You whom I have never met, never seen – I may not understand the distance between the melting ice cream and the sun, but I do understand the peculiar magic of words. I do not know if words are enough to put the flood of blood to my head at a comma-stop. I have difficulty choosing between thinking and writing, or choosing between using words or spit.

But I cannot let you win But I
cannot hold onto you And I
cannot keep you out
Everything is moving too fast
Too many things to think about
When everyone is gone, I am a strange place for snow

If I ever see you, I am going to run my clay-eaten hands through your hair. I have wondered ifyour words can cross my ocean; I will stumble through your full stops and exclamation marks before I would read your words. Without my clothes I am a crayon-scribble line-haze and you are new… then I shall suffocate you with small catastrophes, punctuation marks and my claustrophobic skin. I swear I do not mind spinning head, making you mud pies for your forgotten birthday; you must hold me less tightly, without letting me go.

Gas tank marked full, gas mask on
I am trying to outrun myself!
Yet, I find myself waiting in bed for me
Maybe if I named and claimed myself
I won’t hurt that much
But this heat makes my self panic sticky
I will wait for winter, to do the heroic…

You will start to think I am boring, any second from now. How could anything happen to you? when you sustain this passive statement while my bones are drenched in bleach and lemon cheesecake, maybe if I changed the blood detergent I won’t look so muddy, but I must lead you to the ocean and point to no end, lying about which direction you must take… THE OCEAN HAS NO ROADS.

As I walk through the sunflower fields to make my guilt feel better, I remember that you are only
part of a life I will never smell again and I am not a logical person.
Do you know how it feels to be hungry?
Yes, it feels as though your organs have turned into
“cannibals”, and they are about to hunt each other
and you keep thinking about a cooling dive in a swamp full of battery and stomach acid.
Do you know what it feels like to be in love?
Yes, it feels as though you picked up a roadkilled
dog and turned it into a pet and “Simply Red” is
always playing in the background, just to give
you a headache.

Amogelang-Maepa