In my mental

Stressed, suicidal, depressed.You need it — all under one roof — we got it

Supermarket like Nakumatt. 
I’ve been down the road,

Over the bridge,

Down the way and I heard ’em say,

Nothing’s ever promised tomorrow today
I love her 😍,

Rockstar,

But I’m not, really,

You see me trapping because I’m trapped,

You feel me hurting,

No?

Thanks for the like instead of the telephone call,

Thanks for sharing it all 🙏🏾

I was out and with nothing to nurse my fall,

I could only end up in a crawl,

And after all-owing,

I had nothing left when I got something. 

Nothing left and you still thought we had something?

I cried about you and lied we were good 😊,

I don’t want to be rude but it’s fucked how you’re the dude,

I’m in my feelings all the time and that’s not you,

Which is probably why I love yours so much so,

It comes from a place of unfamiliarity and uncertainty,

But it’s as genuine as your smile when you’re at the marina with the roomie. 

I love you. You are as free and liberating as this free writing. 
In all the darkness I thought only of you. 

Remember when I said it in that hotel in Dar,

Telling you (in brief) long tales of how far,

We came and hurt we became and I could only in those times think of your name. 

And still you play the game,

Because really you know your emotions you intentionally tame,

Really you know you love and have a heart but want to tell me you’re hard. 
But I’ll deal 😷 

I came prepared, mask on,

I’m here for the long haul,

Let’s play ball 🏀 

I love you and I’m unafraid to say it

If I died right then (remember then and THEN), I’d be okay with it. 

There, I said it. 
Yours in perpetuity,

Whether you choose to see me and be with it is up to thee,
Evans Mbora Campbell 

PS: Just Me

I Feel Selfish

I want to keep hearing from you,
But it would appear that I am but another voice in the cacophony of your mind,
I’m trying hard to reside in your memory, but my pitch is the lowest and I’m standing outside,
I want to know if there is something I did or said — or failed to — that has me in the red,
But part of me knows that this knowledge would be futile and I probably need you out of my head.

 
I need to ignore the fact that you’ve read,
seen, gleaned from and even replied to some of my last texts…
I need to stop staring at your picture before bed,
I need to stop thinking that you and I are somehow connected,
I need to cut off the hand that has profusely bled in a bid to see my imagination of you fed,
I need, but I do not heed,
I bleed, but I do not heal,
I want, but I cannot have,
I chase, but I cannot grab,
You’re here and you’re in a dark space yourself,
I’m right by your side but between us is a gulf so wide, it’s felt.

 

 

If anything I could say could ease your pain I would whisper it in the night and shout it by day,
But I am in a state of feeling disdained, probably just wrong for all the right people and lost in many a way,
I want to say goodnight to my chest as if it is there that you lay,
But I hold my breath not for the chance that in my life you shall stay,
This and many wishes remain a horse that long went astray,
And I a beggar that cannot ride it away.

 

Sometimes I fucking hate this life,
Sometimes I just want to find a semblance of peace in light of all this strife,
Sometimes… just sometimes, I know it was good I put down that knife,
But right now, I just wish I could step out of the limelight,
And into your timeline,
That you may see me as the flaw that need you might,
And hear me at the door as your guardian by night.

 

Yours in unresolved states of mind

Evans Mbora Campbell.
The Selfish Slight

Last Seen Pt.2

I’m so anxious I can’t even get attacks,
I’m so conscious of the fact that I’m yet to hear back,
I hate that this inbox count reflects a lack…
of your input, that one source I seem heavily reliant upon,
But that evades me like a distracted, dog-seeking bone.

I want to know that we’re okay,
I wish I could just breeze by each day,
Not thinking about whether there is a reason for this delay,
And not wondering if you’re sorry for it; on that album I press play,
I want to think that you definitely care, you asked me not too far away to stray,
So I’ll be here, whenever you’re back and ready to be as open as I felt you were that Sunday.

It’s 3:00AM,
I’m stuck saying things like “Damn”,
Because it may seem late but my brain is in its own frame,
The saxophone in this Rhythm Section is not one to tame,
I have lost myself in it, like they say with the sauce and the fame,
and now I imagine how you would too, if you were in this adjacent couch lane,
It’s 3:10AM now, something has to give and in to sleep I shall,
Goodnight charmer of my mental,
You touched parts of me buried in dust and locked away in a vault of denial,
I meditate to gravitate towards a state more sane,
But I’m not sure I can levitate to a place I don’t want you in

Oh well,
I’ll just look out for your last seen,

Evans Mbora Campbell
That’s Just My Thing.

Sole Proprietor of your Ghost Kiss

I could never condone wanting to own your aura,
You come so correct, clean and radiant in your mile-wide smile; smell like flora,
Every minute spent around you is asphyxiating yet liberating; I’m caught up in the sweetness of horror,
You can’t say you don’t notice that I wish I could be your only Co-Mbora!

 

But alas I’m a man troubled, broken and often dishonoured,
I have seen too many a day when my passions led me astray and ora-d,
Since I’m good to the point of being bad for souls lost like Dora’s,
We may just be better off apart than together, forget a kindergarten chorus.

 

You don’t know that you came, saw and conquered,
Or you think you do but are unaware the version I told you was down, watered,
You stole a fragment of me hidden from view by unabated ignorance,
And I’m not sure I want it back much as it pains me to see it in your hands.

 

Yours, maybe someday I can’t yet see,

Evans Mbora Campbell
Sole Proprietor of your Ghost Kiss

From the Negative Side

My problem is that I like and like that become consumed; go down without a fight. I want to cry and lie beside you at night and watch as the sun disappears in a dance of light beams — twilight. In my dreams I see you touch me in my sleep as if you want to keep me there so you can always have me in a moment when I’m at peace. You whisper with your kiss and through even the gentle kicks of your feet when you sleep, I see the fire of feistiness with which I fell so hard and fast for.

You don’t know this yet but I bet I could tell you of each and every instant when the sun cast its light on that one spot on your neck that I loved to peck. Yes! I stare so much at you that I know how such a detail of inconsequence about mere unification and separation of flesh is important.

I can explain in vivid detail the rough number of breaths you take in an average minute. When you shake your head I can tell when you really mean the No or if it’s a poorly-hidden, unworded Yes. I know you because I fell into a crevice that is deeper than the crease that parts your breasts. I feel you because you are the best that I will forever regret; too good for a man far from comparative — infinitive or less.

You know that time we spoke for hours about your dreams? Of the future you foresaw for you and me? I died more and more inside as your eyes flickered with so many lanterns of functions we could attend side-by-side. I died because I knew that hope lies. I died because maybe I would leave you that night, or, as I have now, left you for not being right.

I feel so inadequate that I wish I could live celibate in a god-forsaken place worthy of such an apostate. I wish I could tear out this heart of an ingrate I have allowed to sit in me and brood to no chick-ly avail. Or maybe I just wish your existence wasn’t so phony and I so lonely, hey!

Signed,
From the Negative Side,

Evans Campbell.
Minus the Bride

Missed Connections

Watches…
Human beings, like expensive watches, come with their complications
Yours was that you belong to another,
Mine was that I belonged to no other
And so came the many intriguing, all-consuming situations.

We’re comfortable in our own skin when no one watches,
We’re even more at ease when everyone is around, blending in with intimacy that has no sound;
I love your hair and you’re amused by mine,
But I think what warms me up the most is the fact that I can (and can’t) say I am thine

Time is not for us to define,
But alas it has the power to shape everything we have before us,
I would love to see where this goes down the line,
So I stay, because even for the future unknown, I shan’t let this moment pass.

We met at my hour of no need,
And when I was least prone to greed,
Now I struggle but fervently heed,
my own call to stay calm in the face of your being so sweet

Just as in shallow waters one cannot row,
So can you not see the side of me I do not show,
And though you may never know how deep the rabbit hole goes,
I am beginning to understand that from it — for you — a river of love flows.

Yours on the next flight potentially,

Evans Mbora Campbell.
Flight BRBX0X0

The Ar(nxious)tist

It is in the midst of the populace,
Where others find solace in bitter rhetoric about football victories pyrrhic,
That I find myself perturbed, lost and out of place.

 

There is a depth to which these links do not sink,
Parts to which these sails never steer our collective ship,
So much I hear that I need not keep,
And many a time I prefer to disappear into my ink.

Banter is splendid but how often do we pander just to matter,
When of fact is the blatant mismatch of our current rant:
criticising those we only see from in front of screens in scripted scenes,
whining endlessly about media-proclaimed demi-gods that are simply human beings,
losing our tempers in defence of the seen unseen,
Always forgetting to question what it all really means.

 

I read an article today about artists suffering,
from more than just the whims of life and a fiat system that overrules bartering,
They hurt in the worst way — from within,
They endure and — more often than we know — succumb to grave, lonely pain,
But we are quick to trash their efforts or shower them with overwhelming praise,
Quicker still to exacerbate the anxieties they face by giving them surveilled days,
So relentless in our pursuit of even a sliver of their acknowledgment we are,
That we forget at our core we are nothing but par.

 

Next time you see one at a bar,
Sitting alone smoking a cigarette and not the illusory cigar,
Don’t question why they aren’t doing something more baller,
Ask yourself why you thought that first,
Then proceed to wonder and hopefully ask how they genuinely are.

 

Yours in anxiety,

Evans Mbora Campbell.
An Ar(nxious)tist.

 

Serial Feeler

I fall in hard and I fall so deep,
But it is precisely these states I find so hard to keep,
I’m slow to hate, but love quick,
And in between an indifference sticks.

I am but me, burnt to a crisp and tender to the touch,
I laugh, sing, mimic and blush,
My actions lead to choices hard and people sad, which is never fun: I crush,
And it’s often just a question of “How long will this lust last?”

In the throes of our gasps and stimulated pants, we never stop to think of that,
We never quite question the possibility of it all going flat,
But reality is brutal in its push for truth; down the idols of your dreams shall crash!
And in those moments you lose the rush,
You know what’s next but it hurts so much,
And as such, you struggle to be honest with the broken trust,
You fight the light that exposes your weakness so stark: caught mid-thrust.

But the real problem you have — what keeps you up at night and such,
Is your inability to be anything other than who you are,
And the fact that you fight it so hard.

You are but Yours,
In perpetuity,

Evans Mbora Campbell
The Serial Feeler

You’re Different, Aren’t You?

“Dear lover,

If you ever do show up, I hope you won’t have felt shown up,
I’m an intense chap and that has left some inclined to up
and leave me be; this deep, pithy stem
from which glowing warmth flows in their unequally invested direction

But, but you’re different, aren’t you?
I know you see me for more than my absurdly powerful, vulnerable affection,
You feel me for all the times I can respond to your calls without the parting of your lips in my name’s mention,
You see me for all the times our eyes meet when you cry and I present you with a semblance of redemption,
You taste me for all the times I recall your favourite soda, that zesty brand of Fanta — Passion.
And I’m sure you smell me for all the times I help you redecorate the house and work up some afrodisiac jasho 

 

You’re different, aren’t you?
We aren’t just laughing mirthlessly for oxymoronic value?
Because if we are, I’d like to confess that I meant that hearty laugh that made my jaw crack,
I couldn’t fake that time when I said I fell into your trap, it was so bad I ripped a hole in my sole and that hoodie you got me from GAP,
That I was beyond help and wanted to be yours forever, even though I was holding back, remains a fact.

I hoped in you, but I guess this life is sometimes up, you know, fucked.”

 

You led yourself to believe that they’re different, but is anyone really?
We all have a sob and I-was-robbed story, don’t we?
You place so much value on a person’s shoulders because you want them to be the one,
Not like in the mythos, but because they represent the change you believe you need to see,
Even if you wait forever in the cold pits of your soul,
they may never see you quiver or realise you’re alone.

But visions involving pedestals so high were always built to fall like the pride dreamily invested in those on which they stood,
And as rude as I may seem, you are owed nothing for all the times up, you were stood — stooge,
The inevitability of your predicament of a state was all there, in the pudding,
You tried to have and eat it too and reassuring as I wish I could be to you, what with walls crashing and bells tolling
I can’t save you from yourself if you won’t see the urgency of stopping the destruction to self you are doling.

 

Into the depths of this belief in the existence of equal malevolence in women as the benevolence in men you must journey,
For no amount of time or money can help you achieve the necessary equanimity,
Only a cultivated change in your take on this humanity and a different perspective on romance and its family, question them for their vanity!
You need to extricate yourself from the clutches of your self-deprecating depravity,
Because “It’s not you, it’s me and I’m you“; because this world plays us one tune and we all dance to it eternally.

 

Yours in perpetuity,

Evans Mbora Campbell
Your Different Similarity

 

In this reality

I once thought of those I glanced towards as gods, their love was always so pure and mine always seemed odd,
Year in, year out they would stay within an embrace and persist not without the other; pea pod,
But over time I came to realise that our eyes glorify matters we can’t synthesise precisely,
And we exalt those who we think are free of fault;
but the truth is we all struggle and fumble, it should never be unsightly.

I love you for all the times you hate me too, and that is all  that we should stand for in this reality.

 

Yours in perpetuity,

Evans Mbora Campbell.