the hard children

the world is a hard place so we raise children with fire and brimstone with grit We harden them to the embodied parts of themselves. prize reason, and rationale over feeling and being the world is a hard place so we raise hard children and so the cycle of the hard world continues perhaps we…

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waking up to myself

I am here waking up to myself. It is as if I came from a long slumber, where who I was, who I became, was predetermined by the circumstances of my life the pain caused to me and the forced moulding of white-supremacist education. In that slumber, there were moments of joy and laughter, it…

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-dear diary

all I used to have were unfinished thoughts dear diary… fragmented parts of myself, that stopped writing at the fear of being uncovered. having your privacy violated, particularly when it is your innermost thoughts, makes you lose trust. not only in those around you but even in yourself- how can you trust the words not…

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-breaking apart

sometimes, it feels as though I’m melting spreading into lather-like substance losing firmness consistency breaking apart, slowly- irrevocably a withered fern losing its light other times, melting is like healing its the scabbing of old scars its taking me into surprising new forms its as though the fire of pain came to glue me to…

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1 Year Later: A Happy Birthday To Me

31 May 2018 The Healing It’s The Afroist’s birthday today, and I am all sorts of emotional having just reread the first post I wrote one year ago. Reading it, I found myself cringing a little at some of the odd phrasing, wanting to edit it, and convincing myself not to, as a pledge to…

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-peace studies

I am a scholar of peace. I have written  the essays on conflict, peace, and security. I have defined peace debated it, and deconstructed it many times. so arguably, I know a lot about peace.   not really.   I have found the peace I have studied lacking in answers. just more questions and ceaseless…

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-the unsent letter

I hate when you say you love me or miss me I gave up on you after the countless times you pushed away my outstretched hands I cried away my love when you told me I was ugly when I sat in the scorching water of the bathtub hoping to burn away my skin shrink…

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vacillating self love

on body positivity- a critique of the notion of the totality of body-positivity.

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Choosing Single

an essay and some poetry on love, self-love and singlehood

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