it’s as though i forgot too soon. not forgot. forgotten would have meant having no memory of other lips on mine — their texture, their warmth, the breath i steal. it would have meant not knowing the sound of my name from a deep voice, whispered, murmured, caressed, because—simple because—the feelings cannot be helped. i… Continue reading i paint.
who is deserting?
i’m mesmerized by my own pain and it’s almost funny how the man i keep my eyes chained to, can marry, have children, build a life in front of me, and still leave me pining after the shadow he never offered. he only ever wanted the girl next door, untouched by struggle, and i could’ve… Continue reading who is deserting?
cowardly, i guess.
as it stands, my time spent on earth is riddled with cowardice. the lack thereof takes its little bites, but when i'm not lazy, i'd rather crawl back to my mama's house — the government house, yes. if i wasn't told to school, i wouldn't know how to write my name. tell me, what good… Continue reading cowardly, i guess.
pretty, once…
pretty things tell others to become pretty. and the world revolves around the loudest voice.how bad. tell me, where i should've inherited teaching my eyes to change colour. change… to say the things my mouth wouldn't say and keep those leaving my life.i'm a black woman. one afraid of her own shadow, and yet cannot… Continue reading pretty, once…
can’t silence what isn’t said
i'm embarrassed. they never told stories about the graveyard. the dead don’t either. if my heart follows that tradition, then i’m a girl coming of age, a maiden. who’s seen me naked? i didn’t die and become forgotten… the first, the second, the tenth—eventually, a husband who should’ve stayed. no, i’m pure.i’m owning this feminism.… Continue reading can’t silence what isn’t said
one day…
one day — two ordinary words, yet they’ve built a home inside my world. there was a one day when i was a little girl, when another child had a doll she refused to lend me. i thought, one day, my papa would take me to school in his brand-new car. one day, my mother… Continue reading one day…
to be told differently.
i'm not a beggar. i never wanted to beg, but my lover changed midway. suddenly, his days became things i had to chase just to know about. my voice—one that never went out naked—has now grown thick skinjust to survive the shame of going unanswered. this is from a man who, before, a moment after… Continue reading to be told differently.
the one left.
the many times i wanted stupid to leave me. my man left me. he can't be my man. so that man left me. but really, it isn't leaving, if the inside of his house never knew my touch. it's like, if i wanted to walk to town, and it's hot outside, but i want to… Continue reading the one left.
i should’ve had glitter.
selfish must have had a name in the past—the starving child, the struggling artist, the twenty-year-old curious about sex, or maybe just the world where people killed each other, calling god differently in their languages. this is the fault of the world. and still—I happen to think blue eyes are attractive, money keeps rewriting scripture,… Continue reading i should’ve had glitter.
bad romance.
lately, i’m in a bitter struggle with this future i want. it doesn’t want me on good days, teases me on bad days, but never lets me off the hook. a bad fate. it’s a cliché story. i was smart as a child, my brown eyes remembered by others. i lived an ordinary life —… Continue reading bad romance.
That Gut Wrenching Poetry 