Hell, An Ex Girlfriend & An iphone – Part Two

Part One: A Short Story about hell, an ex girlfriend and an iphone

Part Two.

-“Hit you…? Is that what you told your posh friends from Wimbledon?? The scary black man hit me?” She stayed silent and still in her previous expression, like a frozen image on a computer screen. “Not gonna lie Clo, a part of me wishes I did, I’m not proud of my actions that day, but what you did was unforgivable.” Her lips moved into life.

-“And yet here you are, literally followin’ me into hell, just to talk to me. So you’ve forgiven me now then, yeah?” I took a second to think about that…I realised quickly that I had. Putting aside her petty, remorselessly devious behaviour that day, and the weeks building up to it, all the failings in our relationship that I attributed to her; emotional blackmail, reducing me to just the colour of my skin, and stifling important parts of my personality – to the point of subconscious resentment and loss of love (if I ever was in the first place), were failings I transferred onto myself. All in the form of, ‘I should of known better’. So, what am I still mad about? What do I want her to gain from this exchange of bitter words? In the end, nothing. I had forgiven her, but just not myself for starting a relationship in such a naïve way. I mean what 20-year-old becomes ‘official’ with a girl after one date?! And on top of that, does it for the sole purpose of getting over somebody else?? Then perpetuates that lack of foresight throughout with constant self-degenerative comprise. I was mad at myself for selecting someone so wrong for me in the first place, and since, have had a burning desire to maintain a friendship that would make that decision seem less disastrous. Let her go Alpha, whatever mental ailments she has, that make her carry an inexplicable hatred for 10 years are irrelevant to you now. Especially now that your dead. Don’t keep self harming into the afterlife.

A cold weight of regret lifted from me, like removing a jumper heavy from the winters rain. In my unburdened state, I walked into a warm house of feeling. In there I recalled the first time I saw her. I was late arriving at our usual Friday nightspot – Wetherspoons Fulham Broadway. On my way there, or perhaps while I was still at home, ironing my ‘going out’ T-shirt to the sound of Fergie, Fergalicious – Chris calls me, and tells me that there’s this girl here that is completely my type. He sounded so excited to show her to me, I still remember imagining him standing outside the entrance, shielding his ears from the music as he spoke into his phone. I didn’t go out as often as him so maybe he was trying to convince me to come…It worked, I came and when I arrived, I exchanged pleasantries with our friendly neighbourhood 7 foot bouncer. While scanning the venue for Chris, I immediately saw you, he didn’t even have to point you out. I saw what he meant in the brief seconds it took you to ‘drop it low’ and ‘work it’ in those baggy jeans and the white contour hugging vest top. Your face unremarkable, but your moves fire, other girls can move, but you were dropping b-boy level foot footwork too. Already the dance floor was succumbing to your groove – it was like watching myself from the outside in. You were the perfect blend of tomboyish style, and feminine wiles. I knew that I had to dance with you, all the guys watching you – scared of you, were brushed aside as I approached you, and with the confidence of knowing the desires of a dancer, I moved myself into your groove.

I truly lovely memory, but the smile on my face didn’t last too long. Like the rest of our relationship, the other side of this coin was blacked with dirt and rust. It dawned on me that this, in fact was the when you showed the first sign of your controlling nature. Even during your first dance with a complete stranger, you weren’t satisfied with the height at which he was grinding. So, instead of playing it off naturally or slowly trying to mutually adjust until perfectly synced like lock and key. I remember you literally slapping my thighs to get me to go lower, like I was non compliant cattle. A small thing in the light of everything else I know, but so is the tip of an iceberg that pokes out from the ocean. Anyway, it’s done.

-“Yes, I have forgiven you, because there was nothing to forgive. You’re you, and I’m me, and that always has been the truth of everything. I’m finally finished with your ghost.”

-“What the f*** are you talkin’ about?!” I didn’t even acknowledge her aggressive tone, I turned away and instinctively looked at my phone. A notification popped up saying ‘Days of future past cleared’ as I slide my thumb across my screen, I could still hear her shout shallow bitterness into the air; a broken record, the blunt instrument of a nihilist. She’s still trying to control my feelings.

“You’re nothin! When I met you, you were at uni, going places, now you’re unemployed!

“I have to pay your phone bills for you!”

“You used to be fitter!”

“You used to be faster!”
“Lance played better than you!”
“You’re not the best sex I’ve ever had anymore!”

As her voice faded away into the empty abyss of a soundless night, a phrase came to mind – ‘if a tree falls, and there’s no one around to hear it, does it make a sound?’ The room – her bedroom, disappeared, revealing the grey of hell, the daemon’s tail and George…(I think, my guardian angel), and his diamond dust smile. The sight of which, brings me further into the deeps of a peaceful ocean. But we’re not alone, I can’t forget the shark that lurks beneath – Nusodar. “Of the Regrets” George said, as the creature stood only meters away grimacing. I felt frost on my skin just looking at it, its skin was the texture of plucked goose-flesh. Its eyes; a washed black, pulsing red veins of one sleep deprived, and large puss coloured pupils. Nusodar appeared contagious… I shudder to think what level of sickness can affect even a being from this place?

Yet, somehow it had grown in stature since I last saw it, walking more upright, an element of freedom to it’s strides, imposing a terrifying weight onto the stone surface with each purposeful step. Could it be more alive now? Like a predator sensing proximity to its prey. “Alpha, what are you waiting for? Si tu attends trop longtempts, il va vraiment te bouffer? You don’t want that, he has horrible eating habits.”

-“I thought it was here to bring me to the town with the horrific screaming voices?” I said with a mischievous tone.

-“And who says it can’t eat you first…? They’re screaming for a reason Alpha” he replied with parental impatience. My little well dressed angel didn’t need to repeat himself. I took out my phone, unlocked it and selected the second box from within the app, all with the swiftness of a cowboys quick draw. Three choices appeared – Alpha, Beta or Gamma? Part of me was surprised to read those words, another deeper more insidious part, wasn’t. Without hesitation, I let the later select the next trial. A new door appeared before us, identical to the last in every way except one – the scorched words on its surface.

The Arc Is Lifespan.

Confined By ‘The Ends’- Dreams Dead.

Loose Arrow From Bow.

 

To be continued…

 

By Alpha Cauwenbergh


© Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh – Storyteller, Poet & Intern at Wordsmith Inc 2015. Unauthorised use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh – Storyteller, Poet & Intern at Wordsmith Inc with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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A poem about missing fathers

Strangely, this week I felt like delving once more into the old unaddressed sadness I have about my dad leaving us. So I’ve combined those feelings into this beautiful Frank Ocean song in my latest Poem2.

There will be tears2

 

There will be tears I’ve no doubt, there will be smiles, but a few.

A pain is coming from without, resenting a smile I maybe never knew.

 

And when those tears run out, we’ll be numb and blue.

As the desert becomes my heart, I’ll lay still until the dark of the moon.

 

I can’t be there with you…but I can dream, I still dream.

 

My granddaddy was a player, pretty boy in a pair of gators.

Like you, fair skinned –exotic to your own – refined in all his layers.

 

See I met him later on, I think it was 1991.

An impression left on me, like you – replaceable to no son.

 

 The only dad I’d ever known, but pretty soon he’d be gone (too).

The only one, and not one. On borrowed time for his love too?

 

Hide my face, can’t let them see me crying,

I shelter a fragile window from a cold wind trying.

 

‘Cause these boys didn’t have no father’s neither, and they weren’t crying.

What gives me the right? Is my pain worse? I still lay still – not writhing.

 

Will there be tears?

My friend said it wasn’t so bad, you can’t miss what you’ve never had, well I can, and I’m sad.

There will be tears.

 

‘I can’t be there’, that’s all you had to say to me was…

Life isn’t fair.

Why couldn’t you say to me, you won’t be there,

Gone with the pretense.

You could of warned me, you wouldn’t be here…right here.

What’s your name in past tense?

 

No, you wouldn’t be here for me.

 

Alpha Cauwenbergh < Frank Ocean

 

I would also like to add a link to a short autobiographical prose I wrote a few months ago on the same subject matter incase you haven’t read it. Something different – an autobiographical piece.


© Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh – Storyteller, Poet & Intern at Wordsmith Inc 2015. Unauthorised use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh – Storyteller, Poet & Intern at Wordsmith Inc with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

A Poem about catching ‘feelings’ in a club

This week, I’ve chosen to use one of my favourite Shakka songs from his Lost Boys EP – Poems about poems is where I’m at right now, and i’ve multiplied this song for your reading pleasure.

You don’t know what you do to me 2

 

Even in the dark, I can see you. – Lost in the spaces between stars, to be near you.

 

I see you staring at the part of the room that I’m standing in.

Your face, turned towards me – a narrow corner where a lost boy is sheltering.

 

Even in the dark, I can see you.

 

As if I’m doing magic tricks whilst you wonder how they’re happening.

Can you feel our future? Or does the eye that you use foresee a different understanding?

 

Even in the dark, I can see you.

 

Her eyes got me travelling, Cupids got a javelin.

I came when you called – his plans for us transcending.

 

Who’s that?

 

You don’t know what you do to me.

Understanding is astray, a lost child to me.

 

Who’s that?

 

I’m out of control…out of control around you.

Violence would be peace in comparison around you.

 

Pretty bad at one-liners but I’m damn good at shuffling.

You erase my mother tongue; I move my feet towards you – shuffling.

 

You don’t know what you do…

 

Trust, it’s better if we dance, if I talk I’ll be rambling.

Fear – together if I dance? I can’t decipher her, the words – they’re scrambling.

 

You don’t know what you do…

 

To me, I’m out of control around you…

 

Lost in the spaces between stars, to be near you.

 

Alpha Cauwenbergh < Shakka

 


© Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh – Storyteller, Poet & Intern at Wordsmith Inc 2015. Unauthorised use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh – Storyteller, Poet & Intern at Wordsmith Inc with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Haiku No.6

I feel this could be my best one to date. Especially in terms of complexity of meaning and richness of imagery. The thing I love most about the haiku as a poetic concept, is the challenge of saying almost a whole chapter’s worth in just three lines.

img_9359

A Poem About A Drake Song

For my second poem, i’ve decided to go in a drastically different direction, and use hip hop/Drake ‘n’ B as the square root. I will continue trying different formats, styles and rhyming schemes as I slowly get to grips with this new fascinating way to write poetry,

 

Come Thru2

 

We had the type of nights where morning comes too soon… and nothing was the same.

The proof of us was left in those dark embraces, where no light could separate, like we were the same.

 

Come through

 

Watch me, going out of the way when I should’ve went home, only time of the day I get to spend on my own.

Straying from the path well laid, forsaking the familiar, my senses betray the solitude not gained of its own.

 

Come through

 

We ain’t spoke in so long, probably put me in the past. I can still get you wet and I can still make you laugh.

Distant memories, do my lips move on mute? A background film from your past? Still I move you to lust, still I move you to laugh.

 

Come through

Girl you know we got thangs to do,

Come through

Love, no rest while work’s still to be done

Come through

Get your ass in the car and come through.

 

Why has it been so long?

Time, our extrapolated song.

Why has it been…?

When last did I dream…?

 

Come through

 

Who you been crying too?

The tears that I gave to you.

Who you been flying to?

Is that what I made you do?

 

Come through

 

Whose bed are you sleeping in?

Could another’s heart be sneaking in?

Someone’s been hiding you,

From the love that I lent to you.

 

Where have you been? You deserve rounds tonight, come through.

 

Alpha Cauwenbergh<Drake

 

For those interested in hearing the original song Drake – Come Thru


 © Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh – Storyteller, Poet & Intern at Wordsmith Inc 2015. Unauthorised use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh – Storyteller, Poet & Intern at Wordsmith Inc with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

A Poem About A Poem

I was planning on writing the third installment of my Deep With You sci-fi erotica this week. However, i felt completely unmotivated to do so, making the whole endeavour feel like work, and not an expression of the soul. So, with the help of my brother’s inspiring idea to write a poem about a song i like, the addictive internal buzz of creativity returned!

I present my first of many Poems about a poem, or Poems 2. I’ve never seen or read a poem like this (doesn’t mean it doesn’t already exist) so the format, rhyming scheme, content, and tone within a tone are a work in progress, and may differ dramatically in future poems 2. This piece is built from/within the song Dust by Frank Ocean off his mix tape Nostalgia, Ultra.

 

Dust 2

 

Who’s that talking in my lab baby…? Is that you?

A voice, the familiar but estranged – can it be you?

 

No, I won’t put you out, what would this place be without my muse? Nothing special.

 

Every book in here, I wrote.

 

An empty shell – hollowed out emotions can’t stain – the page is blank – with nothing special.

Every book in here, I wrote.

 

Some I’m not too proud of, some I wish I could burn – too many pages I wrote, wish I could revise them.

Life breathed through flames, and into the air my shame – rain pours from sky and face the same, wish I could confine them.

 

But there’s no erasing, and the best advice I got was keep writing, keep living, and keep loving.

Destiny – a woman, her hands – fate – will cradle your arm. With pen still wet, her support is felt behind – violinist and bow keep loving.

 

When the ink dries, and the pages turn to dust, so will we – turn to dust. So, will we turn to dust?

 

Dust

 

Who’s that laughing in my Lab baby? Is that you?

The smile of a thousand un-lived days, is that you?

 

No, I won’t put you out, what would this place be without your smile? Nothing special.

 

I fell in love with you girl…you let yourself inside, with no respect for privacy.

When alone the words do come, but sometimes, the barren waste of pain masquerades as privacy.

 

You said there’s too much on my mind, then you ripped out a page, and set that thing a blaze – I quit writing. I kept living. I kept loving.

The Haze appearing in this place, an atmosphere of dismay, but space cleared that away, I kept living and kept loving.

 

When the ink dries, and the pages turn to dust, so will we – turn to dust. So, will we turn to dust?

 

Dust

 

Alpha Cauwenbergh<Frank Ocean

 


© Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh – Storyteller, Poet & Intern at Wordsmith Inc 2015. Unauthorised use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh – Storyteller, Poet & Intern at Wordsmith Inc with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.