Thembi's Pain (Edit) Poem by Zolani Nkomo

Why pour out the contents of my soul and compress them into undeserving words that suppress these contents

words that lack the capacity to express heartache and joy or peace and war? In Their True Sense, Purest form, my most raw norm
Couldn't possibly help the reader fathom these plights

I would rather fold the crisp corners of this unwritten note and tuck them into the abyss my heart has become. (I Had Tried To Withdraw Myself From These Outcomes)

For words are merely ink on disposable paper, for instance a spamdex of a papyrus script.
Without the ability to release empathy or true emotion.
(concealment)
When patterns of hatred are engraved on my neck, whilst resentment is stamped on my wrists and my arms; bare slashes of animosity.
Pain Reflected In The Tattoo
>Blood became bath water colourant
And bath shampoo<

Words are on paper that cannot see the insides of my palms, riddled with scars of spite in a clenched fist. Swollen fingers can't hold the ball of anger any longer, pain the tragedy.
If I Hold On Any Longer.. Implode, internal bleeding, a death from the inside and I lose every shell casing of a real me.

I spread them out in admiration like beautiful henna. My anxiety simply refuses to rely solely on bursts of inspiration or ransom to epiphanies. I refuse to nurture such a taunting talent. I refuse to unleash the power of a pen that can reveal the darkness which resides within those we place on pedestals.

Why utilise my pen to map out light's humble abode and all that is good when my efforts appear unnoticed in this sombre world? I would rather let my words wilt away like a sun dried, withered and worn out prune.