LionHeart

LionHeart is a TEDx Speaker, Award Winning London Poet and International SpokenWord Performer. Author of upcoming poetry collection ‘The Mute’s Rebellion’, which excavates memories of social anxiety, selective mutism, emotional vulnerability and more. With recognition from the likes of Emeli Sande, Akala, Floacist (Floetry), The Voice and more, in addition to being commissioned by Lloyds, the BBC, the British Library for Shakespeare’s 400th birthday and leading pharmaceutical companies worldwide. Worked/Performed for The HipHop Shakespeare Company, Rapport Agency, Southbank Centre, Shoreditch House, Viacom, Capitol One Finance and more. Photo Cred: MervynShoots

Writing for those with walls for windows, these poems are a part of a forthcoming collection (The Mute’s Rebellion) which explores social anxiety, selective mutism and how the processing of memories alter our experiential inhabitance. Intrigued by the emotive and psychological relation between our interaction with ourselves & the world. The poet excavates experiences with family, race, vulnerability & emotional intelligence. Creating poetry the way architects create space, function before form, facilitating feelings. Both sheltered and exposed. @LionHeartfelt (All Social Media Platforms)

 

Jaws Clenched

 

ppppplook at us

tongue tight-fisted

thinking like unrequited lovers,

less is more; we keep telling ourselves less is more

 

our faces corroding hope into ruins

as you force the last hour

into a jar called

pppppyou’ll regret this.

 

You give me the lid

I tighten it; in a way

only I will be able to open.

 

Your glass eyes subjugate the night,

I’ve never seen tears so self-conscious.

 

Pride stalls me, as my eyes play limbo

with the floorboards

you      leave

 

opportunity follows, along

with my chance to try

to apologise.

 

Weeks pass by, masculinity in a straitjacket

can’t keep me from going around the bend,

unclenching my jaw

and tongue

 

ppppp“Should you care for a scrap of a man

pppppplease understand I live for your smile.

 

pppppIt’s ludicrous yet I seldom think

pppppmy lungs have pictures of you

ppppphung up on their insides,

pppppwhen I breathe I imagine the air

ppppphas eyes and forces me to hold my breath

pppppjust so it can see you more.

 

pppppYour voice makes it easier to start my day,

pppppif you were a dream, I’d wake up just to chase you.

 

pppppYou could be the reason I was on death’s door,

pppppwiping my last breath on the devil’s welcome mat

pppppand you’d still be my favourite weakness.

 

pppppI’m afraid,

pppppthat this is that four letter word,

 

pppppand it scares me.”

 

 

What ‘I’ve Been Hurt Before’ Really Means

 

  1. I’ve stopped flirting with fires, acceptance lost

pppplooking for light everywhere except inside.

 

  1. You remind me of a tunnel with height restrictions, a sign I should’ve seen before trying to take my expectations to a place you said this would lead.

 

  1. I don’t see light because I have eyes, I see light

ppppbecause like shame, it has eyes for me.

 

  1. I know where this leads; I have the scars, where all the absence failed to leave me alone. Faith dealer you said you’d stay, you grim reaper

ppppin church clothing, you promised me tomorrow.

 

  1. I’m not one to confuse blind adoration for sleep; eyes closing

ppppmay very well be God calling you home.

 

  1. Potential lovers look like graves with mirrors for tombstones,

ppppI see the death of me dressed in your shimmering tailored smile.

 

  1. I’m no longer trying to find the faith I’ve lost in people.

 

  1. They lied too, said I’m not like the last, said just be yourself, lighten up.

 

  1. A trick told looses itself. You said I could be myself.

ppppDon’t say things that sound like magic unravelling,

 

  1. Lighten up? I’m still

 

  1. People mistake broken for things they can mend.

 

  1. I’m a pre-emptive sceptic. So if there’s a part of you that thinks like God, tell him I’ve never seen the devil but I hear you used to be friends.

 

  1. You Déjà Vu at the dead-end of a tunnel, in light of death: promiscuous eyes for everyone. Don’t look at me that way.

 

  1. Don’t push me, I’m near the edge, looking up at the sun

ppppcraving a warmth that won’t send me back home, scorned.

 

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