Poetry

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WHAT OF A WOMAN

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What was it about my belly swelling with new life,

that made you take life from me?

What was it about my love for my child

that made you want to erase her from the world?

What was it about the song in the trees that

made you want to hang me from their branches?

What was it about the sway in my hips

that made you think you own me?

What was it about the tremor in my voice when I said ‘no’

that made you hear ‘yes’

What was it about the joy in my laughter or the curve in my smile,

that made you beat me into silence?

What was it about my soft hair and silky skin,

that made you want to drive a knife through my chest?

What was it about the power in my bosom,

that made you hunt me like prey?

What was it about me as a woman,

that made you feel like less of a man?

Tell me, what was it?

WHAT OF A WOMAN Read More »

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ALLOW ME TO BE A WOMAN

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Allow me to be a woman today.
Allow me to rest in my bed under my soft covers
and stretch my aching body,
Allow me to be a woman today.
To stand underneath the showerhead for as long as I need,
letting the warm water flow over the valleys of my body.
Lather, rinse, repeat.
Allow me to be a woman today,
to sit at a table and eat what I like, how much I want,
enjoying the texture and the taste on my tongue
without worrying about the calories that will probably rest on my hips.
Allow me to be a woman today,
picking flowers in the garden just because I like the way they look,
Or I enjoy the scent.
Allow me to be a woman today, to lie down in the grass,
stare up at the sky. Butterflies overhead, clouds playing in the heavens.
Allow me to be a woman today, to run barefoot in fields of wildflowers,
to be free and playful with childlike abandon.
Allow me to be a woman today,
not a mother or a wife
Not a baddie or an exec.
Allow me to be a woman today, to dress up,
put on nice shoes, fix my hair,
touch up my makeup,
Allow me to show up for myself on my own terms.
Allow me a simple moment;
to breathe and to exist,
to feel and to appreciate
without the rush of being the next
thing for the next person.
Allow me to be a woman today.
Without fear and worry that I might be in danger,
Allow me to be a woman simply because that is what I am.
Allow me to be a woman today, to laugh relentlessly at the small things
Whether you understand them or not,
and without it being a measure of my IQ.
Allow me to be a woman today. To be soft and feminine and loved.
Allow me to be a woman today,
And then tomorrow, I’ll be a warrior.

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CAKE, IDIOM

NEITHER HERE NOR THERE

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They say too much of a good thing
Is bad for you but
is also not too much of a bad
Thing good for you?
Until you are
So far so good?
Like killing two birds
With one stone
And eventually finding yourself
Between a rock and a hard place
And accepting that some stones
Should be left unturned.
Because birds of a feather
Flock together
But then you find yourself
Walking on eggshells
And crying over spilt milk

The thing is,
You can have your cake
And eat it too but
Be careful not to bite off
More than you can chew.
You might end up burning bridges
And everything you know
Will go up in flames

Sometimes, we just need to
Bite the bullet,
Through thick and thin
There is always a light at the end of
The tunnel
Or maybe its just the reflection
Of the silver lining
But beating a dead horse
Will never help to address
The elephant in the room
And that is the truth
In a nutshell
Right from the horses mouth.

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ART IS FREEDOM

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The pen is your weapon
Don’t doubt yourself
Stop trying to please the world
Your art will never be for everyone
That is where the freedom lies
In whichever way it comes
It’s meant to be different
It’s intended to exist in a world
Where colours are rare and
shapes are strange
Don’t be afraid to let your writing speak
Whether in poetry, novels, or in simple
Journal entries,
Let it reflect the times in which
You find yourself
Explore through prose how you felt at a certain
Point in your life and
how the wind kissed your skin
Let the memories flow out of your fingertips
Allow it to seep into the page
Let it soak the edges and doodle the margins
Art is meant to make you feel different.
It’s intended to make you experience things that have no
Words yet so that you,
the writer can give it a name
Just like when God gave Adam power in the beginning
To name the animals and plants and everything around him
You have the power to create
Art is freedom
It can set you free
It makes noise and colours outside the lines
Art is wild
But it cannot roam free if its
Caged in your mind
It is love and passion
Your ink
It will never run dry or fade
Your pages will never run out
And your stories will never end
Artists are the authors of history.
Art is freedom
You are art
You are free
Some dance it out
Others play it loud
Some paint and draw it
With lines and colours and then
There are those of us who write.
Those who play with words and create
New meaning simply by rearranging
a sentence or two
Art is love
Art sits on the floor and plays
In the dirt
It looks up at the stars,
Makes shapes in the clouds
And smiles at the moon
Art cries in the rain
And dances in the sun.

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TO THE MEN WHO MADE ME CRY

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I’m writing to you with a broken heart and bloodshot eyes

You had many reasons to justify why I was wrong and maybe you were right;

I’m too emotional, I’m too needy, I overthink too much, I’m just too much…

You were all different but somehow your reasons were all the same.

It made me wonder and maybe even believe that I was the problem.

I sit in a dark, cold room; my eyes soaked with tears, typing this out in the hopes that all the feelings I might still have for any of you will leave my heart and only live on in this letter.

I loved you, all of you.

In different ways but somehow still the same

I loved you desperately.

I loved you to the point where I was willing to change who I was and who I am just so that you could be more comfortable.

I told myself to speak less or make sure I said the right things so that you could compliment me on my intellect or on the way I spoke. Maybe if I sounded smarter, you would take me more seriously.

“Don’t cry so much, pretend to be tough and not so emotional. Don’t show him it bothers you ” I would say

Don’t be so needy;

don’t touch him unless he touches you first,

don’t kiss him if he doesn’t initiate,

and don’t hold his hand in public, you know he doesn’t like it.

Don’t show him it bothers you.

Dress nice, for him.

Show some skin.

Show less skin.

Be sexy.

Be coy.

Listen when he speaks.

Take his advice on everything,

He is smarter than you are anyway.

Be less.

Make yourself smaller.

And on and on it would go.

You all made me cry and none of you gave it a second thought.

You took a bit of my essence, piece by piece;

you filled yourself up with me;

moaning and groaning in my ear when all I wanted to hear was

I love you.

I see you.

I will cry it all out here in this dark room,

In the hopes that when I wake in the morning I will be cured of my stupidity and naivety.

You hurt me. All of you.

And yet, I still reached out

While you continued to throw rocks at me.

You continue to make me shed tears to the point that my eyes are flooded and I can no longer see the screen in front of me.

I thought I had no more tears left to cry but my own heart lied to me.

I am hoping that this will be the last.

I will not do this again.

Hurt myself,

Over

And over

And over

Again.

How do so many different men have the unique ability to make one person feel so undeserving of love?

How do you become part of such a brotherhood?

You speak to me with such contempt.

You wear your arrogance like a badge.

It is not in my nature to hold grudges,

I have forgiven you all long ago but I can’t help but wonder;

Were my lips so bitter pressed against yours that you can now no longer say a kind word to me?

Was I such a horrific sight in your eyes that you can now no longer look at me without disgust?

Was the love I shared with you so terrible that the memory of me in your life now detests you?

What was so appalling about me

that you had to treat me like yesterday’s trash?

To the men who made me cry,

I sincerely do not wish you ill; I pray peace over you but I also thank you;

because now I can tell the difference between real love and

what you made me believe was love.

And it is certainly not the same thing.

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AVOID

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I avoid eye contact
Maybe if I don’t look at him
He won’t see me, and if he doesn’t see me
He can’t hurt me

I avoid sitting too close on the bus
Maybe if I’m not too close
I won’t entice

I avoid a friendly and polite smile
Maybe if I don’t smile
He won’t tell people that I asked for it

I avoid walking on the same side of the street
Maybe if I am a distance away
I’ll have a chance if I run

I avoid asking for help
Maybe if I come across as strong and capable
I won’t seem like an easy target

I avoid saying hello
Maybe if he doesn’t hear my voice
He won’t imagine what I sound like screaming

I avoid going out at night
Maybe the light of day will keep me safe

I avoid being alone with him
in the hopes that a witness will be able to
tell my story

I avoid him at all costs
Maybe I keep to myself
I’ll live another day

AVOID Read More »

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LITERARY ADVENTURE

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There’s an old man I often see
at the train station
Lanky and scruffy with pants always just below his knees
But never does he seem cold
Every time I see him, in his
Hands a new book he holds
Always reading and turning a page
As he waits for the arrival of the train
On his back, he carries a red and grey
backpack,
It looks heavy and full but not too old
I always wonder what he carries in there
On his feet a pair of simple sandals,
On his head a shoddy-looking hat

And rain or shine, a trusty umbrella at his side
But in his hands, he holds a book
The cover is bright and striking
The font is elegant and bold
I’m sure he adventures through every page
With his bag, his hat, and his simple shoes.
It’s the gift every new page offers
A story that will take him far beyond
the train ever could
I don’t know this man
I don’t know where he comes from
But as I take out my book from my bag,
I’m sure we’ll meet somewhere on this
literary adventure.

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Trees, Evergreen, nature

EVERGREEN

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Tall and strong,
my soul is firmly planted in the soil
on which you stand.

Green and lush
My leaves dance to mother nature’s lullaby

As I feed the meagre creature
That scurries on the surface of the earth
While you produce pulp and paper
For your fiction

Speak to me
I live
As I give you the very breath that you breath

Willows, Lillies and lavenders
I was placed here by Him
He who created the Heavens and the earth
He who reigns higher than my majestic reach

And even when the wind blows
And the seas are rampant
And fires ravage the earth
I know that my soul in the soil is Evergreen

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calendar, counting the days, January

JANUWORRY

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JanuWorry is what they call me
Because when they see me coming
All they do is worry
Broke is what they call themselves
when I visit
because they didn’t keep any
reserves for me
when they were partying up
a storm with December,
as if that’s my fault!
Long is how they describe me,
saying they can’t wait until this 31-day
visit is over
and I am only a distant memory
The only time they are excited is on the first day
of my visit
and even then they are riding on the wings
of the month before
They don’t know I feel sad,
neglected,
rejected,
Hated even
It isn’t easy to celebrate birthdays
because everyone simply says,
‘I don’t have money’
This means those who are supposed to celebrate
life with me, feel let down
All everyone does is count down the days
and plan for the rest of the calendar
February, the month of love,
with her heart-shaped chocolates and
fluffy red teddy-bears
April, celebration of Easter and new life,
A time dedicated to the Messiah
June, the long-awaited school holidays,
even the kids enjoy that one
and then of course my nemesis,
December
when everyone feels relieved the year has
come to an end and they can rest and be happy
And come together with Christmas carols and neatly
wrapped gifts
What they forget though is that I too offer gifts,
A new start
A clean slate
A reset button
An opportunity to forget the past
if that is what is desired or required
I offer strength,
resilience,
a chance to dream and hope again
And get that budget right for next time
and of course a reprieve from all that has
happened the month before
I am not JanuWorry,
I am January.
A chance to start again
Despite my lack of popularity.

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