Almost Poetic

Love as an oxygen mask

Sometimes love comes to give us a second chance

I was breathing in commas before you came my way

Stranger with hands that reminded me of God 

I was merely a fraction of all the tomorrows I let my yesterdays slip away with

But you came and translated my suicidal thoughts into a language only love understands

Thank you for loving me in ink

I hope to hold your heart with the delicacy of one who tames butterflies

I am naming my smile after you

Because I love the taste of your name in my mouth

Painting by Pier Toffoletti

Say What?

Writing: The poor man’s job

It all sounds so romantic when they say it, when you read their books and they speak about it, not knowing that that would one day be your dream. Living it is a nightmare, punctuated by anxiety induced hysterics of,”Out of all the potential you have, this is what it has culminated into?”. The pursuit of a dream is an act of dying daily, breathing the only reminder that, nope, you are still alive, and every bit of this hell you’re going through is not the one they preach about in church.

Speaking  of,  you haven’t been to church in a while because, one pain at a time. It is hard enough bearing the pain of disappointing yourself, you don’t wanna look God in the eye and mumble,”I’m still working on it”. He understands, of course He does, but you don’t, neither do your dreams and your best-laid plans. Are you trying hard enough, is the depression giving you enough room to breathe?Do you still know the meaning of a miracle? Continue reading “Writing: The poor man’s job”

Say What?

This notion of home

Writing this didn’t feel like it was enough. I have been seeing bits and pieces of talks about xenophobic attacks on social media. I avoided it as much as I could because it’s such a trigger. I cannot even begin to imagine how it must feel to be on the receiving end of this cruelty, the fear and the pain occurring simultaneously. And I don’t even know where to begin empathizing. 

It truly is heartbreaking for me to hear about black on black crime, it is so debilitating to the spirit to hear how we are fighting amongst each other. I have no educational exegesis on the matter, no knowledge of white supremacy and every other academic exposition that seems to be used to get to the root of it. 

Continue reading “This notion of home”

Say What?

A question of memory

You ever have a memory that you tried so hard to distance yourself from that now it just feels like a figment of your imagination? Is that also silence? 

It comes in bits and pieces, the details all sketchy and so bizarre in some parts that you have convinced yourself it never happened. But the feelings don’t forget, the pain remembers a time when it was there, and it still lingers. That part of you forever engraved in anything you dare to call memory. 

Does the forgetting make it easier? Does it mean forgiveness? Do you look at a man and see him? Is every face a reminder of his? Do you still remember what he looked like, what he smelled like? Do you remember who you were before it happened? Continue reading “A question of memory”

Almost Poetic

Misplaced metaphors pt. III

If you ever master anything in this life, it is unlearning silence. You will find that being born black and a woman will make a revolution out of you. These words will be your refuge.

Sometimes your body will be a war zone and your soul will be in exile. Breathe child. And remember to come home. 

Some days your body will feel like a foreign land, your soul a nomad. Learn to stay.  Continue reading “Misplaced metaphors pt. III”

Almost Poetic

The abandoned temple

The body as a hollow place only memory remembers

The church as some nostalgic feeling in the pit of your lungs that you use to call out to God and all you feel is empty 

People as abandoned grounds flooded with regrets, overflowing with goodbyes, tomorrow a distant memory

The abandoned temple as all the ways one can lose themselves in things, in people, in dreams, in ideas…

You are sacred even when no one sees

Worth a second look in a deserted land

You are home, the emptiness merely the silences bravery has to teach you to unlearn  Continue reading “The abandoned temple”