Monday, 21 August 2017

Of Inaction and Thirst

I long to write, about feeling, about living, about yearning, but I am stuck. I fail myself on the regular, unable to use the algorithms of language to translate the mish-mash of emotion twirling themselves around in my belly into anything comprehensible.  
I want to be able to use words to reach out, connect to, to touch others. I fail. Repeatedly. What is left is complex isolation and an inability to articulate even the most basic of needs: I am thirsty. I haven't had a drink of water that has nourished me in a long time. 
How do I get up to get the glass?

Sunday, 13 August 2017

Standing Naked (Ode to Lucille Clifton)

I stand
butt naked
in my house
(for my house
is the earth)

Tits raised
to the ceiling
(sky)

Aware that
they can see -

that they
pull their

eyes out (both in
awe of and in shock
at)

The site of a
brown woman
that is

un-ash
           amedly
her. self.

Three apexes
(one inverted -that
one at its own
APEX)

will turn them on
their head.

Turn them mad.

Tis 'bout time
 the tables turned.

Wednesday, 9 August 2017

The (Re)Birth of Desire

I remember 
a time
where 
touching 
them (men)

held all
its allure
in it being 
a forbidden
fruit

when it 
was the role
of all the 
women (in
me and 
before me)

to be seen
as coy, shy,
innocent.

I was not al-
lowed to feel
the vivacious
raw of my un-
becoming

lest it 
threaten
their ‘sanc-
tity’

Fuck 
(later I
will fuck)
    their
sanctity.

The only
sanctity
they hold

is the 
remnance 
of what 
they took
from me 
(all the 
me's)

when they
pillaged the
belly of the
holy 
mother.

Not
knowing 
that her 
Godliness
 is the tinder

that trans-
forms me
into a 
phoenix

that will
no longer
wait for
the feast
to be laid
out (and 
her name
called)

but will
just 
eat.


Sunday, 6 August 2017

Lover

Lover,
   through the
melancholy in
my eyes you
would think it
possible for me
   to forget

The sensation
  of your tongue
on the hair
at the juncture
of my arm (pit)

Or the feel of
  your alive
fingers taut
around my waist

Moving me,
moulding me,
 with
  sudden urgency
to accommodate
the song you sing.

No! The language
  you speak.

The
language I first
  thought
you spoke with
your tongue.

Then listened
closer and learnt
  that you spoke it
with your
   being.

You, lover -
   intuit, inscribe,
   know -
the ancient truths
of (my) body like
a pilgrim
     returning home.

Say, lover.
Are you not
 a lover, but
   a witch
                instead?


 


The babies that bleed from me

Little formed
limbs and hearts
the size of
jelly beans

begin to beat
inside my body,
longing to come
into existence

into a life, they
know was made
specially for them.

But.

I stop them in
their tracks.

I say:
This is not
a life that
you deserve.

One of hearts
split into a
thousand pieces
a million times
over. Inevitably.

The breaking in
of your skull
regularly because
the world tells
you that you can
not - ever - be
enough.

The hollowness
in you brain
awarded to you
by the lottery
of chemistry.

A life of
accidents
    and
chance.

No.

You don't
deserve this.

You deserve
so much more:

Eternity.

Tuesday, 1 August 2017

Sunshine

I lie bare
on my back
buttocks
kissing the
sand in
two separate
and sensual
places

My knees
spread open
just wide
enough to
let

the glory
of my
vulva

shine out
into
the world:
that shuns
it,
forbids it
de
    nies
its
   existence.

It glows,
gloriously,
as its
    fo-
        lds

yield to
the invisible
warmth and
caress of the
sun.

It comes
   alive
and all
of existence
  comes
to attention
at its
   center.

This
   is
where life
has always
    begun
and where
   pleasure
is eternal

like the
 dying of
the day

sun to
the
   holiest
of
   holies

is only a
promise of
 a new
  beginning.

Wednesday, 26 July 2017

Little Mirror II

It is not that if we are willing to give love unconditionally 
that we will be met with reciprocation 
by those whom we want to give unconditionally to.

It is that if we give unconditionally,
those who see themselves as worthy of their own grace
will open up to the gift of accepting the joy we want to give.