Stan

 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