Monday 1 July 2013
From the brown bottle.
From that brown
bottle.
It was his grasp on
that brown bottle that led him to say I’m beautiful.
He claimed to be
enticed by my speech,
Claims I’m
intelligent, cute and not typical.
Yet I ask where he is…his
hold on that brown bottle,
Drove him back to his
sanity.
He’s awoken and now
realises his mistakes on conversing with this plum flabby copy.
How taken I was, believing
him.
His words forming
rainbows of hope, wishing things turn out different.
Simple for him to
step on my terrain,
Inflict some pain…yet
he holds high his brown bottle and still claims I’m beautiful.
Where there any
sincere words? The way he held my hand, activities he’s over-used, girls now
forget he just doesn’t understand.
My importance, your
significance.
Just because he
warmed your skin, rubbing you gently certainly doesn’t mean you are anywhere
near his book of greatness.
That to him is
spreading open and giving him a taste of your pride.
A taste and an
unpleasant ride.
He’d unlock your
chambers and take you on a walk of sin.
Once his seen your
paradise, he’s gotten a bite from your ripe orange, he’ll either reside or seek
sweeter oranges.
Amazing how he used
the best known gestures,
Sweet, empty words
that seep from his sweet lips.
Yet they puncture my
ears.
And bring to life my
buried fears, I can now confess.
It’s because of this sort of treatment that has cemented my heart.
Preventing me from hearing my soul mate’s knock.
So hardened it has
become that bottle-holders like him seem to be daily prescription.
Appealing addictions
which keep luring me back into their ambition.
He held high his cigarette.
Blowing the smoke out
from his sexy lips…I’d fallen deep into his admission.
Highly appealing, he’d
look deeply into my eyes and fish for my weakness.
Hoping I’d lead him
to my paradise,
Funny enough, I let
him look me in the eyes and allowed him to try and find gold.
Yes I possess gold.
Never seen nor told…
It was when he held
that brown bottle he claimed I’m special.
I seek his warmth now…
Missing his prints on
my skin though I know many women who carry some awe already have those ‘handsome
prints’.
Certainly not making
me unique or special.
You lied yet again.
Maybe those are measures
you take to feel on top of your game.
It was all after you
drank the contents of that brown bottle you found me beautiful.
Stating you enjoy my company…little did I know that’s a line
that’s escaped your lips more times then your Marlboro smoke.
Yet again you’ve
successfully left me broke.
Have I lost this
quest for love?
Early to wish for commitment
the elders warned us about.
Thoughts so divine,
that brown bottle introduced me to your beautiful mind,
I thank the brown
bottle because this being uttered words unfamiliar to my ears.
Sad and pathetic as
it is…I thank the brown bottle for introducing me to this being who told me I
am beautiful.
Thandi Xaba
7 June 2008
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