LSE for Gaza

I am lost in the trails of my
self indulgence.
meandering through darkened streets,
just so tears can dampen something different
today, let them beat the pavement instead
and mingle with the rain

my un-earned malaise is not as noticeable then.
and i can lean against lampposts and watch the pitter patter
of my past
slip and slide down cheeks and bounce of the curve of my chest
to connect with the ground. it accepts my pain when
others wont.

i'm not worried - my secrets are safe in a city of millions
not a single soul will notice the tears of
one little black girl
if she cries softly enough.
we're all too busy, buzzing, busing ourselves around
and shuffling past each others pain.

so, i can cry in peace
until
my wandering eyes and heart come across
vigils from people who still believe in things like
the masses
and the power of our message
and instead of tears, the're dripping pools of wax at the feet of
ivory towers -
LSE for gaza - counting bodies and raising fists.

so i pause. and stand
let myself feel what that 'feels' like,
passion. hope.
and for now at least, it feels like i'm crying about something real.
tears for a world
doomed to disaster
destined to demise

its almost the end of days they say...
and these disasters remind me it could be true.
i think we should be holding hands.
my eyes seek to connect with who i who i once was -
i am reaching out 
the cold is all that wraps round my fingers
working its way into spaces between bones.
and the empty space reminds me that i am still
a little black girl in a big city
where even in its practice of  humanness,
has forgotten our purpose.

a case of you

I can still remember
when your arms were branches
that rooted me to
places that i forgot
mattered.
                                            you rooted me to

my
matter -
pink and grey and green - colours of
                                     
                                            the earth and sky and all that lies in between.


is this what love is?
                                       
                                           do you still think of me?


It's sunday and i am lying in pools of my tears and
can recall when
                                         

                                            you were the gates to
such floods
of time
and
                                            truth and honesty.
                                         
honestly?

                                         i still fucking love you.

dreams of my father

Is it because
it's always 'you'?
there is something in a call
this time of night,
its muddled.
not quite right and reminiscent of
a heavy heaving white rum lined
breath
laughter and a smack "lookin' like you're getting fat"
strange ways of showing love.

and now some 30 summers have passed.
and heavy, heaving gin soaked kisses
leave me moist and anticipating
love?
i am recognising self in other - joy decomposes
into fear
am i recognising him in you?
the worst part is, he's within me too.
pause, please pause -
move no further.
I need to know
if is this is the actual reason why i
will 'bravely' defy all of logic's plans
and chart this route, to unveil to you
life and love and the liberty that comes,
from breathing in the good of this world?

because in the end, she never rescued him...

i am the same. 30 summers, not a thing has changed.
she is me
he is you.
making this something we definitely should not even
attempt to do.
right?
for at least, those 30 summers taught me one thing as truth:
one-sided love is not the kind of magic that can undo
broken men.

but if that's true, why, am i still here?
maybe, this time

it's just about
me and you
and shared miseries;
are the only kind of magic that matters
if it's the stuff that leads us to truth.

fat enlightenment

i have forgiven you.

i see that you are thick, with worry
worry is often soft in the middle - from the cupcakes.
i know they bring you such joy, that beautiful
escapism.
just enjoy the damn cake.

i forgive the roundess of your thighs
the pressing of strong calves into too tight jeans
i know that they do the work to help me reach those books
high beyond the reach of all 5'3 of me.
so perhaps it's an apporpriate price to pay
a brilliant mind earned in exchange for an ass that extends for 'days'.
besides,
sitting on bare bones hurt.

i have forgiven you.
you don't fit, and yet
you work.
you are soft, without weakness.
and warm.
because fat maintains body temperatures,
and means you wont freeze during winter storms.

i forgive you. you beautiful round thing.
so now, will you please, forgive me?
for all the work i did to change you?
when i ignored your magic
pumping you full of poisons and poitions
grinding you into oceans of
powders and protiens
to make you 'better'. thinner.
mostly,weaker.
whiter.

will you forgive the unkindess of my eyes
they couldn't see the beauty of rounded curves
and shapes that come from mother earth
you are the earth. brown and breathing.

will you forgive me?
i just... didn't know any better.

a reason for having children

"i spy with my little eye" - she says,
and i smile.
every day i spy something new,
when i play these games with you
through eyes that once were lost to me
cold and grey and hardened by
years of dreaming
and hours of praying
and millienia of loving - to no end.

but with you,
clouds are new.
buildings are mountains and bridges are
magic.

"i spy with my little eye"- she says
she's laughing and it's ringing like
churchbells on wedding days.
her hand is small, and warm and suddenly,
all the science
falls away, and only 'god' remains.

"i didn't even SEE that tree !"
god. i do love when we play
and your joy somehow sets
'me' free.

let me explain.

last night i dreamt that i woke up
covered in blood.
don't make that face - let me explain.

last night, i dreamt i woke up
covered, in blood.
the force of me was not - in me
now staining sheets, smeared across my walls
along my arms and
my favourite shirt - the one that belonged to the partner that never was
blue and stripey with the hairless doll pins on the pocket
was now purple.

purple is my favourite colour

and in my dream, i was awake
and searching for my fear - the fear that is supposed to come
when one wakes up covered
in life.
but then, i paused, i did the math.
and blood + heart some how summed up to love
and i began to rejoice-
like women of  yesterday who once taught daughters to dance
at the altars of life.

i began to make snow angels in me
rolled around in the liquid of my heart
lavished myself, in my self
i tasted like...gin.
for finally, it seemed
in this strange dream,
that i had learned how to love
me.

i had learned to bathe
in the love i willingly
bleed to others with no recourse
those who felt no remorse when i am dry
but it seems, not this time.

last night i dreamt that i woke up
covered in love.
i wish all dreams were so wonderful.

a loss for words

I am trying to write you.
words are eternal and i fear that your flesh,
which first taught me
the treasures of warmth and love,
does not hold the same magic.

And i need you.
so i am trying, to build you with turns of phrase,
that cannot be undone or erased
somehow trying to explain how sweetness bleeds
through all of you.

but i can't remember... how.

when i was young, i breathed you in, slow and deep,
so that i could always follow my nose to find my way home.
Vanilla and honey - dusty florals. The bottle was labelled 'beautiful,
And thus I and Estee Lauder named you so.
But there is something else that i have always known to be true:

that beauty lies in far fewer flowers,
and within the power of your simplicity.
And your shoulders, though they are so often squared straight
a careful glance will find that they are heavy with the weight
of decisions made for all, but self.

So I want to tell you that i saw it all.
use metaphors to prove
that nothing was invisible to me,
let personifications unpack
the multiplicities of  our family's mendacitities.
so you can be sure, that it was you that i drank in,
my glistening oasis in a desert of his untruths.

And as his words wrought lashes across your back,
I watched, and knew you would not break,
though venomous tongues coiled round your light
seeking to suffocate joy
with hate.

You looked at me, and smiled,
while forgiveness shined its halo round
your face and this, is how I learned to live
and laugh another day.

So now I am trying to write you,
as champion.
I seek alliterations that personify your grace
to make idols of your smile

But i find this language useless.
Perhaps I require words from another realm,
places we have yet to discover.
For now, I will simply call you love.
for now, I'll will just call you, mother.