So nawe ungathatheki, ungashayashayeki, ungabaliswa iMillion ngamasheleni
- Kwesta
This man gains social height at the expense of my depth
Trading my trust for a Jesus piece that turns neck green
With both feet on my stomach, the bile rises further still
With each misstep and falter, my disgust reflex on overtime
The respect that you pulled out of the mouths of other men
Is riddled with ulcers and stomach acids leaving it unleavened
Uneven, unsteady, and not to be relied on, can't be leaned on
When striving to see your image in the eyes of others has staled
And the inauthenticity of it has made its way to your marrow
Deep seated, unignorable, flattening like a 'stat' without an 'us'
Could you stop digging your bronze heels into my ribcage?
You've kicked the locks; the doors are asunder; a violation
The stone walls have gone up, and you are on the wrong side
Of the best love you've ever known, a medieval loneliness
I've cut my hair short, and I've cut ties and ties of souls
There is no longer a way for you to climb up, over and into
You are besieged by all these lowly men who now prop your esteem up
Who have also contaminated you with their picayune pedestrian ways
The cancer has spread, and you are no longer lofty, celestial and singular,
Your malignancy is a house divided from the outside in, a curtain torn
It's not like they even care about your well-being at a primordial level
Or care to know of how your life has been orchestrated by debilitating shame
A shame that you left at the foot of a bed in Linden and are now beyond
The method remains prosaic, to try destroying what you have accreted
And to drive a wedge between you and the object of their concupiscence
And the great Esau fell into step relinquishing a birthright for a meal
A birthright to be wanted and loved for who one unadulteratedly is
For a meal that gives rise to hunger pangs just a few hours later
I went to bed one day and you were a man, woke up the following morning to a Stan
