Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime and falling into at night.
-Edena St. Vincent Millay
He was walking joyfully like there was nothing wrong in his world.
you know how the sun comes out and you have no say, no power, you can’t tell it to go back, it’s out.
His smile was a reflection of that. Beautiful and breath taking… for me as I could say.
I remember how my lips had gotten a taste of his. Couldn’t fight the feeling of calmness. It was like I suddenly fell into clear water, no coldness, and it didn’t splash when I fell. The calming taste of his love
It felt like weaves hitting each other in a slow peaceful pace during sunset
When the sky turned to powder purple pink and the humming sounds of the birds.
When the sun set to rest, it rested solely, after, just after it had witnessed a scene between two people who could never be.
I knew this man once.
He would smile at me and I would immediately get an adrenaline rush. I remember how he said my eyes were like a boiling pot of honey, whenever I smiled and the Sun shined on me.
A pot of honey in two round blessings.
I knew this man once.
I could proudly say he loves me and believe it. Now, even thinking about it brings pain in my stomach and chest.
I knew this man once.
No, I once knew that man.
Keep it burning.
The biggest lost a person can ever experience is losing themselves,their souls and humanity.
Those who died to be like others, died because of others.
Died because of poor self esteem.
Died because of brutal words said to them
Died to fit in
Died to be recognized.
I remember as a young girl when my peers asked me about my father it didn’t matter.
I would respond in a calm tone, I wouldn’t care what response was, what mattered was how I got out of that question.
I would not think about it afterwards.
Now at 16…
When my peers talk about their fathers , I know that, that night. I would doze myself to sleep on a flood of a riverbed.
When I rest my head on a pillow, it feels like I rest my head on the palm of God’s hands.
And then I realise that I’m surrounded by God’s circle of Sanity
The art of sunset the same amount of art in the story of a black girl because black girls. Black girls are ART! Black girls are the definition of the art our black female ancestors fought for.They believed that black with anything is beautiful. By now the message is lost and forgotten.The message is misunderstood. The concept has faded away. There is lost back girl magic
You are ART my love. You and your hidden scars, because your scars make up who you are, your scars are part of you.
You are ART!
We are ART!
It’s in our Nature
I think the concept of black girl empowerment was lost, when one black female started speaking brutally about other black females.
The chain was broken
Unity was lost.
Hearts were scattered, because of another black female.
The very same female I call my sister, my mother, my aunt, my grandmother.
The concept of the black girl unity was stolen, by your words.
Yes! Your words.
We are all to feel guilty, we all contributed. We are the reason why that one girl doesn’t want to believe that she is beautiful, why she is hurt. Why she doesn’t want to participate in any sports, why she sits alone, why she never talks about her feelings.
Because of another girl, the structure of female-hood became brittle
And yet! We let these body shaming incidents pass, like they are leaves blown by the wind, like it’s normal, as if they mean nothing, as if they don’t hurt anyone.
Which brings me to the question:
Did our female leaders fight body shaming enough for us? Why is it still going on?
Seeking your lost self
Seeking what has been stolen
Seeking the other me that has been shadowed to the dark
They have held you hostage and broken you.
You don’t have any trust left for yourself
You betrayed yourself
You didn’t fight enough
Why did you run away? Why don’t you trust me anymore? I thought we were close.
Why did you let them see us?
They have taken you from me
Who are they, they don’t know us
You left and I felt cold
And then you came back like you never left.
Because you know— there is always room.
Umuhle is a Zulu term that means “you are beautiful”.
Even with your bold head, hairless
Even with your flatass
Umuhle because beauty isn’t measured by how big your bums are.
Someone loves you regardless
Stop comparing yourself to people low as your self-esteem.
Beauty isn’t about how much like you get on your social media or how photogenic you are
Or if you have all the things many can buy
What matters is your beauty deep down
and if you’re using it to : blow up, blow up, chin up
Because you have a story worth listening to
You, my love. You’re beautiful even the girl next door is jealous.
Tag anyone who needs to hear this.
He said he’ll stay didn’t he
That he’ll always love you he promised you heavenly feels.
He said you’re treasure.
But after he left you felt like trash
How am I supposed to trust
When the first man I should have loved
Before I could even say “I love you”
Now saying it to another guy sounds wrong.
The tears I shed grows seeds into– flowers.
Flowers that you later on will buy for me as a token of apology