heart.

seek.

seek within yourself 

and you shall find.  

so.

(so.)

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. 

intention.

as

soft

as 

they

come. 

be-ing.

how about
you
be
your fabulous
self,
love?

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. 

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. 

apart. together.

all that i are.

you are.

we are. 

right now.

- breathing / apart. together

an aftermath. an answer.

in this vast silence,

warm.

in this thick silence,

sure.

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.

hostage.

your words.

so riddled with half-truths

are corrupting the air.

crippling not just our bodies

but our entire existence.