Dear black man

Dear Black Man,

You are loved.

You are good enough.

Even when your shoulders droop

from all the baggages the world throws at you,

you still crack a smile.

When people pour buckets of sand on your wound,

you never let them hear you wince.

Everyday they continue to label

and put chains on you

but you refuse to stay down.

Dear black man,

I see your innate ability

to protect everyone you love.

I see all the different masks

you have to put on the moment

you step outside your door.

I see your struggle in the battlefield,

fighting off ideals and paradoxes

of who you are and who you would like to become.

I am here for and with you.

I cannot heal your wounds,

that can only come from within you.

But I can hold your hand through your pain.

I can sing with you, war songs and all.

I can wipe off your tears when you cry.

Deep

It's not that deep

He said as he dug through me.

As if unfolding the lining in my stomach

Was not enough.

He smirked and licked his lips

I closed my eyes and anticipated

the damages he would do.

It's not that deep he said as he ate my insides 

he spreaded my thighs on his leopard printed sheets...

"I don't mix drinks", he said.

Me too I thought

I don't mix drinks

only anxiety and beliefs.

A cup of lust, a handful of prayer and a sprinkle of self doubt,

'Ah A Girl'.

(Birth)

The first time you came out

of your Mother’s womb

the Earth fell on her feet.

The Heavens close their eyes

and weeped for days.

The Antevasin had arrived

The One who

was stuck
in between borders.

Like a tired passenger in

the airport waiting

for his luggage at Arrival,

your father folded his arms

and watched you slide

down from your mother.

Born at 06:19 am on a friday;

A mother’s little bundle of joy

and a father’s silent sigh...

'Ah a Girl'.

(Adulthood)

You grew into a flower

that refused to whither.

Your hair thick like the forest

your family's tree stemmed from.

Each strand like a branch

coiled from the root to the tip

refusing to bow to the standards of men.

At 19 your skin shined like polished wood.

Men forgot how to pronounce your name. 
Instead they referred 
to you as their cravings - chocolate, 

black coffee, butterscotch,

brown sugar, oroe.

You became an assortment for 
them to taste.  
A to do list for the

ones trying to explore.

Who said you were allowed to be

anything order than the black

that they painted you as?

Day and night,

you are reminded of

the walking juxtaposition

that you are.

A preacher’s worst nightmare,

a sinners sweetest dream

and a bigot’s biggest fear.

You are nothing but a stain,

an error born by mistake.

Who told you

that you were any different?

Look at you!

A mad mans’ little witch!

One day, he too will pack up

and leave you.

For you are too bold

you are too quick

Your accent

and thighs are too thick

the walls you built are too high

You are too proud

Your ego is in the sky

and 'Men do not like that'.

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

THE DEATH OF THINKING.

I HAVE BEEN TWISTING AND TURNING MY TIRED MUSCLES ON THIS ROCK HARD BED. 

SLEEP LINGERS AROUND MY EYELIDS BUT THOUGHTS OF THE WORLD RIDE ON MY MIND.

WHENEVER I PUT MY FINGERS TO THE KEYBOARDS, THE WORDS DISAPPEAR

but when I lay down to close my eyes, it all fucking comes at once. 

OVERTHINKING AGAIN, SPILLING NOTHING BUT CLUTTERS ON MY BLANK SCREEN

AHH SHIT I WILL JUST GET TO THE POINT.

Everyday as I grow older, my small talk skills slowly disintegrate into the background.

THINK JOY, THINK, WHAT DO NORMAL PEOPLE TALK ABOUT?

Ask her about her family and what area she lives in.

OKAY YEAH, NOD YOUR HEAD.

Oh awwh, that's nice.

SMILE, SHIT NO DONT SMILE, THAT’S NOT FUNNY.

OKAY, NOW YOU SAY SOMETHING, LOOK INTERESTED. 
No, don't say that, she will think you are judging her!
OHMYGOSH YOU ARE SUCH A PRUDE! She says..

But why does the world not know about breast ironing?

Are single black women in movies like Karate kids stereotypes or representations of realities?

Why is an aunty twerking on twitter?

HOW DO WE STOP FEMALE GENITAL MUTILATION?

Why did I never see jungle book as a child?

Will I ever be ready for a relationship?

DID I MAKE THE RIGHT DECISIONS?

AM I MAKING THE RIGHT DECISIONS?

FUCK OKAY DON’T PANIC.

THINK JOY THINK.

Or maybe stop overthinking.

BUT ARE WE BEING DESENSITISED FROM HARD NEWS?

Is it ethnocentric to think girls getting an early curfew than guys in some countries is not right?

Is freedom a western ideology?

Is that why we are still enslaved?

ARE WE REALLY IN A REVOLUTIONARY SOCIETY?

THINK JOY, THINK.

A decent grade student.

Life is hard, no one comes out of it alive.

You have family members who love you.

You have family members who do not know of your existence.

You have friends that make you laugh.

You have foes that make you laugh.

You have people who respect and value you.

You go to socials, parties, church services, debate nights, clubs, pubs and charity shops.

You meet new people, try to reconnect with the old ones in your life. Your days are getting longer and your responsibilities larger. 

You learn, you unlearn, you work, you spend, you eat, you sleep, you love, you laugh, you cry, you hurt, you heal, you let go. 

You are able to see black, white and everything else in-between.

Gradually your concept of life starts to change. 

You laugh a little less and you cry a little more. 

You are unable to tear the grey lines away from the black nor from the White.

You start questioning every decision you have ever made.

You start to wonder if you were ever happy or when you will be.

You stop being comfortable with your ideals.

You stay up till 5am in the morning, sometimes till 7 or 8 if your mind wants to run a little longer than usual.

You start thinking about your past, the history of how we all got here and what the future may look like.

Sometimes the burden gets a little heavy on your shoulder.

You scroll through your contact list and do the monthly cry on the phone to a friend routine.

Other times you try your phone a friend option and no one picks up so you sink even further in your ocean of self doubts and anxiety.

You start to realise that no one will be able to drag you away from your self doubts if you are not ready. So you wallow a little bit more in it or end the party and get yourself together.

Sister, brother, mother, father, aunty, uncle, wife, husband, spinster, bachelor, boyfriend, girlfriend, student, employee, employer, teacher, preacher, vegan, vegetarian, heterosexual, homosexual, transgender, biromantic, heteroromantic, homoromantic, asexual, straight, gay, bisexual, feminine, masculine, lover, fighter, Christian, Muslim, Hindu, Buddhist, Jewish, pagan, atheist, agnostic, labels upon labels. 

You are asked to identify with one or the other.
Each tag puts you further into categories of structures and systems. Each decision you make is constantly being criticised by the people you know and by the people you don't know.
So close your eyes, you take a deep breath, you count to ten and you live.

"It's not that deep"

That one time someone told me it's not that deep and I absolutely lost my mind.

You say all black lives matter, they say all lives matter.
But it's not that deep.

You say stop using our culture to make profit.

You say because I am a female I should be ready to be married by 30?

You say depression is all in my mind? 

You say I should pray to God to forgive me my sins? What if I can't forgive myself for my sins?

You say I am not allowed to touch myself because it is bad but it's okay for a guy to touch me?

You say stop using "mentally  challenged" every time a white man shoots up a couple of people. 
They say it's not that deep.

You say lets talk about institutional racism and white privilege as irrational.

You say why are women told to "chill" when they talk about issues that makes them uncomfortable ?

You say are relationships overrated?

You say so what did they do to make up for slavery? 

What did they do after they went out on their ships and took over lands that were already inhabited? When will the present generation of white kids understand that their privilege is irrational ?

When will they learn that "not seeing colour" is part of the problem when the system only sees you as an option to tick. As a category to add to the company diversity check list. 

You say "I wonder if my white male friends think how their choice of dressing will affect the looks they get from old folks before they go out?"

You say "I am not a feminist but I believe every girl should have the same opportunity as a boy, no matter what country she was assigned to by birth".
 "I am not a feminist but..."
...stop selling women with your products.
...stop calling girls sluts for sleeping with numerous amounts of guys.
...stop praising guys for doing the same things girls are told not to do.
...stop calling me high when I question the meaning of life.

You say let me do what I want with my hair.
You say take your standards of beauty and shove it where the sun doesn't shine.
You say men cry and that is okay too.
You say stop hyper masculinity and the alienation of feminine men.
You say what is wrong with femininity anyways?
You say why am I not allowed to question that the earth is round? When you question if there is a God.
You say why are we told to live, love, pay bills & die?

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.

To The Other Black Boys.

To the ones that do appreciate us. I see you. 

To the ones that constantly wave our flag, the ones that embrace us, 'attitude' or no 'attitude'.

To the King always polishing the throne for his Queen.

To the ones that refuse to give up on us, to raise our flags a tad higher because our arms are getting tired.

To the ones that respect our grind, to the ones that see us as more than sexual toys to play with when bored. 

To the ones that challenges us to do more.

To the ones that see our insecurities and our fears.

To the ones that stretches out their hands in the dark, searching for us like the light at the end of the tunnel.

To the ones holding us above the surface from drowning in a sea of lost hopes and broken dreams.

To the ones that is fixing a heart they did not break.To the ones that see the passion in our eyes.

To the ones that hear the melody in our voice when we are happy.To the ones that hear the fury in our voice when we are angry.

To the ones that wipe off our mothers' tears.

To the ones who come from a broken home yet have nothing but love and respect to give. I salute you. 

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.