sometimes.

so.

(so.)

#blackgirlmagic

borne 

of 

magic.  

the narrative.

to be anger

bound

to be

unsettled

home

to feel

conditionally free

to live

(maybe)

to want.

(wanted)

and to stay wanting.

- the black narrative.

(even in 2015)

resurrection.

some nights

i catch myself

breathing

which often leads to elementary questions 

like 

who put this air into my lungs 

turned me into this brazen beast of breath

theres magic going on 

in our chests 

a magic so 

unrelenting 

unresting

yet at times 

i still forget to breathe

unselfishly

but wholly

how we forget

this forgetting

so easy to slip into

so comfortable 

this second skin to turn into a home

this air

this breath 

is not ours alone. 

(each time

we resurrect.)

- resurrection.

all of it and all of us.

 a collective. 

becoming. 

- one. 

trust'ing.

when your destiny is being whispered

into your ears 

by the winds

listen.

and trust.

and believe. 

intention.

as

soft

as 

they

come. 

magic.

the humanity.

as my 

humanity 

is poetry 

so is 

my poetry humanity. 

- sentence. circle.  square. cycle. 

(shape-shifting) 

introductions.

getting 

to 

know 

you.  

- introductions.  

be-ing.

how about
you
be
your fabulous
self,
love?

show and tell.

the language 

of becoming.  

you.

you. 

melanin.

this

skin

is handcrafted home

to sound spirit

to vessel of Universe, 

the Gracious Gods...

o' sweet melanin.

- the brown.

sugar.

that which 

is always 

was always,

yours.

boldly

claiming you.

(you belong 

where your heart is honey.)

dislocated.

be love.

we've got nothing to lose,

but have everything to gain. 

enough.

you alone

are enough.

bloom.

dancing in the wind.

seeds 

scattered

on a placcid concrete. 

who knew ? 

who knew ? 

that we too

would bloom. 

hiding.

hide

and seek.

reveal.

conceal.

the curtained. 

as we were...

- hiding. 

water.

1.

2.

3.

remember,

you cannot hold on to water. 

infant understanding.

baby steps. 

wide eyed.

lullaby.

woke up to a silver spoon in your  mouth.

abstract surrounds 

give form to your voice

cradling each coo.

a cradle to each tear.

lies.

formless. unfamiliar. foreign.

Picasso things.

unpunctuated questions

unpunctuated sentence

questions in every sentence

every sentence a question

who was the first man on the moon ?

is God black ?

is God black ?

acknowledgement.

when eyes 

were the order of the day. 

bees.

...all of this, honey.

apart. together.

all that i are.

you are.

we are. 

right now.

- breathing / apart. together

unhear.

I.

an aftermath. an answer.

in this vast silence,

warm.

in this thick silence,

sure.

temporary displacement.

transitory.

peanut brittle.

as these gluten-ised nuts now

crackle under the pressure of my full mouth of man teeth,

something 

creeps into the deep

reaches slightly into my memory heap

settles.

there in second grade

you see my teacher had coaxed me, unbeknown to herself,

(maybe the little Dexter in me too)

into the heart of our kitchen.

there I am hauling out my favourite grubby old saucepan

sprinkling into it the sugary curiosity of a mere 8 years of breath

and then neglecting it, 

hastily, just like I had come

expectant.

I ran out of the kitchen to go do something

I cannot tell you now as I cannot even recall

probably going to nurse my impatience with something that would not have me wait so long

going to be the amateur that I was

(wet eyes and wet tongue meet the Sahara)

child,

and as it would go I nearly burnt down our house

I can laugh at it this now

how time makes a fool of age.

selective senses.

a sensual kind of education.

welcome home.

It’s only been a few days but already my vacation so far consists of deliberate early mornings scanning through murky pages of a certain Chinua Achebe or a Kathryn Stockett novel that at some parts causes my chocolate brown skin to prickle. Intervals are short trips into the town being chauffeured around by my grandmother in her favourite white van, both, beaming with age. More often than not, she’s shouting. As a result of an act of disobedience of some sort on my behalf. Sometimes I just stare at her blankly with so many words like daggers swinging her way in my head, but I make sure I keep them tucked safely inside me. I think to myself- she won’t be around forever and surely I’ll miss even the shriller versions of her voice one day. How could I forget the intensified Marlboro cravings? My bratty little sisters aren’t little witches after all. They are blooming into young girls. This makes me smile. I think of our mother. My fears, hopes and dreams… On my music playlist: Jimmy Dludlu, Saint Heron, Lianne La Havas, James Blake, FKA Twigs and John Mayer are relentless. The constant feels. Hunger also seems to be trending, out here trying to become the next best thing in my life since skinny jeans. Chewing, digestion, anything to do with the act of eating in fact makes me anxious now. I’m getting so comfortable with being showered with compliments to my figure that is much skinnier than it used to be. I feel so much lighter. Pun intended. I’ve been spending hours in bed. My room. 

It’s the small things… I am content. I am home.

the forgiven./ weapons of mass destruction

just as you would have it 

that I remember you as the forgivable.

when your name was charleston. 

tearing down church walls. 

I will think of you, 

lightly.

oh, the darkness that is I.

a lesson in patience.

At a certain time and at a certain place you begin to understand. Those thickset  knots start coming undone with age, the ice starts to melt away and it is as if your being is borne into a light and a lightness that it had not known before.

This is the work of time and experience manouvring themselves and wounding events in a way that shapes what some might be inclined to call fate or destiny. Some may refer to it as purpose. How you define it, what you call it are not the matter at hand but rather matters of how this coming of age can be such a beautiful thing. Invigorating. How understanding is so liberating. Enlightening.

These should not be rushed.
Know that everything that is meant to be, happens just at the right time.

 - a lesson in patience.  

the longing.

sharp,

from the edges of my heart.

how big, how blue, how beautiful.

high tide. 

life jackets.

when words were our refuge. 

white.

They

All seem prettier, brighter,

softer, newer, better…

Apart together,

together apart

We the coy,

the ugly

keeping to ourselves

New

but old

Unused

but stale

“ Mushroom ” territory

Dying to experience,

to be bewildered and engulfed by our being.

Only ever useful when pushed aside,

crumpled,

wasted,

misused,

abused,

disposed of…

We are never deserving

Never worthy of any existence

Even when it is being confined in four corners of dark and immobility

Never worthy enough of any sweet, 

nothing

that comes our way

Wrapped in words that that could build castles that slight winds could crumble

And if we ever do believe we’d only be as foolish as the fool that those words did mumble

Only Chance and Fate are obligated to us

Delusions. 

Our sterile grandeur deems us weak,

where we believe we are strong

Seething through transparently,

Apparently never seen,

or heard

All we’ll ever be is white wax crayon,

Rejected,

Wishing we could bleed a new colour onto the page. 

hostage.

your words.

so riddled with half-truths

are corrupting the air.

crippling not just our bodies

but our entire existence.

lies.

don't slip.

energy.