What'supReaders?

Photo by  Lisa Herbert You can't burn bridges then ask me to find my way back. Like where all good things come from; Twitter, I read that you cannot heal in the same environment you got sick . Never appreciated the value of that simple statement  until I woke up choking , in absolute seething anger , at family mostly .Because although I have mastered the 'outside people' , here I am , the 'outside people' to my inside people . And there is nothing I could do . My mum said never to use the word "hate" . It's ugly and cheap and so absolute . So here is my unlearned lesson; that loyalty must be given to family . No ! Loyalty , respect and all that is wanted must be given to those that earned it . 

Painting by Lucy Harding I'm so mad at myself  That despite the foul stench of decay  That I'm emanating I'll still choose you  My murderer  Without thinking  From a heart not beating  Because of you  I'll still choose you Death over life Without you  Over me My lover. In death.  You.

Conscience: A place where guilt goes to die,  Guilt : A final resting place of shame , Shame: The resurrection place of ambition, Ambition: The dying place of morals,  Morals: The incarceration place of innovation,  Innovation : The side effect of growth , Growth : The incubation of faith,  Faith : The fool's capital,  Capital: conscience final resting place. 

/ ʃeɪm / Cambridge: If something is  described  as a shame, it is  disappointing  or not  satisfactory; an  uncomfortable   feeling  of  guilt  or of being  ashamed  because         of  your  own or someone else's  bad   behaviour;   loss  of  honour  and  respect; to make someone or something  seem  not good by  comparison. I like shame. It keeps everything together.  To locate shame ,  you have to look underneath your ribs where your heart lies.  Here lies my shame  My people love to tell a story;  of morality,  of culture,  of values; additives to my inherited shame.  My shame in being a woman, afforded to me by my birth.  shame on my growth ,  the shame on my liberation from my psychological bondage.  my cradle to the world.  ...

"Argue with yourself and win"

You have died  Without your soul Ever- leaving your body .                           -me too 

I stood on the queue  in the bank impatiently but almost immediate had to take several steps back .  Body odour. Something so despised but probably the biggest indicator of socio-economic status. The man in front of me was radiating a head smashing odour. There were two others in front of him, they probably stank too...who knows? This was overwhelming. But immediately I regretted moving away , because a closer look at them and I saw life . Their skin dark and burnt by this ungodly sun, yellow-y eyes , bald. All three of them as if they had planned it . Their clothes shabby . And it dawned on me . This is the look of honest men , who had actually  earned their living . Literally depositing their daily sweat as investment for tomorrow's bread . Not like me, with my crisp notes in a neat white envelope in my fancy bag. Money I hadn't sweat for . Probably more than they earned in a month . That's my weekly stipend . There , for the first time I smelt my dis...

Love me now , Before I realise my worth                      -a short tragedy 

Short , like our trust I can't even find comfort In the wriggly mind of a poet.  A lost lifeline Reducing the seductive embrace of words To a few miserly tidings, Aphorisms.  Promisingly put in the middle of a blank page Disappointing like phantom lover Haste. Noisy. Missing. Giving me no solace or thought Meaningless , like the love we hoped  Only a poet could cure. 

I'm absolutely mortified every time I hear someone talk about some faction of Dark skinned Africans using the word "black" . A while back I was trying to explain to a friend of mine , a French girl why I didn't care so much so about racism or that I couldn't really identify with the Black Feminist Thought by Patricia Hill . Here is why:   Black people do not exist in Africa . Yes, I mean it. Black people are a product of slave trade and only exist under that title in racially segregated societies such as the Americas and Europe. When you set your foot in any African airport , the dark skinned individuals before you are AFRICANS.  These Africans while we share a part of our history without stolen brethrens across the ocean; our realities are very much different . Take for example , while the tragedy of our story lies in colonisation , our struggle is for unity , development and building ourselves up to identify with our culture .  Black people...

Beneath this skin,  Under these bones Is my body  My home .  If you do not worship me, If your words do not exalt my heart .  You shall leave it untouched, unaroused  My heart safe In my homebody . 

The hardest headlines for me to read ;  Rape, not death.  Because in its non-absoluteness ,  Rape let's the dead walk amongst us.  A monster of desire.  The dead telling tales.