Black Nail Polish... Poem by Merlin Mwaura

I haven't lost it yet,
I bet...
Long time before that happens,
Because am still a garden,
who sows their seed.
so I'll keep it coming,
perennial as the grass,
that some smoke or chew on.
Last on every breath,
even as I bleed to death.

I know this nails which tear my flesh
which sever my feet,
get me on my knees,
leave a bloody trail,
make me write mail,
that's made my scent known,
so I can be hunt down,
by sniffing dogs.
But the black nail polish,
knows to scratch my back,
get my attention running,
with those cat like eyes,
which steal my soul,
bury it whole,
into her own.

The punching of keys,
to eddy words into meaning,
conjure mine with feeling,
until I dropp into little trickles,
of color,
like a magic trick,
Perform my illusion,
drown in my pen ink,
splatter the finger prints
of my art,
make this my personal matter,
concern you with wonder,
how is it life sounds so sweet?

Or is it because,
Am a poet,
or that I love art,
as if it were given birth,
by its mother,
her name is Beauty.
Or do I go round into a circle,
empty my foolishness,
and fill all splendor within,
attempt to last this smile,
who's been stimulated,
by the one am looking at.
The one tearing my flesh,
with black nail polish.