Exhale (Poetry)

​I need to exhale. 

The time has seen me turn black and blue from the poison infiltrating my lungs that I refuse to spit out. I can not breathe. 

I am ashamed of failures I did not instigate or carry through. I am a victim who over time has learned to victimise. I now know how to suffocate you.

I am built to withstand the stakes darted at the lungs of my core being, but perhaps my manufacturer forgot the final piece.

I no longer feel but see the air oozing out. Left empty, there is nothing left to pick up the bicycle patch that could extend my survival. 

I have been ridden. A bicycle has seen more care. Like a horse and then like a dog used to fight for small change. I have been tossed aside and flicked out of my own space and reality to gather the pieces of me with the hands that were bitten and chewed by those who said that they love me.

I can’t blame those who take pride in the multiple punctures they have inflicted. Two punctures left a hole big enough for human life to seep through me. I partly blame myself. I saw the sharp edge. I felt it carress me. I remember the first time it grazed me. Of course it would crave depth.

I am not yellow. My color is off putting. So why not deflate what you have come to fear simply at a glance. 

Peirce me.

Poke me.

Plunge into me.
Slit my throat and quicken the torment. Maybe when my blood flows my color will turn to red. Even if it is for but a moment.
I want to breathe. I want to be the time keeper to an open heart that craves only me and not my death. 

I have been holding this evil in… inside my being. 
Where is the pen and paper? Where is bag of change? 
I need to exhale. 

Mathunzi Macdonald 

Advertisements

Caked up & Tired 

 
I have better days, but some days almost reduce me to tears with an intense craving for cake. Really good cake. Rich, soft sponge, perfect filling, fattening cake! One morning I told my husband how much I would love cake for breakfast as I had been craving it all week. His response was peculiar. He asked if I was sleeping well. Now what do my sleeping patterns have to do with the price of cake? He continued to explain how the craving of cake is associated with insomnia. 

I had to consult doctor google urgently. And lo and behold. Craving cake, carbs and junk found is one of the major signs of insomnia, poor sleep, anxiety and depression. Speaking to a psychologist I confirmed all this. 

This is when I began to trace back to my ‘weakest moments’. I generally enjoy all things fatty and delicious, but intense craving did come about at my ‘low feeling’ and ‘poor sleep’ episodes. 

My mother has waved her hands in the air and ranted about my father’s poor food choices at random. My mother is a vegetarian and has been for 25 or so years, my father a pescetarian. He does however have the random craving for junk food. Now notice, he is one of the people I know to suffer from insomnia. A very busy man who is constantly ingrosed in various studies I wonder how and when his mind rests. So here mom, the better we sleep the better we eat. 

The body and mind attempt to find a substitute for the things necessary for the body’s function that are found in sleep. Also, the imbalance created by an irregular sleep pattern must somehow be compensated for. Carbohydrates seem to offer such substitutes. You can read more about this study online. 

Personally, I should thank my lucky stars that rapid weight gain is not familiar to me or I would quickly emulate the shape of many birthday cakes. The best way to combat the symptoms is to deal with the cause. 

So here’s to beating insomnia, somehow… 

   
   

If not me then who? 

I asked why me and the answer was swift…If not you then who? 

My wounds are deep but my heart still beats
If not you then who? 

Am I losing the last few strands of sanity my feeble hands have desperately been holding on to?

If not me then who?

What happened to gratitude? Food on my plate, clothes on my back, a ceiling for shelter… I think I crave the light of blazing stars. A light that generates a glimpse of hope at the end of the dark tunnel called life…

If not me then who?

I am bitter,sore and cold. Stripped of my pride by the unintentional deadly grip of even colder hands… 

If not me then who? 

The child that was molested, or the mouth that has never tasted bread? The woman beaten, the man tormented for what he has no power to change? The race that continues to be oppressed, the womb that is cursed? 

Wait… Pain chooses not its intensity. It hurts, it hurts deeply. But if not I then who? 

God, I believe in you, but never have I felt so far away from you. The chills feel as though evil found a small crack in the partitions of your hand, found me, grabbed me, rooted its claws of sorrow and now won’t let go of my bleeding throat. I cant breathe Lord…
If not me then who? 

I cried till my tear asked me to stop. They had seen enough of the ground. And after a long while, I managed lifted my eyes to a once familiar place. 
I asked once more,why me? The answer was swift; 

If not you then who? 

Who would know the hurt of her people so that kindness could be made manifest in her?                      Who is yet to realize the enormity of her strength?                                         Who will carry a new generation and deliver a breed with a difference…    See, you are allowed to hurt, but never wallow for too long. You are allowed to feel as humans do. 

That question may never leave you, and neither will the scars be invisible to you, but let the answer be clear;

How can you be a better you if not you… 
  

I can not hear you 

If Only I could speak a little louder… But the screams of my sorrow strapped heart have made me deaf. Deaf to reason, deaf to the repeated knocking of pity. Dearest pity, you would have found the door open had you been invited, but I am displeased with he that sent you more than I could ever be displeased with your presence; So I cannot hear you. I am only deaf on one side. The side that openly displayed its vacuum funnel and happily slurped up buckets of nonsense. 

Nonsense is deafening. It seeps into the veins that mark the crossroads between your ear and your mind and slowly begins to destroy the contents of human matter in mental avenues.  It invites friends such as doubt and ignorance. Together they destroy the sense of the senses that is necessary to practice common sense. Left senseless; deaf!

If only I could speak at all. But deaf tongues are handicap. If I fail to to reason with me, who but pity can stand the sight of me.

I still have my eyes, eyes that see. The sting that found my ear has not found my vision. And at the sight of you, my eyes, speak. 

I see you just as clearly as I see reason. 

But…

I can not hear you 

Do I then miss the pleasures spewed by the birds at the merciless hand of your nonsensical tongue and hands; Do I leave this ear to explore the whispers of fickle minds? 

How do I filter the utterly disturbing utterances from that which ears where born to hear? 

I don’t

I can not hear you 

   

Obsessive compulsive Me

There are patterns that exist, that make up my daily life. I do not take myself seriously enough for this to be considered a morbid post. No pity is permitted.

I have multiple anxiety disorders. I have very recently been exposed to truth regarding my previously inexplainable symptoms. OCD is the most obvious (to the observing eye) of these, so let me begin here.

The dictionary describes a disorder as the following; ‘a state of confusion’ ; ‘abnormality’; ‘problem that interupts normal fuction’ etc.

Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. A mental and/or psychological abnormality. 

     OCD is categorized as an anxiety disorder. Anxiety, not being a strain of Influenza, is rarely discussed. This may be why we consider people with OCD “abnormal” instead of shamefully naming the psychological patterns that influence the presence of this disorder. 

I have repeatedly explained that my OCD is ‘slight’, fearing the ridicule that exists despite how far I argue my “normality”. Its hard to explain to a “normal” person how you cannot enjoy a meal on a disorganized table or in a messy area, because it simply makes you uncomfortable. 

Im taunted mostly by those closest to me. I dread to know how those who suffer more severe cases cope with the name calling, rolling of eyes and unnecessary pranks. If I had R50 for each time a friend purposefully disorganized objects around me to trigger a response, I would be writing this from my the sky, in a crystal ladden private jet.

Very few also know what to call their so called ‘over the top’ behavior regarding cleanliness, symmetry, etc. Considering my experience it may be a good thing they do not know after all. 

I am happy with my abnormality. It prompts attention to detail, cleanliness and less unnecessary chats in social messengers ( I text with a set amount of contacts at a time, in even numbers that rarely exceed 10). I plan to research further, in terms of its hereditry effects, so that some day I may teach my children to embrace and live their ‘normal’, what ever it may be.  


Photography 📷 by Aaron & Hur