Thursday, 21 April 2016

Heal fast. There is nothing to come back to

You are a woman who rushes to heal
To move on – to be brave
To be stronger and stronger
Except every day is like just the one before

You can’t hold a conversation without losing your breath
Your eyes always blood shots from lack of sleep
Sometimes you toy with yourself with fake assurances
Like “you don’t smell small enough to put yourself on the road
and pursue who you used to be before.’

Most days, it feels good to be angry, to yell, curse
Because it’s better than feeling afraid, alone, suicidal
It’s better than constant nightmares and shadows
Better than these people that visits you with flowers
and junky quotes on courage and perseverance
without asking how you persevered or how courageous
you have been in it all
Or the music nobody hears yet you seem to dance

You’re a girl with whispers of your own shadows at heart
fresh buried bullets, blood, angry voices, breaking buildings,
competing screaming voices of assailants and begging victims all in your eyes
you’re built to be kept together by sorts of meds, of twitter hashtags and facebook updates
of “you’re in our prayers, we’re one nation, she’s such a strong woman,
we’ll defeat the enemy, terrorsim  this, terrorism that”
of TV and radio interviews with profiles with old recognitions of
reaping the economy to skeletons and leaving everybody in debts
you’re like an institution under domination by the world
where everybody thinks their tongues can keep your ghosts silent
like a museum with old forest fire yet nobody can stand watch you burn or put you off
you  press your tiny face into your big hands
breaking your own heart, every part of your body feeling like a stranger again

you’re a woman on the wrong side of poverty
rushing yourself home to heal
only to find yourself in a room evidenced with public looting,
rich politicans in profits and failing banks
you ask your mother a questiona and she can’t even save
you from redistributing your own darkness to your wounds
and finally someone will enter your room,
you’re in a crumpling bed, attached to hanging tubes
and you’re tearing  your mother in yells
because she’s too lame she don’t undestand
the one side of your body you’ve been laying on for the last year is dead tired
yet you didnt mean her mouth to be dry,
or put cuffs on her patience
its not your fault that you’re an instrument of torture
and you’re almost tasting like sewage form even in your own ears
its just that you’re a woman in some forgotten dream,
a woman in fear,
A STRONG WOMAN,
a woman that earned her beggary levels
when she slammed doors of ignorance for education
only for dusty curtains to be brought down by cold-blooded beings
torn between religion and self acceptance
because they’re so insufficient in amounts
they want to reassure their pride with guns
torture and blood.

Naipanoi Lepapa
2016 poetry

Tuesday, 12 April 2016

From half love to you

I always forget I could be whole. I always forget.
When you touched me at the café, you rearranged me.
When you kissed me in the car, I knew you meant it.

But I keep pretending.
I pretend I don’t feel your hands beneath me
I pretend I don’t notice your softness on my scars
I want to wear two faces.
I want to erupt from a love closest
But I also want to disappear in a blur.

My wrong.
I just don’t know how to love sober things.
I’ve never known how to love things that protect me –
You want to thrust me into a sun
You want light to pour through my skin
But I want to write poetry
And say of how I watched myself fall into illusions
how I was folded into a corner and died
flashed into a dark room
and felt less enough.

I guess I love falling for suicide bombers
Electrocutioning myself till there is nothing more to feel
-being fragile
-going in and out of same questions

But here you are,
Here I am. 
Every morning I relearn how to think about you.
At night, you’re not just a character in the movies.
You are real.
You’re here in my heart.
And in my mind with our perfect first date.
You give me a reason not to tarnish myself
You lean for a kiss
And I feel this heat
And that moment, I stop expecting half moons
That moment I know what to do with love
To love
To hold
To touch
To swallow – not myself – but love - us
In these moments I don’t wonder
Devour me

Show me you’re the ambulance I’ve been waiting for all my life
Show me what to do with this love
Kiss me. Now, kiss me harder till you pour me into suns
Kiss me. Kiss me. I'm no longer half in love.
Lean forward, I'll kiss you back to a language you'v never known before

Naipanoi Lepapa
12/4/2016

Wednesday, 6 April 2016

Dear Heart, stop acting like you don't belong to me


Dear heart,
You act like you don’t belong to me
and I am tired of hiding him at the back of my mind
Of shifting myself to cities that has nothing to do with me
To counties with broken people that find solace in conflicts

Dear heart,
I am tired of telling these parts of you to hardened
To grow up
To forget the inches he left behind

Do you want I scream,
A soft voice
A water drop falling
An ocean feeling
What do you want ?
Because I’m tired
Tired of your clumsiness
Of your balls where you go head collision and chuckle to men
That leaves me like a pack of dust
breaking like a breaking glass

Oh my darling heart,
How can I murder your screams?
You could be anywhere else
But you always select assholes
And turn them into baby love
You pick wrong announcements and turn them to the sound of romance
You poor heart, you miserable bastard
Why do you act like I you don’t belong to me
Can you explain these endless tests?

Have you ever crushed into yourself
and wondered about the sad look on my face?
You stupid thing that pick infections and flood me
with hormones and blame nature
You piece of something nothing, I am tired of you
I am tired of him
Why do you exhaust me like this?

You know,
I could just stammer once, twice, thrice in his bed
And in days I could starve his ghosts
and remove his tubes?
or perhaps fail his lungs
with smoke of my kick-ass side
It could be that easy, but you
You don’t understand
You don’t understand I am tired of him
Sleeping and walking anytime he wants in my mind
of him leaving and stuffing me lonely
of filling my sheets with drops of sweats of him
I’m tired of these scenes in my plans
-to dig a grave, bury our moments, add soil and concrete
-repeat-
But because you are lame – you stop me
And that is uncalled for because
Right now, I could be a mile ahead
My tomorrow and the next day and the next day would be apparent
I could be drawing and redrawing and redrawing another man
Wearing him in pajamas and suits and watch him to sleep
But you are stupid
You are stuck – up in old glued newspapers with half letters and torn images
You’re stuck up in a foreign language
That refuses to know me
But I am tired
Tired of you saying he is the one and my mind saying he is not
For once, act like you belong to me
Go down with the sun and bring me the dawning light
Because I am tired of this man that I love to leave –
-To need - to sink into
-to kiss
-to miss
-to leave
-to be mine
-to leave
Naipanoi Lepapa
16.27. April 6, 2016


Sunday, 3 April 2016

Complete incomplete


Gazing through the window, there’s a girl whose melanin says no to growth
Walking down the hills, memories sprints in my head

But

I’m afraid to write
I’m afraid to say I’m a mile from the place
The place that should chill a child

-Me –

In this place, I stumble and fall
And there are excuses for all
There is an excuse for this
Expect that I’m too raw,
I’m scared to admit to myself that it’s in this place
I  failed to show up
It was this place I was quite washed up
I ran away to myself
And turned crawling when my stomach turned

People had answers
I fed stares
And it was obvious I was a battlefield
Playing shaabab towards my heart
And again and again
I tried to water the place I was before this
Before the grass stopped been greener on the other side
That day, a boy asked my name
And I swallowed my tongue
How could I relive the places?
We lived so soon- my lips on his teeth all so wrong
Twisting and aching
Bleeding and dancing
Dying and living
And as much as I screamt his name in my heart
To the boy-
I was a crippled heart
Physically, I was floating in a rain drop
So I left, I left myself
And climbed into ending tales of us
A dry laugh left his lungs down to his stomach
And I sagged my heart beneath the fabric of my chest
I miss the boy-

Naipanoi Lepapa
2016 Poetry

Sunday, 27 March 2016

A strip of honor won't contain me


Meet me halfway
And I’ll still run back
For I have a perfect gift of been lame
My blood on my skin taste like a millennium of poison injections
And I feel like I’m an image of a woman I used to know
Or should know
But I got kissed by a frog
and settled into a thorn of questions

I’m sober but I’m trying hard
To convince myself I’m drunk
So that I won’t feel how it feels
To be rightly loved
I’m breaking myself into sleeps
For I don’t want to watch myself
Feature in a love story
That is not downing

In a club,
I want to dance to a man with a tattoo
And a red and green mohawk
Because I won’t have to defend myself
When he fix me into a wall
For I know better,
Women like me,
We’re more alive
When we meet ourselves in the break of darkness
Where we press ourselves into lies
And kiss ourselves out of breath
With wounds that hate air

I’m a punch line
Thanks for asking
I will identify myself as human
And pronounce myself as whatever
And over and over
There will be an ache in my stomach
A depressed fight
The need to be a woman
To open and be opened
I would look at a certain man
And feel like visitor in my own skin
I’ll then run to the washroom
And leave myself
Like a block of thundering electricity
In the pit of my heart.

Naipanoi Lepapa 2016 Poetry.



TURNING INTO A SUN AND WARMING MYSELF

Again, I'm attaching myself to things that don’t want me
I’m offering myself in pieces
Cause I can only love myself and exist in a man’s terms
For I’m either too much or I boil down to almost enough
And I have learnt been a woman means silence
He could inappropriately touch me and
It’s my fault
So I'll bed myself into a ‘whore’ conclusion
And its okay.

And when I have a chance to leave
I won’t
For I’m not yet myself
I’m just a coward who won’t defend her heart
The monster in my own skin
A sugarcoated lie I forced down my brain
Though sometimes I feel like a souring sky
And I want to knock myself out of these flames
If ever there is ever any and cuddle myself to love

But how do you do that when the legs of your heart
Are all over the streets but on your own lane?
How do you love yourself if you can only call yourself in labels
And price tag yourself to the market?
How do you do that if most days you feel like a horror story
Like you picked yourself out of a hit beat
But you can’t even control your body to a dance on your own song?

I have hugged myself in various dreams
I have pressed myself together and shone like a dawning sun
I have kissed myself and felt it right
And my heart has skipped from the site of myself
I have surrendered myself into my mistakes, cried, learnt and grown
But still,
I feel like a cruise accident
I still feel my mouth on my mouth as a curse
My touch on my own skin is never perfect
I’m a coward
I could have it all easier
But that’s not what I want to write
I want to create gods out of satanic men
I want to love a man and be afraid of myself
I want to start a race and beat myself in the line
I want to turn myself to a conflicting silence
And tell the right man ‘you’re perfect, I’m no match’
I want to apologize when I’m right
I don’t want a thicket that lack snakes
For I want a man that can bite
So I would write into a mountain of a poem like this,

But Alex says it’s not too late
Maybe I’ll learn to be vulnerable to myself
Maybe I’ll feel the heat of my own blood in my own skin -
And not vomit myself out
It probably won’t be easy
But maybe passing through myself and staying
Will make everybody else wants to stay.
Maybe he is right, he already feel like my soul mate

Naipanoi Lepapa
2016 Poetry

Wednesday, 3 February 2016

I look fine but inside I have no place to rest



Thousands of leaves floats in your head
A thousand years has passed
Snow has formed in the peak of your heart
There is mist in your soul
You dream of a comet
A hundred negotiations between yourself break down
Because he was there,
The creepiest boy with reddy eyes
The eyes that forces you into desires

The day he turned into ashes,
That day before summer,
You closed your eyes
And found yourself in your childhood,
He was there,
All blazed into complications,
With lips that seemed to torched the universe
Out of you,
That day before summer,
He was the boy with a scary voice
That one you fell in love with.

Naipanoi Lepapa Poetry 2016

Friday, 22 January 2016

MY LOVE DOESN’T MEAN WHAT YOU THINK IT DOES


I have never been afraid to suffocate myself
Back in high school, boys taught me I could only be loved during the night
At home, I was taught I could only exist if I wore myself inside out
And the different between me and you is that I believed it all

Yes. I gave up on myself a decade ago.

I am 10 years old and my skin don’t fit into my bones
Seven year later, and I still feel like a war-zone
Like I don’t belong
Like I am a manufacture of some kind of taboo

Ever searched for yourself in the silence of your own silence? I did.

At 20 I’m trying to feel holy again
I throw myself into violent arms
From my mouth I taste like a blend of blood and wine
Someone else wants to turn me into his temple
But I’m so over myself I rather not hear it out

I think anybody can buy me from the shops.

At 50, I'll still believe in a collection of strangers I picked when I was nine
You would wonder why I love myself from someone else’s belief
And I could have an answer and tell you I have a hole in my brain
I could tell you of the sweet fragrance on the skin of been a victim

I have been beating this drum in my heart for so long
And I find meaning in my own destruction

The smoke in my old wounds taste fat on my nostrils but I don’t back off.

I still like shrimps and tasting myself in my own mouth
I like coffee in honey, it makes me forget that everything about me is wrong
I still believe in anything, everything is always enough
So I don’t think I’ll ever be a home to myself


Naipanoi Lepapa
2016 Poetry

Monday, 23 November 2015

PRETTY HURTS


I think I’m narrating a blank here
There’s too much to say yet nothing to say.
I’m remarkable but every nerve is screaming ‘stop you’re not’
This is the price I pay for being a poem-
- beautiful woman to behold.

A hey here, a hey there , A hey here, a hi there
And I think I’m going crazy everybody says ‘remove your underwear”
And I think the ghosts of my grandma are still here,
For I’m carrying a pain that old than her and me, these monsters never sleep
So I say no to every other man and my man still look like a stroke
Like he had an attack yesterday and he’s still hangover
It’s like he is a lonely room that crawls and hide under my bed
And nobody told me that this what love looks like
That my writing will always be tragic
That I can drown in bleeds and still breathe
Just for the sake of feeling like a lost flavor.

And as hard as I try to hurt myself to defeat his kind of hurt
I end up digging deeper into my bones and
Memories of curling knives and machetes reoccur
And I’m reminded how twisted love is
I should have stayed away, left my foot in the shore
I should have loved my womanhood more
I should have told myself I’m beautiful and always want myself
That I’m everything loneliness will never look like
I should remind myself I’m not a coin to be tossed and bet on
That I’m a black beautiful woman and my lungs
Shouldn’t look like a century smoke inhaled lungs

Someone remind me that I’m beautiful and it’s not a sin
And there is no a curse order to follow me around
That not every heartbreak should pat me in the back
Or hurt this bad
That I haven’t been shrinking in the alcohol dens,
And this story shouldn’t be autumn leaves falling
Nor was I at the brothel and drank myself with pills
To keep up with sexual pleasure and stayed three
Days in a comatose state in some clinic
That it’s not your non-ending prayers that saved me

I should remind myself that beauty is fitted in me
Like rings of Saturn
And it’s cool to kiss myself in public
And still cool not to feel like a china cabinet
When I say no to men
That it’s okay to torch the bush with my beauty
And still okay to watch that fire spread to other
Fields and still feel innocent and beautiful.

Naipanoi Lepapa
Poetry 2015

Friday, 20 November 2015

WRONG MONSTERS IN HIS LOVE


This is how we loved, he say
Somehow in between it was beautiful, sometimes,
Mostly I reeked of death,
I say

This is how badly we loved,
Fixing ourselves into scars and now it feels like broken glasses, I say

This is how we loved
I tried to drown in your kisses,
With a mouthful of lies I crawled towards you
And loved you with my starved ghosts, he say

This is how you loved,
I say
You took yourself into my chest,
You touched me like a wild animal
And I burnt like lightening
Because I wasn't afraid of splitting into two for you,
I say

But I tried, he say
You picked fear into my chest,
You stepped on my light,
I say.
I'm sorry
I tried and it kills me, you haunt my mind,
It kills me I lost you, he say
It was your choice, I say
Moment of silence

You stole my steps and left me dry in the hot sun, I say
I thought I was reading history, he says
I might be a lazy wave
I might be of cutting temper
I might look like a washed up sun, sometimes
And my name may read like a goodbye
But I was yours,
Together with all my rays and monsters, I was yours,
I say

Tears stripped my makeup
I say
'I'll do anything to go back, he say
I'll kiss your feet and watch over you like a bible, he swears
I'll do anything to have you back, he say

I crashed into pain,
Flirted with filth,
I got over myself with an aching silence
I say
I loved you, I say
I loved you the way a doormat love shoes and crisis,
It was forever,
You were wrong,
I was wrong
We were wrong, I say

But,
But we can make it right,
Ink love torrents into your heart till it hurts
I was wrong, he say
Please, he say

I gave you my best
Dug my nails deep into my self-esteem,
But I was wrong
I was wrong because maybe some words are wrongly tangled into our tongues,
Before the heart decides on a nod,
I was wrong,
You graved yourself to everything you are now
I'm SORRY, I say
He stares at me for the very last last time
And brings himself into tears

Naipanoi Lepapa, in places I have been before,
2015 Poetry,