The Joy Scribbles

I wanted to say I was falling in love with you. But I wondered why love would be described as Falling. Would I be like a fallen city? Knocked down barricades, burned down houses, broken women and children, dead men? Conquered? Am I a thing to be conquered? A Fallen empire? something long forgotten? Just a leftover version of myths someone proved correct? Hidden away in rubbles of old alters were he worships me or dusty history books. No one even reads history books any more. Or am I more like a tea cup? Fallen off a shelf while I dusted my mother's cupboards, shattered into so many pieces I swept up and hid in the Pit Latrine. I wonder if she will ever figure I broke it. Is that what will happen? Will I break if I fall in Love? Will someone sweep me up and hide me? Because I am falling for a boy and it feels a lot less like falling. A lot more like flying. Or floating.

I've been trying to scrub out the love letter you wrote in my heart.  New wounds open above the old, scratches and scabs turn into scars that never heel.  So I tried to bath them in liquor and hide them in sin, but I still remember that some time, 'long ago a boy told me he likes the way I sometimes cry at silly things like not being able to find my favorite ice cream.  I've tried planting things you do to annoy me over it.  like chewing your nails, snoring when you're drunk; smelling like red wine and Marlboro cigarettes and a hint of weed; like telling me you can't remember why you ever fell in love with me; like "come on baby you're not shining, shine for me". But nothing grew, Nothing but an annoyance that I sent you a text last night to which you replied "K". despite the fact that I said I love you.

On some days I craddle nothing more than smiles and laughter. Nothing more than dragonflies and unicorns. Bits of magical sing song flowers that won't stop to hum to me "God said he loves you" I can't help but believe that even I, this terrible human, is worthy of someone.

On some days the rain begins with subtle hints and on other days it simply pours. But it always ends in playful rainbows, bright sunny skies, and clear white clouds. You, My darling are like rain. Your dark days are not the best of you. 

And on some night moon says to me "There are many things in this world bigger than you. Many places you will not go. You will not see. There are hidden things you will never feel. Like my effect on the tide. Not unless you let go of fear. " I did not know yet what she was asking of me. But look at me now. Look at how bright I shine and how big I've grown. Look at how strong I am. Look at how quickly I unraveled the bits of doubt that bound themselves to me. Weighing me down. An Ugly sweater on a hot day. Look at my fears. Look at them drowning in my knowledge that, There are things that I will not see. Will not feel. Will not be. If I am not fearless.

Dear anyone, I am alone again and for some reason it is not as free or burdening as I always thought it would be. Only different in that there is no one to hide myself behind, I am forced to myself for who I am. When I wake I cannot help but notice how much better I sleep. How much deeper it is. It is more filling and I no longer wake up thirsty for one more hour. And when I go to bed I spend time staring at the bits of me that I have been told no one would love in the mirror. I no longer pick at them in disgust and I have started to remember where I got almost every single scar on my body. I am unbothered by them and have begun to giggle at the patchwork of stories crawling all over me. I have noticed that there are annoying things about myself that I love. Things like how I run out of breath when I laugh. And boy do I laugh. I start right at the bottom of my diaphragm and I rumble and my head falls back and I can't find two fucks to give who watches me. Except me because I

i. There is no particular reason why I have decided to pack away the little threads of me you have unraveled countless times. No particular reason I have tied them in knots and plaited them into braids except maybe that there was little bit of me left every time you left and I am suddenly sure that whatever bit of me is left is enough. ii. I met a boy. He has decided it is his mission to make me sleep with painful cheeks from the blushing I do every time he calls me beautiful. I cannot stop to think how at this age every body has loved passionately already and if he thinks of his first love as often as I think of you. iii. why does everyone keep expecting me to crumble at the thought of you? You are no particular place in my mind today. Or yesterday. You are so far. so long gone I do not remember your smell, or the feel of your hands. Only that at one point you were the beginning. I am now sure this is the ending. iv. I do not know where I began. Only that the dirty muck I ha

Nobody tells you that when loneliness arrives you will crumble. That you will lay on the floor in a ball listening to your grandmother speak. You will remember she's been dead almost as long as you've been alone. You will not cry. You will pray to God to quiet your mind and soul. You will awake in the middle of the night. on the floor. In the dark. With a blocked nose and a heavy head. With a cold. You will write six chapters. Eat four different snacks. Listen to your little sister dress for school. You will only sleep when she kisses you bye. You will forget that today was monday. You will miss your class. Your best friend will call you 16 times today. You will cry when you hang up because you can hear the relief when he realises you are not dead. You will be unsure if you are dead. Your father will bring you your favourite takeaways because he noticed you have not eaten all your food in six days. You will eat it all while he watches. Your heart will cringe

I should have said no. But you have always been my reason for terrible decisions. What is one more heartbreak to a shattered soul. You should have never asked. But I have always been your strongest temptation. But what is one more spoon to a half eaten soul.

My daughter wants to know why they're no girls like her in her favourite Tv shows. So I told her she is special. The world doesn’t know yet that the prettiest woman has Kinky curls and cocoa brown skin. My daughter doesn’t get why magazines are filled with Bullets meant to kill little brown girls. Like jeans with no space for her curves. With pictures of a tiny bustier That her 32D breasts don’t fit without being vulgar. She wants to know why I she cannot wear shorts Without encouraging men to bust her lips and knock down her doors. My daughter wants to know who will save her. Who will love her melanin and kink. For some reason the answer she is looking for is not me. 

I do not argue over dinner tables with anyone else. I do not let them unnerve me. I do not consider crying because someone has questioned who I am. I do not consider throwing glasses at anyone else. But goddamn it I want to wrap my fingers around your lovely throat and watch the air leave you. How dare you? How dare you forget that I can break you. What did you not learn? How did you forget that loving me is suicide. Do not dare me. Do not beg me. Do not tease me. Do not touch me. Do not tempt me to craddle you in my arms. To kiss your face and teach you my secrets all over again. It will end the same. When will you learn that you will not survive me.

I was nominated to do the book challenge. Apparently I just list 10 dope books I've read. Thank you Yaone for the recommendation. In no particular order. 1. The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky 2. Half a Yellow Sun by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie 3. Black Skin White Masks by Frantz Fanon 4. Tears of My Land by Kuela Kiema 5. Madam Speaker Sir: Breaking Glass ceilings ( Such simple writing, nothing spectacular but such a necessary book) 6. You are Not a Country Africa by Pius Adesamni 7. Saturdays are Gold by Pierre Van Roomayne 8. The whole Game of Thrones series by George " I type so fucken slow" Martin 9. Coconut by Kopano Matlwa 10. Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell

You should not have fell for me. Ask the previous one. Men do not survive me. I will not hold you. I will not love you. I will not codle you. I will command you. I will conquer you. I will leave you. You should have asked. Who will save you now?

Note To Self:  Do Not Love Him. Do Not Love Him. Do Not Love Him. Do Not Love Him. Do Not Love Him. Do Not Love Him. Do Not Love Him. Do Not Love Him. Do Not Love Him. Do Not Love Him. Do Not Love Him. Do Not Love Him. Do Not Love Him. Do Not Love Him. Do Not Love Him. Do Not Love Him. Do Not Love Him. Do Not Love Him. Do Not Love Him. Do Not Love Him.

You said my green veins scared you. That you had always loved a light girl. But you had never seen such clear veins before.  Then you kissed my wrists.  and I whispered "It is because I wear my heart on my sleeve" You explained to me then the biology of hearts, veins and arteries.  And suddenly there was nothing magical  about green veins on light skin.  Except the idea of how long they'd bleed.

1.  I should not have said "I like you". Or maybe not over text.  I should have put my hand in your hair.  I should have looked you in the eye and said "Teach me how not to love you" 2. I have learnt your body.  I no longer stumble over you. No longer struggle to your eruptions.  But I do not know you.  3.  You have consumed parts of me I used to fear to touch.  Your tongue is my friend.  I have began to love him more than you.  4. I read somewhere that after 3 months a crush is no longer a crush. I should hate you by now.  But I still do not know you.

It would be a terrible shame to summarize my favorite memories into one person. Dear cousins. In general no specifics and non-specifics but... I like you guys. For getting me. and laughing with me.

Dear T.O.M The first time you kissed me I was 14 and scared. We were in a classroom and I was scared we would get caught. I was scared I wouldn't be a great person to kiss. I didn't know that at 20 your lips would still be my favourite to kiss. that your hands would still be my favourite to hold. That you would have scars on them from all the times you tried to protect me.

No one loves girls who snear when men tell them they are everything. No one loves girls with 20 tattoos 3 piercings and a body count of over 25. No one loves girls who drink black label and smoke 16 cigarettes a day. No one loves those girls. Yet I love you.

And you're stranded somewhere in between the first time he loved you and the first time he broke you. You cannot remember the in betweens just the extremity of how similar they both feel. Heart race so  fast. You can barely hear yourself think beyond the rumbling in your stomach. How funny love and pain have become intertwined in the few hours that you lay in his arms as his soul crept into yours. And you are standing on this Island on your own. surrounded by nothing but his capsizing fears and broken bits of masculinity floating in the tears you cried the first time his skin touched yours with more than love. With bruises you have never dared to look at or touch in fear that they would become real and capsize you too.  He is kneeling below you. Arms wrapped around your knees. Sobbing. He reminds you of your little brother the first time you left for college. How does a towering image of strength, How does a sturdy man crumble to his knees and wrap himself around you to be

You must have been five the first time you realized your grandmother was not your mother. I suspect that someone told you one day that your mother never loved you and that is why Grandma is raising you. You must have wondered what they meant. You didn't laugh at them or cry. But you spent the next few years trying to forget that sentence. And you were happy.. But suddenly you were old enough to realize that mama was much older than your friend's mothers. But you didn't crumble then did you? No. Only when your grandmother died and you buried her and your mom stood across from you crying and you realized that the only thing you guys had in common was loving a fragile old lady. I pray for you girl. I do.

when I was 13 or so I knew that I wanted to live alone and work long hours. I never knew why. But then suddenly I was fourteen and in love and I wanted to be married. Then I wanted to be alone again. Point is this is silly. I'm not trying to be anything. Just taking this daily.

"You are so brave and so quiet I forget you are suffering" Some people are stronger than others. I learnt this when I realised that you wake up everyday and face your days without the person you love the most. You inspire me. That is rare, but you inspire me to remember who I am and why I am here. That there are things bigger than me. Stronger than me. You remind me that I am just another grain in the sand but that does not make me any less important.  You are my oldest friend. But this is not a friendship measured in years but in tears, hugs, fears, joys, dreams, achievements, and a celebration of one another. It is one dose admiration, two shots of faith, a dash of trust, mixed with respect. That is how we have made it. By remembering that we are people with places to go and things to do. :)  P. S congratulations on the new car. Keep it going my love. I am praying for you. 

Hi Tlamzie, Thandie and Thuto, It seems everyone is home but you guys. But here is the thing. I know you're feeling a little tired. I know you're missing my hugs. I know you'd like a yummy home cooked meal. I miss your laughs. I miss your voices. I can barely remember them but I also know you chose this path for a reason. Go forth and prosper. I love you.

Dear Nyakallo, I wish God had given us both a little bit more strength to hold each other a little bit longer and a little bit harder. I love you. Terribly. and strongly. and I miss your face. Text me bish. :)

Dear you, "She was blushing. She was laughing. He was the reason why. But he was in love with another girl. She knew what love was. It wasn’t a tie that was broken by walking away. Love was love. No one walked away unscarred. She wanted to love him. She wanted to turn his hands over and tattoo I love you in his arms, to teach him to draw her face with his eyes closed. She wanted to trace kisses on his body, and teach him the contours of her own. But he was already in love. She didn’t want to compete but she still laughs and blushes and tells him all her dreams and fears. He still listens." You should have stopped listening and I should have stopped talking. But even perfect people have weaknesses. Now look at us. Me.

I am sorry. I was stubborn and young and broken hearted. Nothing good ever came from loving a broken soul. Nothing good ever came from trying to put together shattered glass. I am sorry I left pieces of myself lodged in your hands. I am sorry that I tried to wash the blood but only hurt you. I am sorry that when I could not remove myself from you I tried to sooth you with my poetry. I am sorry that he was still in every poem that I wrote. I am sorry that you met me when I was nothing but shreds of myself. ' I am sorry that my love for him suffocated you. That it wrapped itself so tightly around your throat that you felt his hands crack your neck. And you walk up from bed wondering if I would ever love anything else. If you were enough? I am sorry for all the times you tried to reach beyond my lips and I cried. And you did not know whether to hold me or leave me. Because my skin has began to burn itself in you. ' And you're realising I'm too hot to touch an

Dear boy who left She stared at him in the rear view mirror. They were acting like friends again. They were always acting like friends. Nobody knew, not even her best friends that she had been sleeping with him for a year. She was in love with him. She knew it for sure. Staring at him and that rear view mirror knowing he wouldn’t see her again for 77days. Exactly 77. She had counted; he had said she should think of it as weeks. He kissed her. She held back tears. “I’m going to miss you she said. He said you don’t understand that I’m going to miss you four times more. She knew it now that when she said she loved him she did. And he was leaving. And she was staying. And she loved him. But she knew he didn’t love her. Even when he said he did, she knew.

I have never been one to be flattered by anyone who called me their everything.  I have always wanted a man who could say to me "you deserve everything"... There is a certain emptiness with being someone's everything. The idea that they are nothing without you is the least bit romantic. Just incredibly scary.   In the words of Toni Morrison  “You think because he doesn't love you that you are worthless. You think that because he doesn't want you anymore that he is right -- that his judgement and opinion of you are correct. If he throws you out, then you are garbage. You think he belongs to you because you want to belong to him. Don't. It's a bad word, 'belong.' Especially when you put it with somebody you love. Love shouldn't be like that. Did you ever see the way the clouds love a mountain? They circle all around it; sometimes you can't even see the mountain for the clouds. But you know what? You go up top and what do you see?

You guys are probably expecting someone else but here goes.... Dear Rihanna, I genuinely do not understand why people giggle a little when I list you as people I want to meet. I mean how else will i learn to live like nobody is watching even with 36.5 million twitter followers,  89,226,606 facebook fans and well.... the rest of the world and their mothers watching. How else will I learn to be myself even when a billion people are watching me, judging me and desperately begging me to be someone else?  How else will I learn to watch my world crumble while everyone watches but still wake up to get my job done. Honestly there is only one way to say it... Rihanna if you do not meet me who will teach me to be unapologetic about who I am? Or to own my body? Or how to love my family unconditionally? You have shared bits of yourself with every person who has learnt to love you. You have shared your friends, your family, your home.  Also who will teach me how to dutty wind? How will show

I am sorry that your parents are too absorbed in healing their broken hearts to notice that you are falling through the cracks. I am sorry that it took noticing scars on your arms to realize that I was too consumed in trying to get my degree to notice that you needed a hug. Or a laugh. Or somewhere safe to cry. But you are young and that is an incredible thing to be. An incredible place to be. It is a place of fluidity. Nothing about you is defined. Except that you are a bubbly girl with big bright eyes. I wish I had remembered to teach you early in life that you would never have to seek for love beyond the walls of my purple room. That you did not need to ask for it, or beg for it, that it came unrequited, unwanted but still enveloped you in its embrace. Someone should have told you. Or showed you.  It should have bee me.  You should not have had to seek it at the bottom of vodka bottles at thirteen. Or in slits in your arms. I am sorry I did not teach you. 

Dear Angel, If someone had told me that on your 18 th birthday I would have to remind myself not to call you out or tell you you’re wrong thirteen years ago I would’ve laughed. We would have laughed. I would have told them that you have cried in my arms way too many times for pretences. That we have shared too many diary pages for lies. If someone had told me years ago that I needed to “get you” I would have “got them”. If they said “she will crumble if you do not save her” I would have showed them your straight As, your trophies and asked you to ask them wtf in two different languages. But here we are... and I’m watching you fall. Too scared to save you Or tell you. 

You’re an old soft warm bad habit Like the way my sister sucks her lips And the way i squint my eyes. You remind me of my mama’s oxtail Sweet and inviting Filled with laughter and joys. And smells of familiarity. Something about you says welcome home You’re an old soft warm bad habit. Somewhere in between my favorite boxers and frail blankie. My favorite tea cup and favorite dish You’re the place i cuddle in comfort and sob in pain You’re the laughter in between shots And the sickness in the morning You are my beginning and ending. And my knees have gathered dust from kneeling prayers That echo in the loneliness of my rooms offering no answers or sense of comfort. Where is my GOD?? And I've been carving your name unto unlit skies hoping that with every letter some kind of light will shine on me. And I've been walking down memory lane but the path is riddled with thorns and broken glass so it hurts when I walk. And dear, between my

This letter is difficult because I do not forgive. so sorry to dissapoint you but it won't be happening.

I found a poem I wrote that gets this.... It's called Home Let's get our own place. And cook and drink wine. We'll pick recipes of the internet.   Our house will smell of yummy things we haven't eaten yet. We'll sit on the floor and eat of each other's plates. Or share a plate because we're not done packing yet. Then we'll make love on our bed.   I'll make sure we start with that room. With pretty sheets I picked. Then we'll lie in each other’s arms. And I’ll scream eek at your sweat glistened skin that turned me on just a moment before.   You'll laugh. And we'll talk. You'll fall asleep. Fall into a snore. I'll get up and write in the study you built for me. And I’ll fall asleep, books open, laptop on.   Will you buy me a type writer so I don't deal with the glare on the screen? I hope you're not mad when you wake up and realise I don't sleep that much.                 

Dear Angel, or princess or rock star or cowgirl or president or whatever else you want to be when you grow up. Here is something that everyone but your mother will say "You do not belong to yourself" . They will consume you in bits and pieces. They will attempt to own you. sometimes they will swallow you whole but remember than that your mama birthed a fighter. That you come from a family of women with a fire in their eyes. You my darling belong to yourself. I am doing horribly aren't I? I just don't know what to tell you. I don't want to be the one who tells you that because you are a black woman you will work ten times harder than most people. I do not want to be the one to tell you that sometimes you will break yourself on men or women. That 1 in 3 women experience gender based violence at least one in their life. God! I hope you're not number 1. I do not know how to tell you what kind of woman to be. Maybe an open minded one. Or maybe I'll show you.

Dear Saleem, I named you after my father because of the day he told me he once beat his convicted pedophile uncle for making a sexual comment about a twelve year old walking past him. Also for the time my uncle called his wife a whore and he kicked him out. For the time he planted roses for my mother because she deserves roses everyday. I named you for a man I never saw mistreat a woman. For a man who treated me as a human and not a girl. I named you for a man who in a time where all I heard was " so and so is beating his girlfriend or wife" I never saw raise a hand to a woman. I named you for him in the hope that he will rub off on you. They are many things I will teach you, like to live fearlessly and be yourself but only one is important today. Darling I birthed you because they are not enough men that know that women are human beings. They are not human because they are someone's mother, sister, daughter or wife, they are human because they are real. The world wil

Dear TJ, Here is a list of 10 things to remember when you're forty;  No one is too young to fall in love and You are not too old to forget to love. Tequila shots are messy as fuck. But messy nights are worth trying to remember.  Sex in a car will never be comfortable.  "Writer, poet, and superhero"  You can say No.  You can quit jobs you don't like.  We're going to greece.   Island girls have more fun.  Nothing your children do is about you.  If no one else does, Simba Snow Sebina loves you.  and also I love you.... xoxo

So a fan ( nah more like an avid reader) of my blog said he was disspaointed that I stopped the letter challenge. We therefore came to an agreement that I would try my hand at it except He would give me a few letters to write to replace the ones I had already written. So can we call this the July letter challenge? Yall can thank @AtangManyeaula for this one. A letter to 12 year old TJ Dear Tshepo,  No one but your mom calls you TJ now but by next year even your childhood friends will and after six or so years you will wish people remembered Tshepo. But they won't. You will become TJ. You will love her. She will be your favourite thing about Tshepo and you will be proud. You will still wish she was Tshepo.  Next year you will be thirteen. It seems inconceivable now but I promise you it isn't as difficult as it looks. I know you feel awkward. No one says you're cute except your family. All the boys think you're one of the boys but do not bother yourself. They

 I don't know why but I love Edith Piaf.

I have fallen into poetry. And she has swallowed me whole. She has comforted me and I have filled her. Left her belly swole with all my tears and fears. I am sorry my darling... I wish I had more to offer than angry words and insecurities. I wish I held you tenderly. But I have fallen into poetry. And she has comfored me.

The first time you realize you love someone you will be staring at them across a table. They will not notice you. They will be laughing or smiling. Or they will be reading a book with a crease in their forehead and you will ask yourself “How did I live my life without you?”. You will answer with “I never really lived.” You will breath in sharp and strong. The air will reach the bottom of your lungs and you will sigh heavily thinking “I love you”. And at that moment they will notice you. They will smile.  You will not say it then. You will say it a month from now. Maybe you’ll be laying in bed and they’ll be playing with your hair. You’ll maybe whisper it “I love you.” If you’re lucky they’ll catch it and whisper it in your ear. If you’re unlucky you’ll scream it in the middle of an argument and they’ll stand there like a deer in the middle of a road. You will be the truck at High speed, Bright lights, Honking so they move. But they will stand there and you will slam the brakes and

and my darling told me  when he misses me,  he basks in the sun. closed eyes basking in the kisses of the rays. That it never takes him long to see his skin peel and remember that’s how I feel.  I’m sorry.  I’m sorry I do not burn softer. 

“ I will be loud and vulgar and angry and me. So change your ways or shut your racist mouths. Use your liberal rationality to unlearn your contempt for me and my people, or shut your racist mouths. I am not going to eat myself up inside anymore. I am not going to eat myself up inside anymore. I am not going to eat myself up inside anymore. I am going to eat you. ” —  Rosario Morales ,  I am the Reasonable One  (1986)

And someone told me that the secret to greatness lies in my demons. That God created me to create. That in the beginning there was the word. and sometimes my demons crawl out of the corners of my mind. I can't sleep a night. Won't you find a little soul for me? A little beauty? A little warmth for me? Shed a tear for me? Cup of tea for me? Don't forget the Dash of Vodka. Darling... Darling... Its a bit dark in here.  A bit lonely sometimes but down here its quiet too. and my demons don't speak as much as they used to. No one told me death would be so peaceful. No one told me that cold skin means you don't feel. It's so quiet here. Í'm craving a ciggy though. It's just a little bit too cold.  too dark. but i really like the quiet.  you'd love it too.  Amy Winehouse for a zillion reasons 1. Because despite her troubles she was an artist. she respected her work always.she expected the best f

I am trying to teach you not to hold on to boys that bury their troubles between your thighs. I am trying to teach you fierce. I don't know, maybe even strong. I am trying to teach you that if no one will warm your feet you have to wear socks. I am trying to teach you that you're worth more than 30 minutes of sweat and not even a five minute nap. I am trying to teach you that you don't have to love anyone back. That "it's complicated" is not "I like you" and everything before "but"is a lie. I am trying darling... But you're stuck in your ways you cry on shoulders that forget to text you back. and pay for drinks you never drink. I am trying to teach you that box never saved a man or fixed him. That your cooking never loved him. that your texts are an annoyance I am trying to teach you' that you are worthy of yourself darling. when will you learn? when will you know? Not to find comfort in mediocr

                                                      African Divas

I want us to head to the studio when she comes home.

I'm not difficult to love because I'm broken. Its not because its poetic. It's not because its dark. its not because I forgot myself in someone elses heart. I'm difficult to love because no one taught you to love women like me. I'm difficult to love because you don't know how to love fire. I'm difficult to love because you don't know how to fire walk. You don't know how not to burn, and I'm too many degrees intense for your skin not to blister. And I don't know how to be cooler. I'm not difficult to love. Some have loved me before. You just don't know how to love me.

Thunder storms. Don't you wanna hold me tonight? I've got a fever. and I need some love tonight. Passionate and violent like thunder storms in the desert not the splatters they call rain in London. Declare your love as loud as the thunder.  Bright for everyone to see like lightning in clear skies How else can I love you? In whispers? Hidden behind doors? I want love. the loud and bright kind. like lightning and thunder. I want the violently passionate kind. so when I wake and see the rubbles I know it wasn't just a dream. 

Jhene is good for the soul. I like her. A lot, besides "I do not feel the fear of falling..."

When I was 5 my mother told me to punch till i drew blood. I didn't get why she was so mad. When I was 12 a man said I liooked sexy in shorts. I stopped wearing shorts. Or playing outside. I closed my legs, I sat like a lady. I wear shorts now. I walk at night. I drink tequila. I reject nice guys. Someone told me I was asking for it. I remembered then, my mother said... "when a boy tells you he owns you punch till you draw blood."

Number 1. Promise me that when our son asks you my faults you'll be honest and say loving you. That godesses shouldn't love men. You'll tell him I am a woman of fire, whose only chill is you. You'll tell him that I burn bright and you cool me down. and you're not sure if that's good or bad. Number 2  Promise me that when our daughter asks you'll give. Number 3 If ever my demons threaten to consume me. If ever I lock myself in a room crying. Do not leave me alone. Do not allow me to only listen to only my breathes. Whisper you love me. Number 4 If ever I wake up and say I want a nose job. Don't tell me I'm beautiful the way I am. I know. Number 5 But don't forget to tell me I'm beautiful. Number 6 Promise me that I won't be the last to know when you stop liking your coffee black with two sugars. Number 7 Promise you'll remember my birthday. Promise you'll love me then. Number 8 On the days you don't feel y

hi... A follower requested a short story by me a while ago. here is what i have of Annie so far.  She put the cigarette to her mouth. Inhaled the minty smoke and breathed it out through her nose. “I’m Annie”. She squat down to put the cigarette on the floor exposing her sexy thighs and then stood up before stubbing it out with her leopard print heel. It crumbled, the filter still intact stained with lipstick.  “I’m not much of a smoker.” she said reapplying her pink lipstick. “One puff and I’m good. Probably a waste of money though.” Her biracial hair was tumbling away from the top knot bun and she was trying to pin it up. The sweat glistened on her long neck. “I like to dance. That’s why I’m all sweaty. I’m always dancing when I’m out. It’s ridiculous.” She slid through the club door, turned and called out “Dance with me”. He tossed his cigarette to the street and followed. Her slim figure slid through the crowd easily while he struggled to keep up. He kept his eye on her as he

Dear Grandma I can't forget the day you said you'd see me in my dreams. Or the day my cousin screamed "Mampho o sule". And I'm trying not to cry but I cry so much man. I cry about everything. Did I cry this much before? Did you know I cry so much? I cry almost as much as I breath. Sometimes I have to hide behind my shades and hat. I just started drinking tea again. I'm not hurling it but I haven't tried the one you liked. It scares me. I have a baby sister. So I'm not a baby anymore. And sometimes I wish you'd gotten to see it. I miss you terribly. I wish you'd visit my dreams tonight. Love, Tshepo.

Dear Thandi, I know I'm bad at keeping in touch. But there is so much to say. Technology is so impersonal. I'm sorry. I want to hold you, see your face when I tell you something shocking, hear you laugh. I miss you. terribly. Don't doubt it. I just can't do this online life. Just make sure when you come home this time I get to see you. I love you. Hope you're staying blessed. Xoxo

I’m about 1.5 meters of skin if we forget that bodies are made in loops and bends. I’m about ten shades lighter than black, One shade darker than yellow bone, Apparently still not quite yet red bone. I’m still light enough to sunburn easily, But too dark to tan. Yet not too dark to get darker. My bruises start out green ending in purplish-black patches that hurt almost as long as they last. While Hot showers and back rubs leave me red; Boys who suck my neck complain they cant own me. My legs are a patchwork of dry skin Cracks that sometimes remind me of pans drying after rain. If you pay attention you might notice the tiniest bits of hair. Elsewhere it grows thick, untamed, An expression of myself I’ve got scars Little stories but none in ink just yet. Just folding, healing skin. Little treasures of beauty spots hide across my body Like constellations against a the sky. Instead of silver they’re black Against my 10 shades l

Again I am super late due to power cuts. But here goes Dear Sir, I don't feel like writing down your name today. I no longer refer to it. Or hold it with the reverence of a little girl learning her first teacher's name. I no longer repeat it to people as if to remind them you once belonged to me. I no longer repeat it to myself in an attempt not to forget you. I try to remember not to say it. I try to remember that they're sick and tired of hearing it. I try to remember not to tell stories that make me laugh if you're in them. Or stories about the first time I did this or that because goddamn it you're in so many fucken memories. So sometimes I whisper it before bed and other days when I'm too busy to remember it crawls into my dreams and holds me. I keep trying to remember that you are no longer comfort. You are no longer home. Your bed is not a place I can bare myself anymore. I can no longer cry in your arms. You can no longer see me as the definition o

Hi... unfortunately living in a third world country means that i sometimes have all day power shortages apparently. I had no idea. In other news. Hi there stranger, I slipped this note in your back pack this afternoon after I saw you start an argument with a combi driver on a rainy day. Here's the thing. We're all having a pretty shit day. Its raining furiously. My shoes are soaked. And for God's sake I left my house for a cafe cause there was no power and the cafe didnt have power? So I genuinely don't know why no one has taught you that some arguments aren't a thing. That the scorn in your voice is a bitter acid that pisses us the fuck off but only burns you. Does it make you feel better? Does it make you feel manlier to remind the combi driver that your job is better than his so he needs to hurry the fuck up. Shut Up. You're beneath him for simply being so fucken rude. what are you a twelve year old spoilt kid? Here sir a three rules to having a good da

I thought someone was moving in there. I thought I felt your little feet. But I woke up to the trickle of blood between my thighs. What kind of mother never hears her son leave? Never really knows if she dreamt him up? God I wish you'd stayed. Note From author Some women really wish their periods would arrive. They're others who wish they wouldn't arrive out of pain. But Imagine the women who are waiting on a little gift.

How are they so many of you? Lord. I can't keep up. Maybe I take too many naps and sleep too long. I feel like I'm always chasing... Always so confused and for a very long time I sat and watched. Then I turned twenty. And as if for some reason God decided that Twenty was the year. Doors opened and we walked through. I can see you clearly now. Everyday's to do list is one step closer to I made it. And every sleep less night is one less dream and for once I'm really glad man. I'm really fucken glad I'm not feeling like you're slipping away. I'm trying to keep up. I'm really trying to stay awake.

Dear Aaliyah I remember when I found the scan of you by accident. I asked mom if we were having a baby and she said it was a scan of daddy's tummy. I didn't tell her she was lying because it had her name on it. You don't tell old people they're lying. But I remember going to bed that night and praying you were a girl so you could get some of my old clothes. I waited for you for so long. And then you arrived a small ugly thing with a full head of curly hair that wasn't any fun to play with and by the time you could play I was too old and busy. You fell asleep waiting for me to finish my homework and read you a story. That's probably why you don't read much now. But yesterday you said "look the clouds are pregnant"and I beamed with pride because you remembered the metaphors we went through. and mom said "where'd you learn that?" and you said my sister. And never for a second when I'm yelling or moving out or somewhere in betw

Dear Mom and Dad, Guess what? I'm going to make it. Thanks for making it possible. Sincerely, Somewhere in between a grown woman and a little girl

Dear Crush, I don't want to write this. This letter would remind me too much of how we began in endless possibilities and ended in Nothing.  I've got a thing for boys who read books, speak multiple languages and smell good. You are all of those. But it seems I've also got a taste for men with no taste for me. Do I taste dull? Do I taste stale while you taste like candy floss? Soft and sweet but so incredibly unhealthy. So incredibly unhealthy how many times you want to be just friends while your hand is in my pants and there's tequila in my breath. I use to think you were awesome and it makes me sad to watch your light flicker the faster I run away. I wanted to be friends. But you lied. I can't stand lies. Not when I'm giving you all of myself. I can't stand lies. Not when I'm giving all of myself. _ Nothing

Is it a sin if I write 2? The reason is for some people they meet one person who understands their soul and they call them their best friend and for me I've met two different people who understand me so differently but who i love so fiercely I couldn't live without them. so here goes... Darling, I used to think that I knew nothing about you. That I opened myself to you and got nothing from you but hugs and condolences and tears about how i deserved better but not a single bit of you. Then i realized I never asked. Always so observed in myself that I never noticed that maybe unlike me who sprawls herself to whoever will listen, you needed prompting. But I have since learned that nothing anyone does has to do with me. And it makes smile that occasionally when the pressure of the things you bottle up inside cracks its me you call at 2 am in tears. And sure I have no fucken Idea why You're crying. And sure I've never met your man. Or remember his name because he never

Write a letter a day for 30 days The List 1 - Your Best Friend 2 - Your Crush 3 - Your parents 4 - Your sibling (or closest relative) 5 - Your dreams 6 - A stranger 7 - Your Ex-boyfriend/girlfriend/love/crush 8 - Your favourite internet friend 9 - Someone you wish you could meet 10 - Someone you don't talk to as much as you'd like to 11 - A Deceased person you wish you could talk to 12 - The person you hate most/caused you a lot of pain 13 - Someone you wish could forgive you 14 - Someone you've drifted away from 15 - The person you miss the most 16 - Someone that's not in your state/country 17 - Someone from your childhood 18 - The person that you wish you could be 19 - Someone that pesters your mind-good or bad 20 - The one that broke your heart the hardest 21 - Someone you judged by their first impression 22 - Someone you want to give a second chance to 23 - The last person you kissed 24 - The person that gave you your favourite memory

We're like withering roses me and you. This relationship isn't big enough for the both of us. It’s sad that some people suffocate in love or somewhere between it. Someone asked me what being in love feels like. I can't remember. All I remember is the consuming fear of losing you. Remind me darling.   I hate it when scars fade. That's when I forget all the burns, cuts and bruises. That's when I fall into your arms, forgetting that their safety once suffocated me.   That you once wept as you watched your too tight grasp leave me gasping and clawing at you.   Too selfish and scared to let go just a little. They won't stop asking why I won't leave you.   I've resolved to answering, "I'm a poet. What would I write about if not being in love with a man that thinks I'm pathetic" But we both know it’s nice to come back and be a mess again. I told you you're a lucky man. I didn't tell you I'm a lucky woman too. Ma