Sense4MyThots

Wise words from a good villan, Slum villages slain by Goliath, What a monopoly, What a catastrophe, It bothers me, The stench of destruction, Duplicating the Devils blueprints for hell, Is this reality? In actuality it saddens Me, I was looking for truth, instead I'm just stuck between vanity or scrutiny of my own self, Staring into broken mirrors, I've kinda figured we're all disfigured, Picture broken mirrors, I've kind of figured we need to be reconfigured, Superstitious cover mirrors , hide your teeth son, They told me it's okay not to smile from a young age, thunderstorms on every Monday, Thinking freedom is on payday, We still smile, We don't need to cover up the pain no more, We didn't get a chance to play or to laugh at jokes, We just grew up too early, We forgot how to laugh. By: | Mfezeko Booi |

The fear I was once governed by morphed into apathy,  I'm yet to discover which is worse, heaven help me. My soul, my spirit it's exhausted.  My cup is once again empty, and riddled with holes, energy poured in gushes out The cold ceramic sends shivers down my spine. Tired and punctured. Hollow and cold. Oh well... By: | Ndalwentle Makunga |

You haven't asked, but I'll explain to you my existential dilemma. I'm the embodiment of an oxymoron,  I have an abundance of love, but cannot express affection.  Mine is an undying loyalty but I will not allow myself to get attached to anyone I have the desire but never the initiative. Why? Four letters F-E-A-R Or by my own definition; conditioning. Honestly, I've been enslaved by trepidation for as long as I can recall And twenty years later ,I'm apparently being set free,  RUN twenty years in chains I can't feel my ankles, and my feet, are charred, blistered, deeply cut  But I'm free RUN! I stand stupefied,  maybe by the sudden reality of my freedom, and the improbability of my survival considering my injuries. And my enslaver ensues, with bigger heavier chains. I stand stupefied, haunted by the ghost of the chains by which I was bound. I should run? I can run? Forever caught in a trap of cyclica...

I feel her dying The pessimist, the realist ,the self doubting, the anxious. She's starving , feeds on deattchement & self loathing  and its been 3 months since she got a full plate, gnaws at past demons seeking nourishment. All in vain, hypothermia has already set in, she heaves, moribund. A different plant is being watered now Pollinated by acceptance and honesty. I feel her budding,  blooming,  blossoming, colored with confidence, bearing fruits of extroversion, joy, freedom and a satisfaction with oneself. She grows  and there's nothing I've found more exhilarating than having her come to life in me. By: | Ndalwentle Makunga |

Men are terrible, that's the conclusion I've come to Sadistic creatures, that when broken, feed off their loved ones' misery, They are despicable. Waltz into our lives with promises; to love, to protect, to honor, and leave you cut by the shards of those broken promises. Is it that their love is volatile? That their nature has taught them to be rough even with the most tender of hearts fluttering at their fingertips? Maybe its in their genetic make-up that they're just born brutes. Anger, jealousy and animosity flow in their veins Attempts at what they would call love have left me in tatters. Perhaps it's the weight of entitlement, patriarchy, pride, power and sexism They're born to inherit from their first cry, manhood already looming, that shatters their humanity Nonetheless it doesn't make them any less revolting. But maybe I should I explain, why I believe men are humanity's fungus, a green indigo bush that spreads bacteria by ...

Blessed be the ones that live without pessimism,  The glass is half full type,  While someone is whispering 'don't cry over spilt milk' as I convince myself that there wasn't any water to begin with,  Excuse the God complex,  I was told to believe that I was made in her image, so excuse my self love and don't take it as self louth,  Let us not exist in the spiritual but Let us us sing our songs and  Let us write our letters hoping that these thumbed sucked addresses become real and replies become consistency till my broken rib is replaced. By: | Mfezeko Booi |

Love is not always on time but when it arrives, who can deny it? When it's in sight, who can hide it? When its lost, i pray cupid helps me find it. But why do we define such? Why do I call it "love" when it gives  me so many other emotions? When im jealous, it plants hate, unease and anger inside of me Yes, a devilish act this love bestows upon me But if we genuine and honest, this love could fill up oceans Then we'll pack our hearts into suitcases and sail East,  towards Cape shores,  And continue our quest for soul searching. Because the absence of love is like a mannequin dressed for winter, staring at the world through windows of a clothing store, warm on the outside but always cold when you look at the eyes, the inside. So please dont turn me into a mannequin. Because where there's no love, warmth never visits.  And when love comes knocking, i dont want to go looking for the nearest exit Running away from the best...