thekiiword-blog

[thekiiword-blog]

Living in a space between Heaven and Hell is not as easy as it seems. The good and bad are constantly playing tug of war. Whoever wins has my heart, my soul and my mind at their mercy.

When the bad comes to visit, he makes it feel like something more than just a bad day. It’s like being dropped in the middle of the ocean and there’s no sign of the bay. Only to find out it’s a dream but you wake up and feel the walls closing in.

When he’s around, I suddenly feel like a stranger in my own space, like these friendly faces and familiar places are elien so I alienate from them and find a dark dingy corner to hide. Where I write my self into the light and ride my pen like a spaceship taking these hardships scattering them across the universe.

The good suddenly gives a welcome hug and it’s warmth feels like a walk in paradise. My soul splits and somersaults in speedily steps swinging to splash and swiftly swim on the smiling sea.

But suddenly the sea floor opens and leads me to an abyss. So I find myself falling and leave happiness hanging, the darkness devours all the bits and pieces of my internal peace. And I just stand at these places that were once familiar and stare at these faces that were once friendly. I feel their stares piercing through my eyes and catching glimpses of my dying spirit. They see me like a UFO as my external shell looks like a ghost that once housed a being that carried sunshine in their hand and their infectious smile was forever gleaming with no limit.

Then sparks than run through my veins shock my heart into health. And once again I open my eyes wide enough to catch the smile of the bright blue sky and my muscles work in unison to turn my frown upside down. And for a brief moment, hope feels like a comfortable feeling. Every millisecond brings back the laughter my cries kept stealing.

But like a ticking bomb, those few moments expire and my happy bubble explodes into salty waters that my doleful eyes catch and send pouring down my cheeks. Down into my pillow they go, leaving dirty marks that draw out a map directing me to my demise. Coupled with a few hints and suggestions of a rope and a packet of pills at its peaks, they tempt me with easy exits. But then I smile again. And I sit, anxiously waiting for darkness to drag me down again.

So I live for the intermittence of smiling moments. Each day dies and leaves me feeling like maybe happiness is an art of pretence. And I can master this skill, I need only to be a thespian. Pretend like the world is a stage, life is a plot, and I’m stuck in a tragic scene. And these tumbling walls are visual effects on a green screen. Sadness is the director calling at me through a loud speaker but maybe I can alter the echo. Channel my alter ego, sing and dance through this slump and leap to cloud nine. And watch my tears dry. But my fears won’t let me try.

So I’m constantly praying for the ground to crack open and suck me in down to the magma, and erupt with the lava. And maybe its warmth and light would give me comfort forever. Maybe in that liquid fire my smile would never expire. I can wear it for as long as I feel it is in fashion. And force some suppression to this depression and save my eyes from always giving a sad expression. If my cries could die they would bring some laughter to life. Happiness would hold me close for the night. I’d pray and hope that when the night is over that good feeling won’t disappear to the light. And when happiness airways finally takes flight, I’ll be the captain in the cork pit. Like an Airborne pirate ready to sail the skies. I could spend the rest of my life on the sea of clouds. Depression would crumble from its impotence. And I would live in the sky, while I plot and plan how to bring depression to it’s knees, behead it and wipe it from existence.

[thekiiword-blog]

When the music moves through me. I dance with my demons and laugh at the darkness. My feet twirl above hot coals of regrets. My shadow holds me by the waist and we waltz on the ballroom laced with shame from things I’ve done. My low self esteem sings the blues. My broken soul hums “The Blackest Day” The piano melody cries of the dead hearts that froze to death at the hands of my cold soul. My anthem is my prayer of begging and pleading. My heart beats like the world is over. My faith screams at the feeling. My shattered hope leaps at the promise of a new lover.

When the music moves through me I dance with the angels and swim to the light. The hatred clings on my shoulders holding onto my abundant love. Jealousy plays the cello to lure me to greed. The sounds of immorality blind me off any good deed. I curse at the sun, dance to the storms. Rain drops on my roof play melodies from the days of my tortured youth. The winds hiss through the grass and kiss the skin brushing my coarse ill mannered hair with stones. My eagerness dies at the beat of my misfortunes coupled with suicide goals. My affection sings along to disappointments of failed love. Envy plays me green, like the view of the world from a turtle dove.

When Symphonies kiss my ears heated with crackling fire on t Tragic Symphonies. he winter rush. I weep. I recall the shackles I fought so hard to escape in my adolescence. I still hear the falsetto of disapproval from those who thought they knew life better and felt uneasy at my presence. My guitar notes still remind me of the world I always longed for, somewhere I’ll feel like I belong. So long, would be the road to my freedom but I’ll kill off the distance with my lonely but happy song. Prolong, my journey to Utopia so I can have enough time to sing a swan song to the world I’ve always loathed for doing me wrong. Even so I’ll dance and transcend. I’ll take my shadow and my verbrata, and we’ll spend eternity in my new home in a foreign land.

-By Kii Gxobole - Sizani

[thekiiword-blog]

The truth in this.....Overwhelming!!!

Have I posted this yet

[thekiiword-blog]

It seemed,

As though,

Maybe this was,

The last time.

~black and blanc

[thekiiword-blog]

Love is like a magic carpet with a mind if its own. You step on that carpet and it takes you places - marvellous places, odd places, terrifying places, places you'd never have able to reach on foot. Yeah, love's a real adventure! But you go where the carpet goes; after you've stepped on it you don't get to choose a goddamned thing.

Helen Oyeyemi, Mr Fox

[thekiiword-blog]

You alone are enough. You have nothing to prove to anyone.

Maya Angelou (via purplebuddhaquotes)

[thekiiword-blog]

Living in a space between Heaven and Hell is not as easy as it seems. The good and bad are constantly playing tug of war. Whoever wins has my heart, my soul and my mind at their mercy.

When the bad comes to visit, he makes it feel like something more than just a bad day. It's like being dropped in the middle of the ocean and there's no sign of the bay. Only to find out it's a dream but you wake up and feel the walls closing in.

When he's around, I suddenly feel like a stranger in my own space, like these friendly faces and familiar places are elien so I alienate from them and find a dark dingy corner to hide. Where I write my self into the light and ride my pen like a spaceship taking these hardships scattering them across the universe.

The good suddenly gives a welcome hug and it's warmth feels like a walk in paradise. My soul splits and somersaults in speedily steps swinging to splash and swiftly swim on the smiling sea.

But suddenly the sea floor opens and leads me to an abyss. So I find myself falling and leave happiness hanging, the darkness devours all the bits and pieces of my internal peace. And I just stand at these places that were once familiar and stare at these faces that were once friendly. I feel their stares piercing through my eyes and catching glimpses of my dying spirit. They see me like a UFO as my external shell looks like a ghost that once housed a being that carried sunshine in their hand and their infectious smile was forever gleaming with no limit.

Then sparks than run through my veins shock my heart into health. And once again I open my eyes wide enough to catch the smile of the bright blue sky and my muscles work in unison to turn my frown upside down. And for a brief moment, hope feels like a comfortable feeling. Every millisecond brings back the laughter my cries kept stealing.

But like a ticking bomb, those few moments expire and my happy bubble explodes into salty waters that my doleful eyes catch and send pouring down my cheeks. Down into my pillow they go, leaving dirty marks that draw out a map directing me to my demise. Coupled with a few hints and suggestions of a rope and a packet of pills at its peaks, they tempt me with easy exits. But then I smile again. And I sit, anxiously waiting for darkness to drag me down again.

So I live for the intermittence of smiling moments. Each day dies and leaves me feeling like maybe happiness is an art of pretence. And I can master this skill, I need only to be a thespian. Pretend like the world is a stage, life is a plot, and I'm stuck in a tragic scene. And these tumbling walls are visual effects on a green screen. Sadness is the director calling at me through a loud speaker but maybe I can alter the echo. Channel my alter ego, sing and dance through this slump and leap to cloud nine. And watch my tears dry. But my fears won't let me try.

So I'm constantly praying for the ground to crack open and suck me in down to the magma, and erupt with the lava. And maybe its warmth and light would give me comfort forever. Maybe in that liquid fire my smile would never expire. I can wear it for as long as I feel it is in fashion. And force some suppression to this depression and save my eyes from always giving a sad expression. If my cries could die they would bring some laughter to life. Happiness would hold me close for the night. I'd pray and hope that when the night is over that good feeling won't disappear to the light. And when happiness airways finally takes flight, I'll be the captain in the cork pit. Like an Airborne pirate ready to sail the skies. I could spend the rest of my life on the sea of clouds. Depression would crumble from its impotence. And I would live in the sky, while I plot and plan how to bring depression to it's knees, behead it and wipe it from existence.

[thekiiword-blog]

acmf: magic and the first tribes

the line of the chieftains believed that magic was a gift reserved solely for them. given to them by the gods to legitimize their leadership amongst the tribes. to wield magic was to wield absolute power. some ancients texts refer to miracle healings, beast taming, some control over the elements and even dream weaving.

Continuar a ler

[thekiiword-blog]

Summer skies infused with gold

roll in the autumn clouds,

goosebump winds with stern intent

tumble the leaves to brown,

juicy cells and fruity smells

burst in the waning light,

winter threatens shrinking flowers

with death and icy showers;

and I cry,

and I smile;

under a blanket of snow

my garden still grows…

[thekiiword-blog]

When the music moves through me. I dance with my demons and laugh at the darkness. My feet twirl above hot coals of regrets. My shadow holds me by the waist and we waltz on the ballroom laced with shame from things I've done. My low self esteem sings the blues. My broken soul hums "The Blackest Day" The piano melody cries of the dead hearts that froze to death at the hands of my cold soul. My anthem is my prayer of begging and pleading. My heart beats like the world is over. My faith screams at the feeling. My shattered hope leaps at the promise of a new lover.

When the music moves through me I dance with the angels and swim to the light. The hatred clings on my shoulders holding onto my abundant love. Jealousy plays the cello to lure me to greed. The sounds of immorality blind me off any good deed. I curse at the sun, dance to the storms. Rain drops on my roof play melodies from the days of my tortured youth. The winds hiss through the grass and kiss the skin brushing my coarse ill mannered hair with stones. My eagerness dies at the beat of my misfortunes coupled with suicide goals. My affection sings along to disappointments of failed love. Envy plays me green, like the view of the world from a turtle dove.

When Symphonies kiss my ears heated with crackling fire on t Tragic Symphonies. he winter rush. I weep. I recall the shackles I fought so hard to escape in my adolescence. I still hear the falsetto of disapproval from those who thought they knew life better and felt uneasy at my presence. My guitar notes still remind me of the world I always longed for, somewhere I'll feel like I belong. So long, would be the road to my freedom but I'll kill off the distance with my lonely but happy song. Prolong, my journey to Utopia so I can have enough time to sing a swan song to the world I've always loathed for doing me wrong. Even so I'll dance and transcend. I'll take my shadow and my verbrata, and we'll spend eternity in my new home in a foreign land.

-By Kii Gxobole - Sizani

[thekiiword-blog]

What to do when you can’t write:

All writers have those days when the words just Don’t. Flow. Where, no matter how hard we try, our pens scratch scribbles on our paper instead of letters. It’s not a fun place to be. The one thing you can’t do is let those days turn themselves into weeks and months. 

I’ve been there often enough myself to develop a number of ways to shake myself out of a writing funk and I’d like to offer them to you. Try one. Try them all. Find out what works for you and get to writing again. 

Start with a small goal and let it grow. Tell yourself you just want to write one sentence. Then one paragraph. You put the frog in lukewarm water, and then turn the burner on. 

Try using a progress tracking chart, like this one by ArtsyAndreaM on Deviant Art.

Similarly, buy a pack of stickers and place one on your calendar/planner/diary for every 500 words you write that day.

Tell a friend your writing goal and have them hold you accountable to it. If they’re interested in what you’re writing you can even send them your work at the end of each day/week. 

 Listen to inspiring speeches by authors you like, like one of these by Neil Gaiman. 

Give yourself permission to write something terrible. Something terrible is something, at least.

Print out some inspiring essays and quotes and post them on the wall above your desk. NaNoWriMo pep talks can be especially great. 

Write a scene in your head. It doesn’t count if it’s in your head, so you don’t have to worry about it being terrible. If it isn’t terrible, put it on paper. 

Go to a coffee shop or library full of other people working. It just might be enough to guilt you into working too. 

Give yourself 10 minutes on Write or Die, where there are consequences for stopping even for a few seconds. 

Use Writer’s Block and block yourself from everything on your computer except a blank page for a number of minutes or words.  

Write in a journal. Write a letter. Anything to get any words out of your head. 

Reread one of your favorite books. Remind yourself why you want to write in the first place. 

Be honest about when you’re procrastinating, like when you’re writing blog posts or tidying up your desk, and when you’re actually doing something that will help you write.