Tag Archives: BK TheRealist

She Remembers

She remembers how he
wrapped his arms around her young body
and said, “Daddy loves you”.
She hugged him back,
tighter than ever, smiling.
Just smiling.

She remembers him asking
in a slight whisper, “do you love me too?”
She replied, “Oh daddy, of course I do”

His arms were so big and strong,
she felt safe
like nothing could go wrong.
He kissed her forehead
and told her that she was his favourite daughter.
She giggled and replied, “but daddy, I’m your only daughter”
“That’s why you’re my favourite, now give daddy a kiss”.

She went to kiss his cheek,
but he turned and caught her on the lips.

She remembers how
he played with her hair
while sitting beside her on the bed.
He told the most beautiful stories she ever heard,
of princesses and fairies
and princes and knights.
As her eyes grew weary,
he’d kiss her goodnight.

She remembers him
being her rock through the years.
When the first boy broke her heart,
he was the one to wipe up her tears.
Even when she turned 16,
she was still daddy’s little girl.
Knowing deep down inside,
she was the centre of his little world.

She remembers not having much,
but what he could he gave her.
Though sometimes she was wrong,
she still would have his favour.

So daddy’s little girl grew up
and knew how a man should treat her.
She’d treat him like a king too,
he didn’t need to be beneath her.
Mom and dad were always equal,
so in practice is how they’d teach her.

by BK TheRealist

There’s A Silence

There’s a silence in the hood when the youth die
and no one knows how to react when our moms cry.
The pain in her heart is reflected in her stare,
she’s living through her worst nightmare.

We just try to let our words soothe her,
a comforting touch,
a shoulder for her tears is all we got,
though it isn’t much.

The father’s quiet,
staring into space.
He’s not used to showing emotion,
but it’s showing on his face.

What the fuck is he supposed to do?
HULK out?
Let the anger flow through him,
until he physically breaks down?
It’s weighing on him, heavily
and everyone says his baby’s new home is heavenly,
but how does he accept it?
What does he say to the woman who gave birth
to the blessing he should have protected?

There’s a silence in the hood when the youth die.
We used to live to survive; now we just get by.
Any day could be our last, and yet we still try.
Despite death, we celebrate life, with not a dry eye.

There’s a silence in the hood when the youth die, cause
when they’re silencing the youth then the hood dies.

by BK TheRealist

Don’t Honour Me

Don’t you honour me,
don’t you dare honour me.
Don’t you go and grant me anything I never earned.
See, I thought we’d be happy, that we’d be great.
Like when I saw you for the first time,
I thought my heart would escape.

I smiled with tears flowing, not knowing what to do next.
All I knew was that you signaled I’d been abundantly blessed.
I didn’t know how to react, I wasn’t ready for this.

No excuses, but you were the only good to came my way
If I could do it all again, I’d play my hand a different way.
I’d do it right within a heartbeat just so I could hear you say
those little words I knew you felt when you looked up to me, I pray
that in your heart you can forgive the man that I went and became.

Don’t honour me.
I was supposed to be your rock.
The foundation you were built upon, but
here you are standing tall.
You created your own solid ground.
You fell down and got up more times than I kept track of.
Inner strength and self will is something that you never lacked of.

No thanks to me though.
I cannot even claim that.

I cannot dare point at you and say I had a part in who you are.

You’ve healed what I’ve damaged.
You held up what I let down.
You broke the chain that you were bound in.
You became you despite of me being me.

by BK TheRealist

These wounds Can’t heal

This cotton wool and iodine can’t even clean these wounds.
Your debris, like glass shards still cut with every move.

How am I supposed to heal, when new bruises keep appearing?
The very thing that’s killing me is the one that I’ve been fearing.

I’ve applied so many bandages, that I’m almost mummified.
This enclosure that you’ve left me in has me completely terrified.

I can barely breathe and I swear that my pulse is racing.
This is, undoubtedly, the final moments that I am facing.

I’m pacing, I can’t stand to sit or stand in place and
Even as I place one foot ahead, I do so limping,
Feeling like a biscuit dipped in coffee hot as lava.
‘Cause your burns are third degree and it don’t help me calling mama.

So I’m snipping at this dressing, hoping to cover every cut.
But they’re deep and keep on splitting so they’re not even scabbing up.
You keep telling me to seek some help, that my wounds are self inflicted.
But how dare you be so nonchalant, when you’re the reason I’m afflicted.

These wounds can’t heal because your face is the knife and when that 6 inch blade penetrates my skin it goes through flesh, muscle and bone and finds its way home into the four corners of this blood pumping vessel.

These wounds can’t heal because your tongue is like a bat and every word you speak hits me so hard that I bruise from the inside out.

These wounds can’t heal because…
…I’m still breathing.

These wounds can’t heal because the only time I’ll stop bruising, bleeding, hurting is when I die and sometimes I want to die, but then I don’t want to because when I’m dead…

…when I’m dead I won’t see you.

by BK TheRealist

Not That Girl

You’re not that girl.
You know, the one I call up
just because something’s come up.
That girl.

The one that’s only good enough to sleep with,
but not to be with.
That girl.

The one I think about at 2am
when I’m bored and I just can’t seem to fall asleep.
That girl.

You’re way more than that.
You’re the one that’s on my mind when its 3pm,
I’ve got 3 reports to finish and my phone just won’t stop ringing.
That girl.

The one I want to see Monday through Sunday,
from sun up to when I lay my head down.
That girl.

The one I want to show off to the world,
coz let’s face it. YOU ARE MINE
That Girl.

See, if you’re good enough to be in my house, wrapped in my bed sheets,
cooking me food, acting all wifely
then I don’t see why the world can’t know you’re part of my life.

by BK TheRealist