When I was a child

When was a child I imagined that somehow all my issues would automatically be solved and dealt with as soon as I grew up. I imagined that being a grown up would automatically dissolve all my crazy tortured thoughts. I would know what to do, how to feel - how to be normal. Now, by normal I don't mean boring - I mean sane. I would stop having suicidal thoughts, my brain would work correctly and I would somehow create a filing system in my mind. All would be catalogued and packed neatly away. I would automatically know what to do with my life...

Surprise surprise, what a fucking wake up call!! I am almost thirty years old and I feel more confused then ever. My mind is still in disarray. The only difference is that now I don't have grown-ups to help keep me on some sort of path. Now I'm just blindly stumbling through some jungle in 'god knows where' country. I have no idea where I am, where I'm going or even on what freaking planet I'm on!! Am I the only person who gets completely lost in her own mind? I'm not talking the romantic notion of getting lost in your own mind. Like some fairy-tale where you're liberated by your own imagination. I'm talking lost - as in I don't know where the fuck I am. This is not a fairy-tale of liberation - oh' no, it is an obstacle course that leads to nowhere.

Does salvation come? Is she on her way? I have to believe that she is - otherwise I have nothing else to believe in. I do believe in God. I believe in him as I believe in daylight, but as with night that comes with day, so satan comes with God. If you believe in God you also believe in the existence of the devil. If you don't you cannot say that you truly believe. Thus... salvation.

Tussen Mure

Tussen Mure

Elke boompie het 'n gat,
Sluit my toe tussen mure wat ek verdien,
Saggies, mooi en opgevoed,
Vuil gesiggie klaar gewas, het ek gesien

Dis winter in my heiligdom,
Koue klooster, huil huil sag,
Glo is leeg - ek leef vermom
Vat my terug, leer my lag

Sluit my toe waar daar vensters is,
Ken my toe wat ek verdien,
Lei my heen waar genade rus,
Vergewe my wat my oe wou sien

Still in Afrikaans

Sulke Mense

Voel-voel skuifel jy deur die gange van die lewe,
Soek maniere om te leef en te vergewe,
Jy wat loop deur die wereld so onaangeraak,
Geweef in woorde wat sondaars maak,

Donker oe vertel van verlate lugkastele,
Lewe van gebroke jare met vermisde dele,
Uitgesny en agtergelaat deur familie was jou wense,
Opgesluit en grootgemaak tussen mense-gemaakte grense.

Elk van ons meet die binneste op n ander skaal,
Al is die hart geklee - die siel bly kaal,
Hardloop tog die padjie uitgetrap vir jou,
Slegs op voorgeksrewe drome mag jy 'n toekoms bou

Sluk die gees van jou hart se moed,
Maak droog die water wat gedagtes voed,
Leer slegs die wysheid wat ek s^e is genoeg,
Smoor daai gees - jy maak die wereld moeg

Ouers stel hul kinders voor aan Afrikaner lief en leed,
Tyd bring vrede wat harte laat vergeet,
Vroe passie wat hulle as mislukking merk,
Wilde passie - verban deur volk en kerk.

Thoughts in Afrikaans

Vyfde Wiel

Die lewe klink romanties - trust my dit is nie,
Ek is die woorde in jou verlede,
Soos muure is jy al om my,
Ek kan my nie vergewe

Moenie weg gaan nie,
Ek wil jou vra om te bly,
Dit wat nooit begin het nie,
Is tussen ons ook nou verby

Jou skaamte dra nie meer die gesig van n kind,
Skuld gevoelens is ou vriende van my,
Tussen dogter se twyfel word pa gevind,
Jy is die skaduwee wat by my bly

Te jonk om rerig jou as siel te begryp,
Dalk besef en weer vergeet,
Vrou wat haar aan drank vergryp,
Jy wat my teen perfeksie meet

Ek n sondaar - my pa se kind,
Wil he jy moet my siel verstaan,
Het gesoek- maar nooit gevind,
Iets wat in jou plek kon staan.

I can still dream

If I asked you then, would you have known;
About a place,
That I would find,
Roam around, and call my home?

If I called, would God have came?
I miss you now,
It's lonely now,
In this empty room, engulfed by shame.

Your lyrics spoke of a world that you would one day own,
Yet estranged from hope,
You stay there still,
Healing wounds your past have grown

There is an existence that you were suppose to be a part of,
Time is playing out,
Behind you,
A whole life that you are missing out of.

I can dream all I want; for I have time,
Carried on my hands,
I have time,
Enough to conquer this and still be fine.

If I write down all the words that wrote my history,
Would I then,
Once more believe,
In a fleeting dream named destiny?

Feeling less than intelligent

I googled myself.  Okey I know - the epiphany of self-love.I must say I was quite surprised to actually find myself. I am on the world wide web.
Strange though. I mean it is strange what people will see when they look at it. This screen supposedly describing me. Its flat. It's just words and a picture. No matter how technology advances it will never be able to capture who we really are.

Bowled me over - did this pharaoh's wind
I ran within, in hand with mist.
I seek your eyes- those lips I've kissed.

Thorns of truth grow here abound
A naked earth, boundaries rule within.
Sun scorched soul- drenched in sin.

They call you hope, I call you foul
A dreamers desert tool the thoughts I had,
Now swept and smothered - crushed beneath a grain of sand.

Motionless I stand here still
My feet so raw, my legs but clay
Lost it here, yet I'm still here - till this day

Waiting I guess, for that angel of mine
All, yes all of me, I heard them say
Every tortured soul has the power to call it's judgement day

Why do I feel so stupid when I write poetry? I use to love it as a child. I still do, but I somehow feel judged. Do all people perceive artists as weak, or is it just me?
Can I not be a writer because I'm scared of how I'll end up? In my mind there is an image of a shaken woman with wild eyes. A caged creature that cannot leave even though the door is open.

Old is sometimes better

Many of my peers do not understand why a 28 year old of this day and age would still read Shakespeare. My friends see it as outdated. No longer relevant in a world so far advanced from the age of the original satirist. Yet when emotion takes hold of me, and I have no other choice but to feel (as us humans always do) there is only one man that can touch my heart in such a way.

A couple of days ago I got angry (why is irrelevant). Not angry as in "Oh, I'm angry" - angry as in "I am gonna whoop some motherfucker and put a cap in his ass!!". I'm currently catching up with Richard the 3rd and as I was seething, I came across this:

"Urge neither charity or shame to me;
Uncharitably with me have you dealt,
And shamefully my hopes by you butchered.
My charity is outrage, life my shame,
And in that shame still live my sorrow's rage"

I mean COME ON!! Give me one present day writer that can match that!! I sometimes think because people don't really know Shakespeare they assume all he writes about is love. Love is the least of it. Yes, it is there - as it is in life, but that is not why I read Shakespeare. I read Shakespeare because he wrote about life. About feelings.

The heroes in his plays and poems had faults. They had flaws. They got angry and messed up. They had to face up and apologize, and were forgiven. Imagine Mr. Bourne of the 'Bourne' franchise as a real person and the whole plot falls apart. What if he missed that crucial shot? Crashed a car during a high speed chase? Or, god forbid actually had to use the bathroom during the 7 hour shoot-out he's having with 5plus armed men outside his girlfriend's (that he just met) brothers house?!

OK, Shakespeare didn't write about bathroom breaks either, but my point is I want to read about real people. Yes I want heroes and villains and fairy-tales and all that- but what makes a story great is the fact that a hero can still be a hero despite human error.