Lemon

His love was as sweet as lemon,

the fights we had were ripe with grief,

the kisses we shared always left some bitter taste in my mouth.

But even lemons taste okay with a pinch of salt.
And if his love was like lemon I was ready to be his salt.

A lemon ft my hand.

You Are A Woman, How Dare You?

You are a girl so
you must sit with your legs closed.
We do not want little boys to
go peering down your skirt
You are a girl so come inside
the house and watch your mother cook.
Watch how she scrubs off the
regrets off her gas stove.
Watch her morning and night,
how she washes off the
lies and secrets from her hair.
Watch how she carefully
fold her palms, day and night,
praying against the ghosts of everyone else’s past.

You are a woman so you must sit
but not for too long.
Your man will get hungry if you do.
He will need to be fed 3 times a day;
your body, your food and your soul.
You may talk but never about
being tired, being used or being free.
Don’t you know?
You were created only to be used
and discarded by men.

You are a woman so you should
Always make sure the man feels loved.
Feed him your life until you stop breathing.
Always praise his successes and never yours.
Gently stroke his ego until he forgets his failures.
Wrap yours up and hold them till your hands tremble.

Don’t you know you are a woman?
How dare you dream beyond men and babies?
How dare you dream of exploring?
Of endless possibilities and alternate universes?
How dare you breathe too loudly?
How dare you walk for too long?
How dare you work for too long?
How dare you put yourself before others?
Don’t you know you came to serve?
Just like your mother and her ancestors.

How dare you come back home liberated?
Have you forgotten the way to the kitchen?
Where are the keys we gave to you?
How dare you use them to unlock other doors?
Doors bigger than the ones we showed you.
How dare you?

Trash, waste, dirt and bin.

The first time I took out the bin 
I let out a soothing sigh.
It was like thousands of poking needles 
were pulled out of my flesh all at once.
I tried to cry but bled then I healed.

The first time I took out the trash 
I realised that saying his name would change.
I never really could trust something about him -
it was the way he walked.
The way he puffed out his chest,
Like a peacock with his eyes 
searching for approval. 
The way his laugh echoed in a crowded room.
The way he constantly needed to be fed.
Attention, food, and my body.

The first time I took out the trash, 
I could lick the floor I walked on.
I took every step with uncertainty.
I did not know where I was going 
but I knew where I wanted to be.

I knew what I wanted.
I knew how I should be treated.
I retreated from every empty promises.
I walked away from conversations that failed to nourish my soul.

The first time I took out the waste I felt free.
I climbed to the top of the landfill and looked around me.
I saw parts of me that I had discarded
While scrounging for some soul.

An Unnamed Poem

Our love is like a ripe tide 
-a result of two currents 
meeting at the surface,
trying to find a balance.

It knows no pretence, hence 
In the midst of aversion it 
rocks the bottoms of boats 
With doubts Unknown.

Our love is not like roses.
It oozes of warm bodies 
in rooms with no windows.
Of sweaty palms and 
packed theatre halls.

Our love is like an anxious baby 
learning to walk.
It is also like an old couple
dancing by the seaside
Struggling to remember 
their first dance. 

Our love does not escape 
in times of misery.
It lurks in the corner of our lips, 
Quivering then biting away our fears.

Our love is not candle light dinners
Or two lovers holding hands in the sunset.
It is two children standing in a sandstorm,
With their eyes closed 
wrapping themselves into each other.

Our love is like old paintings 
Hanged in a hallway no one 
dares to walk through.

BREATHE

Breathe love, breathe

It will not be easy,

there will be days when

every tick of the clock 

will remind you of your failures

you will walk up mountains
despite doubting your ability to climb 
but at the top lays your essence of being 

nights when you press your face into your pillow 

crying away your frustrations into oblivion

there will be mornings when you wake up 

but will struggle to get up 

because your body has been paralysed with anxiety
 you will try to sleep off

disappointment and the anger

there will be afternoons when it seems 

like everyone in the world is against you

when they ask are you alright?

and you struggle to find the word yes

when all the nos accumulate 

and leave a bitter taste in your mouth

there will be seasons when men pour buckets of water 
to quench the fire in your belly

when old flames reignite

after you crawled through flames to put them out
  when ghosts of lovers past

haunt the castle you are building for yourself

when your insecurities hunt you down 
with pitch forks and torch lights -

looking to set your happiness on fire

But there will be a day when the storm will come
you will refuse to bury your head in the cloud 

like an eagle, you will dust off your heavy wings 
and fly to greater heights 
so breathe love, breathe

10 Things Mama Never Told Me.

1 -  Mama never told me to fall for a 6 foot plus with beautiful brown skin, with a wavering heart and a trim "too damn loud".

2 -  Mama never told me that I would fall for the depth in his voice, the twinkle in his smile and the sadness in his eyes.

3 - Mama never told me about the joy I would get from loving my own. That it would be like 
getting a bag to pack in my insecurities, fears and doubts.

4 - Mama never told me about the drugs in the sheets and the dealer with his hands in between my thighs.

5 -  Mama never told me how a man once made her feel the night he forced his stick into her hole.

6 -  Mama never told me how she pinched, scratched and bit because her first time was against her will. That it would be 19 years again, before she would be bold enough to talk about her first time.

7 -  Mama never told me that my first time would hurt as much as it did. That it would be only worth doing with someone who respects and deserves my soul.

8 - Mama never told me how deep issues of the flesh really are.

9 - Mama never told me to close my eyes, take a deep breathe, hold tight and get ready for the ride.

10 - Mama never told me that the first time after my Apple has been bitten by a slithering snake, my eyes will be opened to a whole new world.

An Open Letter.

To all black boys.

Firstly, I am sorry.

I am sorry for opening my mouth in a room filled with your charismatic energy and saying "I don't like black boys because they just don't get me". 

I am sorry after looking at the glow in your eyes, the sharpness in your fades, the sparkle in your smiles, the different hues & shades in the room yet still opening my mouth to say "plus they are mostly liars and heartbreakers". (While the last one may resonate to many many girls, it is also a-actually most species of the male gender will lie to you and cheat on you at any chance they get because fuck monogamy- right?). Now that that is out of the way....let us continue.

Dear black boys, When your mamma or pappa keeps pushing you to go to higher education it is not because your name is one of the many things that they wish to add to their list of accomplishments.

Nor is it because they just love making life decisions for you. It is because they know that in a world constantly portraying black men as thieves, murderers and deadbeats. Just by punching in their stereotypes on their bourgeoisie' keyboards; an educated black man is like a weapon of destruction to their oppression and marginalisation, slowly disintegrating their racism one book at a time.

Dear black boys.When you tell your dark skinned girlfriend with her 4c natural hair that she should get it relaxed, just shh, please don't. Or when you tell your black girlfriend with relaxed hair that you hate her hair braided or you hate her weave and that she looks better with her relaxed hair or whatever your preferred option may be..our ancestors are rolling in their graves. Why? Because son whatever the black girl chooses to do with her hair is none of your damn business. Just because you share the same skin colour as her does not give you the right to dictate her hairstyle which by the way is already difficult to choose, thanks to patriarchal white supremacy and their-standard-of-beauty. Whenever you say this to a black girl, you are not just telling her "your opinion". What she hears is that whatever she does, she will not be good enough.

Dear black boys,(the ones who say they "don't date black girls because blah blah blah.."). You all need to apologise.I would say I understand why you "don't date black girls" but no. I do not.

Here is a list of reasons on why you need to apologise : When you say you don't date black girls because they are 'rude', 'proud', 'aggressive' or unlike the white girls / (insert any other race you think is better) they lack a sense of humour.Close your mouth, pick up a book or two, stretch your legs, go play golf, do anything but say something as hurtful as that.Because you are not just saying this about black girls, you are saying this to your great grandmother, your grandmother, your mother, your aunties, your sisters and other female relatives that I forgot to mention. 

Please close your mouth because you look ignorant and hateful towards your own damn race.

When Martin Luther King, Malcolm X, the Black Panthers and others were all fighting for equality and against segregation in America, it was these same 'proud', 'rude', 'aggressive' and 'humourless' black girls that stood and fought with them before other people joined in. Hell when Nelson Mandela was held in captivity for 27 years in his walk to freedom who do you think was holding down the forefront? A black girl. Shoutout to Winnie!!

(Anddddd now you're thinking, shit well that escalated quickly...) but I digress..there is more.

Hold your mouth because in every race there are strong, rude, aggressive and humourless girls who will pluck your balls and feed it to the dogs if you keep saying, trying or doing stupid shit.Hold your mouth because you look ignorant and ungrateful. You may not realise this but black girls are not just PROUD we are also PROUD of you. 

In a society that constantly tries to put us down, telling us that we are not good enough, being proud of ourselves is one of the greatest tools that we have. 

Hold your mouth or rather, delete that tweet which you are about to write on how unnecessary and overbearing "some black girls are". For every group  of black girls uniting like 'Melanin Twitter' or 'Melanin Tumblr' or 'Nubian Instagram' there is an opposite group stating how 'all this is that' and that 'it's not that deep'.

Hold your mouth because every movement  you may think is trivia, to us is actually a gradual walk to conquering our psychological marginalisation. 

Hold your mouth because right from your mother's womb to adulthood, we are the ones that will lift you up, cry for or even scream at you for every lose you take and for every mistake you make.

We do not care for your swagger, or your smoother than cheese on your bagel talks, or your 'big black cuckoroo' or for your DNA mixing with ours to get light-skinned babies because mainstream media tells us so (yes yes the last one is scientifically impossible but you get zee point). 

We care for your happiness, every time you win, we pop a bottle for you. We care for your pain, every time you face-palm because of the 'how big is your cockroach' question.We are right behind you, assuring you that that is not all you are.

We are here for every daddy or trust issue that you wish to untangle. 

We are here for every time you need to vent to someone who gets it too. 

We are here for every time the police shoots another young black man. 

We are here with our blogs typing away in your defence. 

We are out there in the streets with signposts shouting #BlackLivesMatter come rain or storm and the occasional sunshine. Whether we live in America or not. We are there. We are here for your depression that you never accept you have because "black boys don't get depressed". 

We are here for every time hyper masculinity calls your name and you decide to say no. 

We are here with our arms wide open when you just feel like crying because shit is hitting the fan. 

We are here in Britain, in America, in Africa, in the islands and everywhere else.So while we are always lifting you from the bullshit that you are constantly being showered with. 

Cheering for you while you race to the finish line without any privileges. 

Protecting you from the strains of white supremacy, please do return the favour. Because if you don't love, care for and look out for us first, who else will?

Xoxo -thetomorrowjoy.