She  
by
She was a strong,
                        black,
                        loveless woman.
                        She said,
                        "He doesn't love   me no more.
                        He doesn't hold me down or beat me against the  concrete floor,   doesn't hit me with concrete thoughts as he slams the  bedroom door.
                        He   doesn't deliver fists as gifts that fit  my tits nor feeds the kids with love   from lips, nor takes my hints not  to brake my ribs, he's got skills but kills my   emotions when he  breathes from gills, HE doesn't love me no more."
She was the type who bragged to friends
                          about his jealousy, his   strength and the power in his hands.
                          Yet the same hands transformed into   fists,  fists that tore her body into bits, bits that disfigured her body    kits.
                          His hands transformed into fists that beat, bruised, abused and used   her face as a comfort zone.
                          His hands... landed on her ribcage,
                          but she   wasn't on the same page.
                          So his rage landed on her ribcage,
                          told her her   friends, "This is love,"
                          but her friends weren't on the same page.
                          "Dump   the bastard he's got rage,
                          like an animal he belongs inside of a   cage."
                          "No, no, no," she said.
                          "He's my man and...
                          without him I'd go   mad and..
                          he didn't get love from an early age."
                          Her excuses made him and   exclusive  explosive in her existence, but her persistence will ensure that woman    like her face exstinction.
You see, if beating a woman was a test,
                          this man had passed it   with distinction.
Every night neighbors had front row seats, if they missed it   today, tomorrow the movie repeats.
                          This piece depicts,
                          how on a daily   basis a womans life depletes, how the cycle of her life becomes complete.
A society where woman believed a knife should be used for cutting, buttering and terminating unborn life.
I prayed that this type of woman would never be my wife, but had Eve aborted...
maybe, just maybe,
the Cain's in us wouldn't have survived.
He doesn't love her no more...
Finding out more about the poet was a little bit of a challenge, but I am a bit of a bloodhound and too stubborn to give up easily, so here goes :
Kunalati Matthew Mokoena was born and raised in the East rand & relocated from Tembisa to Spruitview in the late 80's. He attended Germiston High where he ultimately fell in love with Word. He completed his B-Tech in Finance and Accounting at T.U.T. where he was a member of the T.U.T Drama Society from 2004-2006. He has performed at many events, including the NASDEV cultural festival held in conjunction with Macufe and
A co-founder and former member of a band/a group/a movement known as

Matthew is currently involved with
 www.spokenmind.net "...is a home for the unique minds of  poets, graphic artists, musicians and cinematographers.Through the  special strategic collaborations and partnerships it has formed with  other sharp role players, the Spoken Mind is also determined, through  social responsibility projects, to change the lives of the millions of  citizens of our beautiful country."      “Our word, your word, changing lives for the good.”
"I am by the Word, for the Word, In the Name of the Word."




