Who is she? Is she me? You? My spirit animal? Maybe she’s an attitude. She’s breathing defiantly in toxic white hypermasculine spaces She’s loud Black Unwaveringly herself Vulnerable without fear It’s me, I’m that Bitch
Month: November 2017
Withering
-the seasons of depression
Because They are Black Womxn, Like Me.
“I love Miss Letsaba because she is black like me” That was my Grade 3 contribution to my school’s annual magazine. I think we might have been asked to describe what we liked best about our teachers. I remember a white “friend” reading this back to me in Grade 7, as if it were something…
IDGAF: This is MY Body!
I’m in the tube. Adjusting my camisole again. It has been riding up my thighs since I put on this skirt. The fabric and the shape, it seems, were simply not meant to sit on my thunderous thighs. These thick dimply thighs. And then I sigh. Oh well. They are just thighs. Juicier than people…
Arriving at Black Girl Fest. A Love Poem.
These womxn! The hair, the face beats, the clothes. Look at how creative they are. Listen to how smart they are. How is it possible that all of them are so beautiful, smart and talented? Like Wow! and then I realise, even me! I am these womxn! -what it feels like to look into the…
Of Defiant Love
It is a defiant thought A growing rebellion My deepest, happiest, most frightening secret: I love myself even when I am love and hate all at once even when death visits more than life that which I detest about myself, isn’t unloveable. it is deeply intertwined with that which I love. I am flawsome Loveable…
