Mats'eliso Makekema (26). From Lesotho, a tiny speck landlocked inside South Africa. I graduated with a Secondary Diploma in Education, from Lesotho College of Education. I call myself "Great" because I evoked from great power; I am a multiple rape survivor.
I write because the art of writing is therapeutic. The greatest tragedy of an abused mind is the death of silence. Years after being sexually harassed by married men, I still could not take any brave action of speaking up and I practically suffered depression, but still did not feel the need to unleash my shame. Throughout my quest of inner peace, writing helped me to heal and to realise my purpose in life.
My role models are Iyanla Vanzant and Oprah Winfrey. To me these women are a thorough expound of what black magic is.
To every young female writer:
The commencement of what is termed feminine is to bring forth the blossoms of beauty - write and help actualize another girl's purpose in life.
The storm in this upper faculty fatigued all the flowers.
Another decade of darkness has come.
Iron once lived beneath, but the forces of chemistry brought
About oxygen and with it redness, then disintegration came along.
The remaining begrimed iron web left a skeleton of the flawless
Work of art that resided long before darkness.
The middle faculty became a warehouse for the
End products of flowers of affection.
Now foule boggs remain the sign of a lived paradise.
Perfect story books are squashed and burned on one end.
The fore white painted turned dark and remained an empty mansion.
In it historic books of a thousand slanderous stories are kept for life.
The fate of a woman
But in the end, I’ll preserve this
Manifestation documented for you.
It’s a written virtue - it does not perish,
Therefore, it will never be forgotten.
If you at all do not accomplish this
I’ll pray tell you the fruition of resilience.
When you at length get a heavy apprehend
Of to what end
The untouched that heals stays long after
The outer being has been gnawed, you will be
Acquainted with the rationalization of
Why flowers don’t spread their fragrance for themselves.
The commencement of what is termed
Feminine is to incubate
And to give life,
To mother the motherless
And to nurture.
Feminine verily signifies the obscure healing of the world.
Before I sing this last mournful voyage
Play for me my devotional African horn
Play for me
I want to sing a dirge.
But before I sing this last mournful voyage I’ll close
My eyes and lift my face up to the sky,
For the essence of this tune taps the far end of my soul.
Play for me my soulful African cello
Play for me
I want to reminisce these long in the tooth stories.
But before I sing this last mournful voyage I’ll pour
My emotions out on this fat pillow.
My emotions are heavy for they are allied to
My story and my story is begrimed with sweet sad sorrow.
Play for me my sad African rhythm
Play for me
I want to reminisce the wisdom residing in these
Shredded houses of love.
But before I sing this last mournful voyage I’ll place
Down this ecclesiastical psyche and set out the
Exposition of the profligate, for appreciating the nuances
Of the experience of the overused is overly subtle.
O’ play for me my sad lulled African flute
Play for me
I want to reminisce the dominions of the spirit orientated.
But before I sing this last mournful voyage I’ll prod
These long crafted scabs to elate the propenseness of
Solitude and I’ll call it peace.
Pardon me I can’t be what you want
Pardon me I’m unable to be what you want.
It’s sarcastic how love can be so egocentric that more often than never,
We fail to realise our contribution in so many attempted suicides.
Hear me out dear darling,
I know you don’t understand the psychology behind my behaviour,
But I wish you could accept me for me
And stop trying to actualize this me that exists only in your mind.
Hear me out,
My mistakes are mine and not yours,
So you can never entirely understand what’s going on in my mind nor what
I feel in my heart-I’m not trying to be rude, I’m just trying to let you know
What propels my behaviour is what I feel inside.
I bet you don’t even know I’ve tried a thousand times to live for you-
I faked it until I made it but guess what?
Sometimes I failed, I cried, I sighed and I trembled with fear ‘cause
I didn’t know what twisted words you were going to use on me this time around.
At each occasion that I’m around you,
I know I can only be me to some extend- it’s no wonder I never open up
To you about everything and anything else;
I guess I respect you too much I just don’t know how to do it
But no it’s not respect…I’m scared of you.
I’m pretty sure you’ll agree with me that I awe myself some grace
For after ages trying to please you I have only become like a zombie
Walking around with some ripped pieces of flesh sagging on my melted skin,
With my heart so heavy, everyday waking up to the pain at the back of my neck…
You’ll bear with me it was too much to take in.
I stopped putting on my make-up and wearing heels
And I remember coming to your place looking like a hobo,
You asked me what had happened to me.
I ironically laughed although I felt the need to cry my pain out so hard
But I guess I was just never ready to listen to the sound of my tears dripping
All the reasons that I never gave much to myself.
For some reason I looked up into the sky so I could hold them back..
You never noticed.
That is the reason why you failed to realize I’d been dead…
This time if I do it will be for good.
So pardon please… I’m unable to be what you want.
Unable to be what you want.
He romanced me
My entire life I dreamed of finding me
A place more void that I may enjoy pleasure of solitude.
I finally found it, yet I still yearned for the intimacy
I thought was never meant for me.
In this place, the exposition of my innocent contorted soul
Resided until he romanced me.
I found my soul in this place howling
Twenty four seven, searching for the little pieces of me,
Failing to rendition peace to my purity.
Echoing voices since then rhythmically chanted;
“Help me….please…help me.”
Until then, all these prevailing chants have been
Engulfed in mythical giant bodies of the mountain kingdom.
I found myself having no option but to join the programmed
Generation of these contorted souls.
Wisdom corroded, disintegration prevailed…
Then God’s finest art became a den for demons.
I couldn’t remember when or how the intimacy between
Spirit and I loosened up, but somehow the back friend
Intruded and before I knew it he had already dived deep
Into my heart’s soul
I swear if I knew how, I’d have struck the iron before it cooled…
But see the problem is I had already become one with babe, love and honey
And plus more spirits they’d married themselves to.
It’s funny how I thought it was a game;
We enjoying life, right it’s the way it’s fashioned;
Made for us to enjoy…for us…to enjoy.
But through enjoying this counterfeit of life, I missed
The first fundamental notion of the life of christianism.
Did you not know child, the laws of nature?
Like poles attract…
Spirit attracts spirit.
No no no you are wrong , let me break it down for you;
The theoretical abracadabra of the kingdom of darkness
Operates in deceit.
You have now given birth to legion,
The little biggest enemy of your father.
Did you not know you played the finest sensationalized tunes
To his ears and he danced whilst he enjoyed catching a sight of
Your spirit choke to death without you realizing?
I clucked around with my half dead spirit, trying to heed the
Little voice that kept on nagging me, “wake up”.
But I failed to array my conscious from the numbness of
Being gnawed by legion and trying to squeeze water out of a rock
Only to bruise and bleed.
Thought I was dreaming that I heard a voice affirm
I’d have to toil and moil all my days with no little peace,
Just waiting to get old and ugly and sour.
But see, oracularity of deity evoked.
He remade my heart anvil to sorrow.
He made me whole and we fell in love yet again.
He romanced me…he danced with me.
He did again…and again…and again.
He romanced me…he romanced me.