home became too bright

born, breed and raised my home became too lucid. it used to be a place to come to, 

to get away from all the madness that surrounded us, a world to refuge from the world today.                                                                                                                     

my home became too bright.

all you could hear was the laughter, of boys and girls after school as they played, t

he sound of birds singing. now all you hear is construction, cars and dogs barking at prowlers.                                                                                                                 

as my home became deafening.

you could smell the choking fumes as our mine worked away, 

the smell of trees and the fresh smell of bread in the morning. a

ll you can smell now is the bitter stench of oils, smoke and sewage gone wrong.                                                                              

my home became too crowded.

you could feel the love of people crossing paths as they said hello, 

as every face looked familiar. the irritating feeling as eyes of prying people pierce your back.

 all that you feel now is rages and curses, resentment and hexes.                                                     

and my home became deadened.

all you could see was the love of people as they gathered at there own meeting places and shared stories. when all faces looked like a potential friend. all you see now are blood and wounds.                                                                                                  

my home became malignant.

some fled, some stayed, some died and some will come back.

 as my home becomes stiffened.

stars used to look like tiny moons with their white fires glistening from afar. 

you cannot see that now...                                                                                                    

Home became bright.                                                                          

Gino Obuseng

she waits: her vow of celibacy

she sits singing he own song, drumming with every step.

rubbing no spots, scratching no itches. she works, hard.

having rebuilt her dreams, chasing, reaching, awakening.

she strums on every string that could possibly give a sweet note.

her love of composition, sweet symphony of melody, overweighs at any time that of bittersweet attempts at penetration.

i've locked it up & threw away the key!

way inside you could never reach, solely, soully, slowly.

seconds before words. minutes staring. dwelling lips wondering, watching, waiting.

for days innocent, reason-less, relentless compensation. stroking for weeks. 

At weakness.

months & stars of wishing.

she waits patiently, unexacting. watching the heat of day turn in to the cool of night. for something that was beautiful. i let myself down, i got pulled into the common trap of believing my life was made up of obsessing with men.

she waits accepting this reaction as response to a wish of resolution.

my depth screams at me with closed lips, pulls at me, epitomizing my hypocrisy.  

when the karma of relationships is gone and only love remains. grace nestling around me. my intention is only of freedom from useless pain.

Gino Obuseng

parts of me

PT. 1

words, that hurt, words, provoke. insist. open flood gates and instill a weight, that seeps, dwells, sits & hide at the back of holding on tight to a nerve. ready to tug. but how do you put so much pain on paper. how does the ink dry, or the paper withstand the lead of this pencil when soaked right thru from the back & front of this book. with tears. tears that not only represent learning, but embody depth similar to oceans, rivers & lakes that separate us, even as we hold hands. PT.2 how do you say I'm sorry, again? forgive me just like before. run with me in this fearful existence. how do i whisper softly over this noise sensually, easily. in how many languages exactly could i tell you i've been thinking 'bout you? how with sentiments do i explain to you why i watch you sleep? i must admit, its not too much that i complain about, but too little.

Gino Obuseng

thinks & thoughts

The tragedies of my life have been of a personal and largely self created nature. I had a crisis of identity, but also had the resources, (artistically) with which to try to work it out.

 

Grateful to be free tonight from the depression that had been gnawing at me like a rat over the years, a depression that had chewed such perforations in my soul that I would not at one time been able to enjoy even such a lovely evening as this.

 

I have a history of making decisions very quickly about men. I have always fallen in love fast and without measuring risks. I have a tendency not only to see the best in everyone, but to assume that everyone is emotionally capable of reaching his highest potential. I have fallen in love more times than I care to count with the highest potential of a man rather than with the man himself, and then I have hung on to the relationship for a long time (sometimes far too long) waiting for him to ascend to his own greatness. Many times in romance I have been, (due to lack of another word) the ‘victim’ of my own optimism.

And many times have been a victim of my own pessimism. Not trying, waiting, and knowing what comes next. Knowing silence breaks the flow.

 

People universally tend to think that happiness is stroke of luck, something that will maybe descend upon you like fine weather if you are fortunate enough. Happiness is the consequence of personal effort. You fight for it, strive for it, insist upon it and sometimes travel around the world looking for it. You have to participate relentlessly in the manifestation of your own blessings.

 

I used to disappear into the person I love. I am their permeable membrane. If I love you, you can have everything; my time, devotion, ass and money. Everything! I will carry for you all your pain, assume for you all your debts, protect you from your insecurities, project upon you all sorts of good qualities that you have never actually cultivated in yourself and give you the sun and rain. All this and more until I get so exhausted and depleted that the only way to recover is to become infatuated with something else. Exhausted by the cumulative consequences of a (young) lifetime of hasty choices and chaotic passions, my body and spirit depleted. I felt like the soil on some desperate sharecroppers’ farm, sorely overworked and needing a fallow season. So I quit.

 

But you see letting go is a scary enterprise for those of us who believe that the world revolves only because it has a handle on the top of it which we personally turn, and that if we were to drop this handle for even a moment, well- that would be the end of the universe. Sit quietly and cease your relentless participation. Watch what happens. The birds do not crash dead out of the sky in mid flight. The trees do not wither and die and the rivers do not run red with blood. Life continues to go on. Why are we so sure that our micromanagement of every moment in this whole world is so essential? Why don’t we just let it be?

 

How many more types of people can one keep trying to love and continue to fail? Think of it this way – if you’d had 10 serious traffic accidents in a row, wouldn’t they eventually take your license away? Wouldn’t you kind of want them to?

 

People tend to think that a soul mate is your perfect fit and that that’s what everyone wants. But a true soul mate is a mirror, the person who shows you everything that’s holding you back, the person who brings you to your own attention so you can change your life. A true soul mate is probably the most important person you’ll ever meet because they tear down the walls and smack you awake. But to live with a soul mate forever… too painful. Soul mates come into your life just to reveal another layer of yourself to you and then they leave.

 

They touch a place in your heart deeper than you thought you were capable of reaching. But WAIT until you can see how much more deeply you can love, you have the capability of loving the whole world.

But because the world is so corrupted, misspoken, unstable, exaggerated and unfair. One usually trusts only what one can experience with one’s senses.

 

This life that you live “man” is the only life you know. In this moment, for every moment, and everything that you make is on you. Loneliness is a curse.

So learn your way around loneliness. Make a map of it. Sit with it.

WELCOME TO THE HUMAN EXPERIENCE!

Never again use another person’s body or emotions as a scratching post for your own unfulfilled yearnings.

And I’ll never forget once upon a time, in an unguarded moment, I recognized myself a friend.

 

 

 

But how can I accept that bliss when it comes with this dark underside-bone crushing isolation, corrosive insecurity, insidious resentment and, of course, the complete dismantling of self that inevitably occurs when ‘he’ ceases to giveth and commences to taketh away.

 

Gino Obuseng

everyone

Everyone’s war: to try to disentangle the built in glitches of the human condition, which I am going to try and over-simply define as the heartbreaking inability to sustain contentment. Different schools of thought over the centuries have found different explanations for man’s apparently inherently flawed state. Taoists call it imbalance, Buddhism calls it ignorance, Islam blames our misery on rebellion against God, and Judeo-Christians tradition attributes all our suffering to original sin. Freudians say that unhappiness is the inevitable result of the clash between our natural drives and civilization’s needs.

Some say, “Desire is the design flaw”.

The Yogis, say that human discontentment is a simple case of mistaken identity.

 

We are miserable because we think we are mere individuals, alone with our fears and flaws and resentments and mortality. We wrongly believe that our limited little egos constitute our whole entire nature. We have failed to recognize our deeper divine character. We don’t realize that, somewhere within us all, there does exist a supreme Self who is eternally at peace. That supreme Self is our true identity, universal and devine. Before you realize this truth, you will always be in despair.

 

“You bear God within you, poor wretch, and know it not”. Epictetus

 

It is the effort to experience one’s divinity personally and hold on to that experience forever. It’s about self mastery and the dedicated effort to haul your attention away from your endless brooding over the past and your nonstop worrying about the future so that you can seek, instead, a place of eternal presence from which you may regard yourself and your surroundings with poise. Only from that point of even-mindedness will the true nature of the world be revealed to you.

 

Human life is a very special opportunity, because only in a human form and only with a human mind can God-realization ever occur. The turnips, the bedbugs, the coral, they never get the chance to find out who they really are. But we do have that chance.

 

So, our whole business therefore in this life, is to restore to health the eye of the heart whereby God may be seen.

 

Live upon the earth, yet not on it, and be fortified without fortifications, and possessing nothing, yet having the richness of all men.

 

And in actuality we people are made up of the same stuff that stars are made of, so it’s only our nature to shine. Right?

Gino Obuseng

from women, for all

People r selfish n don’t care and believe that the grass is always greener on the other side that something bigger and better is always around the corner and ready to present itself. We are not kind for the most part, we’re not strong we are certainly not wise.

So we throw away the people who are most valuable to us. We waste them. What good friends we have right here, all for the notion of greener grass.

 

Always is the key to every woman’s heartbreak. “He’ll always love me, always be there.” But no we get fat; we get old and get traded in for newer models everyday. Truth is the only always there is and that never changes in my opinion are men’s whims and they are the most changeable of all. I don’t want to know that a guy is always going be there for me, coz then I’ll know he’s a fucking liar.

And then there are those gals who have sucked a million cocks but slept with 3 guys so they think they are holier than thou.

You want a real relationship, fine, be honest and if the person who you are in a relationship with doesn’t like it, then fuck him. And stop with that fake ass nice gal bullshit you try to sell guys on.

See things the way they are and not for what you want them to be.

 

Relationships, they all end and they almost always end badly.

Best case scenario in a relationship is that 1 of you dies. And that’s the best it ever gets.

And then there’s getting dumped, you get left behind feeling worthless, ugly, self conscious, useless and just out of control. I used to think that getting dumped was better than dumping someone else, and its worse! you have to deal with the fact that is was yr idea yr action, so u r constantly 2^nd guessing yourself; am I going to be alone for ever? Was he the best I was going to get? And that comes before you have to turn that person into someone you can hate so you can try and find a way to live with that decision. I’d rather get dumped than dump someone else.

Women can spend 6 months in a relationship trying to figure out how or why they are leaving it, men move and they do it fast. And spend years trying to get over it. Coz they usually don’t think about it.

 

We need to stop putting these niggas on a fucking pedestal they keep shitting on u from up there. I may bullshit men but I never bullshit myself.

 

Culturally as women we are conditioned to lie. You know how a man sleeps with 100 gals he’s a player/pimp and a woman sleeps with like 10 guys she’s a whore. How the hell does a woman not feel like she has to lie when she’s dealing with the pressure of that ridiculous double standard?

 

Is it justification? Or dealing with men’s infantile insecurities?

Is it better to tell a child about Santa clause if it makes him feel better about Christmas?

Is it better to lie about sleeping with the entire team of Zebras if it makes him feel better about marrying you?

 

11^th Man Theory: a lady sits at a bar with 10 men surrounding her, buying her drinks, lighting her cigarettes and paying her compliments. PAYING ATTENTION! Then the 11^th Man walks in says ‘hi, how are you doing?’ and turns to talk to his friends. In this theory, that is who the woman wants.

 

Women are more subtle, they circle always placing themselves in his physical proximity, closer and closer until he is forced to make him his move. Leaving him to think that he is the aggressor.

Women have to make everything seem like it was the guys’ idea.

 

I have feelings and that’s what I wrestle with. Everybody is so busy doing their dance in the in zone, they can’t read the score board and realize that they are down by nine points. And if it means so much to you, if closeness is what you want, don’t settle, grab her/him: so come here baby, let me teach, check this out… M.O.N.O.G.A.M.Y!

 

Walk behind me when I go up the stairs and in front me when I go down. Open my door not because I can’t but it’s your pleasure.

 

When is it better to love a man; when he’s in success, buys, brings and fly’s high?

When he’s down on his knees, has nothing and the world has whipped him so.

When you measure him, measure him right, but when you do don’t take in to account the hills and valleys he’s come through.

 

What happened to romance and intimacy? When did we become so desensitized?

 

Its not about the sex, anybody can have sex. It’s about the walk up the stairs.

You see it as I got to stay I look at it as I get to stay.

 

To die for a man is easy; it’s the living for him that’s hard

 

There’s a wolf inside of him scratching to get out, and he comes and play…just to rub up against it. Coz no woman can do or give that to you. Commitment is something that comes from within.

 

If he doesn’t know what kind of woman u are after so long then he doesn’t know you. Was I not a good woman? Cook, clean ass naked in heels, suck and fuck like a champ?

He’s nice, he’s sweet. What’s the use of comforting myself when I’m breaking my own heart? But God sometimes slams us against the wall to avoid a train wreck!

You only live once and if you make the most of it then once is only enough.

 

How come you don’t remember or have forgotten than the king is supposed to be with the queen. Not the court jester!?

 

“I love you”, either you say it too much or don’t mean it. But love is a one way street, coz it makes you feel good to give it. It’s like giving a Christmas gift, it makes you feel good and if you get one back, it’s a bonus. That scary feeling people usually tend to confuse with love is not it.

What so different about a man when they can say ‘I love you’?

What’s so different about me when I can say it?

‘I don’t need you here with me for me to keep loving you.’

 

Yes I am crazy, like it or not, a lot of people we all know are crazy. It’s the ones that don’t think they are crazy that we need to worry about.

Sued, screwed and tattooed and i’m still here.

Gino Obuseng

awake

I called for you,

Staring at me from across a packed, smoky room

Handed me my options.

I dance with it.

 

Setting aside all nervous jokes and cross cultural discomforts.

I must always remember what I replied that afternoon.

Hand in hands, grasping this bag of marbles.

A gift you have equipped me with for all eternity.

 

So, now I reach into and blindly grab on to just one, and roll with it…

 

I thank you a thousand times, just to warm up for the rest of the countless times I will feel indebted to you.

I meant it… you saved my life!

 

 

“She’s the dreamer standing at the corner right next to you

Dreams you can see

The past that carries you when the present is too scary to touch

She carries possibilities hard and heavy as the ball and chain that scrape her feet from the streets to the bedroom, kitchen to garden.

Limitless everything is not too much.”

 

Gino Obuseng

creative

Gino is the descendant of kings and when I write my ancestors get hype in their graves.

Let me sign my name in heavens to declare my creative independence.

My truth creates a stink in this perfect rosy world that we have been forced to believe in which we live.

 

I have found ways, words, mine, others borrowed and dreamt up.

Earth shocking, brain blocking, cock blocking. I have not enough ink in my pen.

I am grateful for my gift of words I have robbed from the world.

I am a giant, surrounded by ants who don’t know what I am talking about.

 

The world’s liberated women are not liberated at all.

We talk about it too much; we all have the same speech.

(Ladies show your faces coz I’ve already ripped off my mask!)

A woman’s hands are not to serve man. And make best.

They are to look graceful, be helpful, turn the world and carry the future.

(Pussy Niggas lift weights, I’m a woman I lift tons!)

 

Devotion, Sentimental, Conscious inquiry. These words.

Appreciation of this sweet pleasure has been the anchor of my humanity.

Conformed.

 

Gino Obuseng

her story

She stood absolutely still, trying to wean off this thought that had come not less than a thousand times in her head. The question she really didn’t believe but snuck up on her as this hunger did, she closed the fridge with a long sigh. The cold breeze reminding her slightly of places she missed and places she was grateful to be away from as she closed her eyes and let it sweep over her face.
She wonders a lot about the choices she made in men, in loves, great loves and lust. Was it all not meant for her? Was she not good enough? Thin enough? She thought and believed of her beauty, in and out. She had had motivators in her life that had molded her into a proud young woman, but the hard work she did herself, standing firm for what she believed in, trusting and loving those close to her. Or maybe she was too good??
She smiled and went on with her thoughts trying to retrace what had led her to this bitter point, had her shouting propaganda at folks’ cars as they honked jubilantly away in convoys. She’s mad. Not at the world but at herself, at her choices and at her surroundings for daring to give her such options in the first place. But she knows she’ll get over it soon, she’ll take a drag of that green and make it what it should be, when it hits her and try to make it last as she fights the urge to scream -sometimes to cry.
Love isn’t all she craves, though they come long, hard and makes her body shudder. She has dreams, dreams that reach beyond what she can see, dreams that capsize her mind, dreams she would die for. Dreams no one knows. Dreams that make her smile, warm and jolly. Dreams that sadden her, that beat her up and brings her down with feelings of futility. Seems all she wants does. So she smokes, she grasps on the little of inspiration as it comes and holds on for dear life, she smokes more and waits for it again. It tires her.
Love. As she craves it is of beauty, of truth and purity. It has never been of anything else as long as she remembers but now more defined; she knows what she wants and knows what she doesn’t. But love and she have never been on same sides. Her defense is vigilant, but this is a reflex of showing heart break. She dares not do that, worse than the tears, she must not show emotion where she can’t later take back or play off with a little bit of coyness. Truly. It takes her back to many times she was told -just like she had many times been told how she looked so unapproachable, and no idea why… -that she was perceived as a person who would "go" with the flow, and no idea WHY!
She had made it so like she had made many things in her life exactly the way they were.


Gino Obuseng

untitled

I wish I could see her,
Tell her is not her fault.
That she is not a failure.
That she unlike most of us was given that opportunity
To conceal her doubt.
But she wasn’t looking!
She didn’t pay attention to what she woke up screaming about,
When the baby woke up wailing.
A woman’s hands are not to serve man,
And make best, they are to look graceful, be helpful,
Turn the world and carry the future.
But it’s sad to say the world’s liberated women aren’t liberated at all,
We talk about it too much.
We have the same speech.
We are divided into 2… the takers and the tooken.
When is it better to love a man?
When he’s in success, buys, brings and flies high.
NO! When he’s down on his knees, has nothing
And the world has whipped him so.
When you measure him, measure him right,
But when you do,
Don’t take in account the hills and valleys he’s come through.
My finger is delegated to this pause button,
When I take a breathe, exhaling an idea
Quick, I try to breathe in this inspiration
I see as a foggy mist in front of my nose.

Gino Obuseng

depth

Where did the depth go?
Disappeared.
With the wind
Alone, sitting under the street light of the world.
Everyone is trying to get over, grasp a piece of a divine being.
I crave it everywhere, through this pen, my shaking hands.
My breathe cutting short.
My absolute nothingness on these blank pages,
I crave it under my skin, vibrating my ribs in their cages.
I crave it in my stomach, butterflies.
Grasping, reaching, and trying to find meaning in a man’s many lies.
Even in these steps that I take heaving in my knees
Looking straight ahead trying by all means to ignore the pleas.
I crave it deep, this depth, deep. I swear I think sometimes I crave it intangible between my legs.
Swallowing all my strength hanging me up helpless like pegs.
Where did the depth go?
Seems to be so many of the same sets of minds floating around.
I feel it. Alone standing under the street light of the earth,
Watching them chase materials and chase away.
Alone chasing dreams and life itself.
Over inspired breathing in pure poetry and exhaling nothing…
They get nothing.
I am a volcano, a giant
Surrounded by ants who don’t understand what I’m talking about.
The depth is around me, about me, even in the retail clothes I wear.
All the time.
Forgive me if I do act like I have diamonds at the top of my legs.
Liberated indeed I sit and think of what and how the new world has brought, I am thankful of the gift of word I have robbed from the world.
But I crave on, hang on… someone is out there, I have felt it, this depth
Before, I wouldn’t crave it so… and if it is not the same then I crave
more.
I can almost taste it with the tip of my tongue. Harder.
Deeper!
Where did all the deep people go?


Gino Obuseng

impressive, dear friend

The glitter, the records
The afros, the platforms, that we wore,
Performances, mic in hand, roars
Melody, in harmony, steps we took, stumbled upon
And tumbled down, we walked
My friend, its impressive how far we have come.
My inspiration is everywhere tangible or not
Vague or bold, moldable and brief,
Waters my eyes, almost uncomfortable. Silence.
The years have passed, we have grown
Dear friend, the impression I get of the world now has slightly shifted, the impression I see in your eyes, not pain, torture, but the toll in weight of the 10 or so sets of 24hours in the 365 days that have to pass with us, around us, at us and without some of us.
Oh my friend, I used to pray for miracles,
Used to pray to know how to pray,
Now I pray for consistence
For now, for change in same.
I pray for renewed faith, strength.
And if my prayers are exhausted, I’ll close my eyes, pray and wait for hope.
I will myself to cold, to feel no more
Willing t take a lose of all this capability of feeling so my heart wont have to take all its lost that I’ve grown to wear.
I ask you "friend", is it really temporary to you?
I appoint the people who hold positions in my life, near or far, distant or close.
I see you, closer than most, never where your soul wears your heart.
Maybe sometimes the problem is I just ‘see’ what you so feel, when I wish I were you juggling them, hand 2 hand, but all that for what?
If I don’t see you moved, entertained?
Coz you have your heart waiting for you at home.
All this for what? Not knowing the father of your baby…
That toes curling closeness for what?
That HI-VIRUS,
That yearning, pull to yourself in just this way,
The only way he can and wants to be with you.
Join them.
It is how I wanted it. How I took it and gave it.
Exactly the way my knees shook with need from the back.
My dear friend, maybe it’s our laughter that curse – of findings that confuse us these days or is it just me? Are we all meant to be friends?
As a friend I shouldn’t have laid up in your bed,
Shouldn’t have crossed that line or closed my eyes.As a friend I should tell you to calm down, treat your man with respect and your body with dignity.
As a friend I shouldn’t have lied to you, whispered behind your back and looked at your offspring with pity.
As a friend in need maybe we shouldnt have been friends, pretended, used so much energy in formalities. Or made up the rules as we went, triggered in bar brawls.
Could a friend have really done that to you?
Left you, tricked you, raped you and stole fro you?
Its impressive, dear friend how I call you a friend yet you stand undefined like no other, but dare I say you are the only one.
There are those, plenty, undefined even.
Different limits and boundaries, I call friends.
Dearest friends, impress me, for the immense trust I once gave to you has dissolved, gone. Like it was dreamt up.
I try to find it sometimes when we reminisce, feelings of nostalgia around us.
But that is all lost now. Distant.
Like those lost, stuck as memories in my soul forever.
Even those I can’t believe are gone.
Those I said goodbye to, those coffins, the body I came to know, that presented itself under the same roof, next door, you lay battered, bruised, broken on the side of the road.
Faith in the choice of friends, strength and belief you will always be ok, fine. Even as you lay now under, sleeping until the end of time. Just memory.
My friend, it matters to me not, the money you make, you don’t make. The jobs you lost and passed.
I care not for your procrastinations or awful habits life has acquired you. The insecurities, shadiness, lack of choices, clicking your high heels to manufactured options. We are exact opposites, 2 sides of the same coin, and 2 shades of the same color black.
They have the same lines, throw the same paper.
But you can ride shot gun, while I walk.
Rather do, and frequent fairy land on the occasion trip and buzz than fuss over that tainted lump of flesh hanging between their legs, brought in deception, screaming to penetrate my clarity.
My dear friend, I am tired, losing grip sometimes. The thoughts incoherent in my head. Your voice trails on, stuck as a record in the back of my mind,
But this is all for my benefit.
All for my world, for my eyes, for my impression.
A selfish act. Contagious to those impressive and dear friends.
IT’S NOT GOING AWAY!
In harmony, my friend, how far we’ve come.
Yours always, awakened. Impressed.
Your dear friend.



Gino Obuseng

read between these lines!

while i tell you a story how reality kicked my ass!
i was feeling very sure of myself
thought i had this shit on lock
like i could do it myself
but you see none of us do anything alone except die.
feeling that particulates of feeling honest was reward for perculiarness.
i have only had but 1 love and i lost her twice,
sharing is selfish caring,
ease of guilt, who the fuck made it look like it was a selfless act? ...and if its caring so much I'm not gonna be there to comfort my therapist when she wakes up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night shedding a tear for me!
notice the different standards of behaviour for himself than he has towards me.
now she cares, enough to know that she gets a pay cheque at the end of the month.
used to clown around, litter and conscious ease myself that I'm creating work for those its meant for....IRONY!!
but the universe tends to unfold itself as it should. sometimes Revelation, fun or scary....
but I'm paper, y'all recycle my ass 'til I'm papyrus!



Gino Obuseng

5sensed

i am moved
constant i smile at this new coat dawning on me
vibrating, electrifying my eyesight
my steadiness in my pupil is in triangle vision.
I'm seeing in 6's
this taste i hear is unveiling this red color i feel is condescending but not so much in age but ignorance
i smile at this white haired wrinkled bliss of a haven unaware, not introduced.

these cars line up stacked in perfect sequence, black to grey, brown to white.
the boards chipping away
liquid giving path.
it has become too mundane
too familiar, the surprise element is not weakened but awaited.
he who knows so much said, but maybe it should have been in point form. step by step.

I'm not thanking you,
I'm sharing
loving you is to be too simple
i can afford it, every adoration
your voice puts in my presence
i am marking in the skies as part of this natural existence.


Gino Obuseng

my patient, waiting

i miss you
you nag at me, with this force i don't understand when things are at a still.
you pull and jump at me when when my world is covered and glowing and is moving fast out my window, in silence
i think of only you, high above everything looking down, not at others, but counting each and every brick forming under our feet.
i cant wait to touch you, have you so deep in my soul
in my mind the memories are vague, but i know i could mould your naked body with my eyes closed.
though so much time has passed my voice has never escaped my mouth so loud as like i was with you. your light never filled my eyes, with you my toes never curled, maybe somewhere along the journey they did, but i could have sworn my legs were detached as we played.

i miss you, cant wait to see you.
i want every bit of you everywhere on me at the same time.



Gino Obuseng

020109

the moon called me back
with the setting sun,
the west in my wrong,
the ocean followed into its deep intensity of darkness.

the moon on this island has no friends,
for the lonely forget its comfort,
the tide pulls back so far.
a playground, nourishes of tax free debt.
paid when the sky dims and exerts in the air freedom in expression of the doubts that cling in my head.
the moon pulls me back, above, under people's skin as i try to soothe and correct the waves that arise in me.

Gino Obuseng