one. One that I didn't have to go through, no one has to go through that. I hope my sharing will help others understand and hopefully avoid this altogether. And those who are already on this path know that there is always an alternative route. A route to a better future. And that route is always available you just have to choose it.

The story is a series of poems I am working on, some new,some I wrote when I was an active addict. Poems which I had never shared with anybody. I have posted two of those poems already and have had a lot of response from people engaging me on what I was reffering to and a lot saying that they can relate. This has giving me the strenghth to look deep inside me and write about this as honestly as I can be. I try not to edit any of the poems and present them as they come...straight from the heart. It is a hard and painful process but one I think is necessary to heal.

This is my Story

To some it might read
Like a nightmare
But this
Is my life
The details of which
Might prove
Too graphic to share
Conversations hidden
In deleted text messages
Business done
In dark strange passages
But these poems are not
About any of that
Or the substances
That intoxicate men
Nor to what extent
They will go to acquire them
But its about
The life of a poet
And how he almost
Smoked it up a crack pipe
Almost lost it
To a fifty rand high

Dreams

Hold on to your dreams
Hold on tight
Because with morning
Comes the light
That fights
To rip them off your hands

Daddy's arms

Moments with you
Engraved in our hearts
Relived in your smile
Your eyes forever
Beaming with love
You are getting big
But will never outgrow
Daddy's arms

Noise-The Ultimate Exhibition

On the 2nd of Feb 2013 I had the honor and privilege of attending Lehlogonolo Mashaba's exhibition at Artspace Jhb. It was awe inspiring and so emotionally charged. The pieces came alive in that gallery. The exhibition runs until the 2nd of March2013 at Artspace, 142 Jan Smuts Ave, Parkwood. Do yourself a favor and go check it out. Well done Hlogi!!

Me and Lehlohonola grew up together in the township streets of Kwa-Thema in the East Rand. Sharing dreams and the love for art and music.It is so inspiring to see he never gave up The Dream. Through hard work and dedication anything is possible. Respect!!

This is how the experts described his exhibition "Engaging with information culture, Mashaba assimilates the ambiguous presence of found text into primal human forms. The laboursome process of cutting relief prints, re-cut on paper and re-assembled, draws attention to hand made processes and the strength and frailty of the human body faced by digital technology"

And this is how I saw it

Noise-The Ultimate Exhibition

A noise so loud
It felt silent
Each pen stroke
Alive with energy
Broken links
Attached by gentle strokes
Commanding attention
Demanding to be seen
but most of all, heard

The pieces held my hand
As I walked in
They spoke to me
And told me their story
Of how sometimes
You need to breakdown
                          To rebuild
You need to deconstruct
To construct
And make noise
          To be heard

The story(The day after The night before)

The day after the Friday night
I think it was a Tuesday afternoon
I had curled myself up in a blanket
On top of a soiled mattress in the corner of a room
Hiding my shame in folded arms
My dignity left with the weight I shed
I shared my spirit with the devil
And he was done with me
                                            For now
Still in a daze,asked to vacate the premises
Because my funds were now insufficient
Not enough to warrant my stay
The money I spent meant nothing now
Because I didn't have anymore
No more smiles or calling me "Mr"
All I heard was "my friend,you have to go now"

I was half the man I was
When I walked in
T-shirt sagging
Pants falling
Even when the belt is adjusted
To the last possible hole
Lips dry and burnt
Hands dirty
Vision blurry
I could barely drive

The sun shined too bright that day
Intent on exposing the sins I committed
And tried to hide by playing cool
While inside I felt naked
Like everybody I passed on the roads
Can see what I had done
I was a couple of blocks from home
But it felt like I was miles away