On Love 

I love to love

I love to be loved 

I’ll lay myself out for love 

This doesn’t make me weak

Because I love myself with the same intensity

And that self love is what protects me ultimately 

I’ll love you but I’ll demand my due 

And walk away if you will not pay 

Stand Your Ground

Cameroonian Girl

Stand your ground. There’s no man born who can take you out unless you allow it. And you’ve been taught to allow so much, anything else feels wrong.

Stand your ground.

You’re not crazy. You’re not asking too much. You’re not being unreasonable. You’re not being selfish. You’re not arrogant or full of pride. You don’t even think as high enough of your self as they accuse you of. Think higher.

Stand your ground.

Even if it means you’ll stand alone. Even when it hurts and you want to die . When it feels wrong, when it feels right. When it feels good, when it hurts. When you win and when you lose (and yes you will).

Stand your ground.

You’re not weak. You’re not defective.  You’re only human. You’re not perfect. You’re a seed which grew where it fell from the Universe’s hand. Fate will storm on you. You will break and be broken.  Branches, leaves and fruit will be lost. And the waters will wash these pieces downstream.

Stand your ground.

When that’s over, when that rain stops as rains is known to do, stand up. You’re stronger than you realize and you carry the DNA of women who’ve carried the world on their shoulders. Trust the soil you were planted in. Reach deeper. You grew there didn’t you?

Stand your ground.

You will win. Or your daughters will.

But you have to stand your ground.

Things they left behind

A fondness for Future

A better relationship with  beer

Interest in middle eastern art

Tape deck for the car

Otterbox for the phone

An enduring love for Led Zeppelin

Mostaccioli, beef stroganoff

Umberto Eco

Coldplay  (I know. IDGAF IDGAF )

A deep appreciation for great cunnilingus

Great book recommendations

A love for chocolate  with tea

An out of control love for cinnamon rolls

More interest in comics than I care to admit to

Coronas in margaritas

A better understanding of self

A weed addiction

Courage

The beauty that is sleeping pills

Clothes I pilfered

That one pajama bottom

ACDC jokes

A bad ass LinkedIn Profile

Kitty cats!

Red velvet cake

Tolkien

They leave so much behind, don’t they?

 

 

Bush Faller Lament

It’s not supposed to be like this, is it?
“Bush” is supposed to be safe.
“Bush” is supposed to be comfortable.
Predictable even.
You clean enough shit and “put your head for book,”
Play your cards right and don’t be too much of a crook,
And one day, you too can be a bushfaller,
With a fast car and money to blow in Limbe at Christmas.

It’s not supposed to be like this.
Your mother couldn’t have warned you about the quiet white boy who kept to himself.
Or the police officer who thinks you inferior to himself.
Or the Pakistani boy who’s not been himself, since the day he held his fathers lifeless hand and cursed the people who would kill a poor farmer and not the pashas.

It’s not supposed to be like this, is it?
The rising tide of fear.
The question niggling the back of your brain.
The one you push down, as you try to assure yourself it will all be alright.
That you and yours are too small, to be of any consequence in this fight.

It’s not supposed to be like this.
And yet here we are.
Crying more than the bereaved.
And what do we really mourn?
The lives lost?
Or the death of the illusion of safety we’d allowed ourselves to buy into?

When You Say “Akata”

When you say “Akata”
Remember
You are speaking of a brother
A sister, a child
Mother, father
Kidnapped from home
Raised on far off shores
Chained and beaten
Until hope became a faint glimmer
Until home became a weak whisper
Until humanity tasted bitter.

When you say “Akata”
Remember
You are not speaking of yourself
Because you had Africa’s forests
Her mountains, deserts and hills
Her rivers and other waters
To hide in when snow fell in the tropics
You had ancestral breasts to suckle on
Food for that long winter
And grand parents who remembered to teach you
The language of your people.

When you say “Akata”
Remember
That the white man used porters
Your own uncles
Willing servants, joyful warders
Who helped them draw the borders
That split your fathers compound into two countries
And made your cousin a stranger
And started the wars that have left you an orphan
And started the quarrels that have driven you from home
To the place where the “Akatas”
Have labored and fought
So you have a place to come to
After your father’s house burned to the ground.

When you say “Akata”
Remember.

Birds of Squawk

Go fly around your gilded cages
Go eat your store bought bird seed
Let me fly free in the forest
Let me taste the berries from the branch.
And if a hunter shoots me down to put me in a soup
I’ll have known what it means to be free, and flit from tree to tree

You don’t envy my recklessness
I don’t envy your cage
You value safety, I value freedom
Must we be on the same page?
Why squawk your disapproval at me, when my birdsong bursts free?
You’re the trained parakeet peddling nonsense phrases for human approval
Not me

So flap your wings with your kind
Pay me no mind
No really, leave me be.
My claws are sharp and my beak is strong
I’ll pluck your eyes out, I will

WHY AM I STILL SINGLE?

Why am I still single, you ask?
Sit down, let me tell you why.
It’s because I refuse to buy the lie,
I’d much rather pass by.
I’d much rather be alone,
Than let my heart turn to stone,
Because I have to harden it,
Against some fuckers bullshit.

Why am I still single, you ask?
Because I am that girl.
You know… that type of girl,
The one mothers and aunties warn you about.
The one who cannot take care of a man.
You know…the type of man they breed you to be.
Careless, clueless, helpless.

Why am I still single you ask?
Because I am bad ass.
With too much sass, too much brass.
To mess with someone as fragile as spun glass.
A man-child sitting on his lazy ass,
Too scared to take a difficult class.

So why am I still single you ask?
Stay seated, I’m not finished yet.
Because as lonely as I get,
I’ll not let myself forget,
The worst feeling of all: regret,
For all the miscalculated bets.

Image credit: Pinterest

River Call

Sailor man, think hard.
Before you set sail on my waters,
Think hard.
Chart your course, stock your supplies,
Secure your anchor, mend your sails,
Know your destination,
Before you set sail on my waters.

Know my tides, sailor.
Before you set sail on my waters,
Know my tides.
Learn my ripples, study my meanders,
Understand my rapids, my tributaries and confluences,
Know my depth, sailor.
Because heaven help you when you set sail on my waters.

Image credit: Artist Singh, http://fineartamerica.com/featured/the-river-woman-artist-singh.html

Woman-Scorned

You hate me now
And I understand
No really, I do.
I’d hate me too.
But tell me something,
Was it your heart I broke?
Or did I just bruise your pride?
Because I never lied
My intention was never to be a bride
And yet you came
And came, and came…
For the fun
For the heat
From the sweetness
So why hate me now?
When you couldn’t say no?
When you couldn’t break me down
And build me to specification
When like a moth,
You flew to my flame?
Crashing into its heat
Burning yourself…