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.

en-lighten-ment.

may your light shine the brightest.

always.