Welcome to my Poetry and writing blog, I am glad you stopped by:)
I do Poetry and pieces of writing, just for fun and self-growth.
I write for existence, just like breathing.
"Creativity is the engine on my quill"
I hope you'll enjoy my writing :) Checkout more of my work on instagram; @Drew_Poetry.
Thanks for stopping by:)
"A CHILD OF THE WEST"
As a kid, I never picked my nose. Instead, I picked on other kids. When I grew up, I found it hard to move my lips for an apology but much easier to pull a trigger. I am a child of the West, where both sides have brown grass with scorpions in them. Where men and women get drunk on venom and make a toast to every fallen soul. The only time we talk to our brothers is when we argue and fight, and the only time we come together is when a soul has perished.
The walls of my house are decorated with guns. That is the only art I know of. I am afraid of the dark. There are snakes nesting in the four corners of my room. That is not a brow!It is a centipede on my forehead. And oh, look! There is a spider crawling out of my ear!
I want it too, a piece of what you can give; love, but it is poisonous. It will poison my broken hateful heart. You want to make me whole but I feel complete as I am. I am a child of the West. Please, don't love me!
He knocked on the door, but unlike usual, there was no response. No eager answer served on hugs and kisses that night like it has always been on all previous nights. He knocked again, "Honey, I'm home." Once again, there was no response, but the noise of crickets in the flower garden and distant conversations on the television from inside the house. He slowly grabbed the door knob, his heart racing and thumping like Zulu drums, and turned it. His head was a nest of questions, concerns and worries. He stealthily charged in and dropped his laptop bag and roses that he'd bought for her, on the sofa. "Honey..." He mildly and softly called out once more, checking the kitchen. Onions burnt coal black, smoking and sizzling on a pan, on the cooker, was the sight his worried eyes got served to. He turned the cooker off and hurried upstairs in panic, breathing like a bull in rage, shouting, "Honey! Are you home? Where are you at?" He certainly knew somethin…
"My bones ache from your touch. My goosebumps rise to worship your fingertips. They ripen from the warmth in your palms. You free the caged breaths from my lungs with your whispers. I can tell how much your nostrils love feasting on the smell of my trachea and that of my saliva. I grow submissive to my own moans. I am a slave to my own feelings and emotions. You are the god that created them. I am drowning in a lake of love and romance and I don't need you to save me. I need you to drown me deeper and help me die, for I want my soul to leave my body into to yours. I want to share the same body with you and live in your body tonight. I want my soul to rest in your peace." She whispered gasping, choking to saliva. "Erotic Confessions"Drew Poetry~Andy Mwalasha
A picture in my hands, slightly over twodecades old. A baby tightly calm, in arms, my eyes grow wet and cold. A tear splashes, onto a fold,on the picture's surface,onto my tiny infant face. Taken few minutes after birth, I have always been told. With my innocent eyes closed, a tight grip on my fist hold.If I could ever have back,that moment in the picture,I would try, not to cry. I would smile back at you, mother, and high-five you, father. You rocked me on your laps,when I couldn't shut my lips.I cried all night, you never slept. You always stood by me, and never left.Behind these grown irises of mine, you will always, forever, remain, the people who make me happy.Always, My Mummy and My Daddy. "Mummy & Daddy" Drew Poetry ~Andy Mwalasha