The Joy Scribbles

" I wish there were places I felt safe to break in mote often. There are far and few. Sometimes between them I feel this swelling climbing up my throat and think this is it. Its too late to make it and so I crumble. Never forgetting that breaking is never beautiful. Its tears, blood and sweat. God I wish I wasn't so good at hiding my pain as poetry and prose. I wish I was better at planting confidence to grow into wings. But I plant doubt. I am mean to myself. I plant emptiness and so I never really become anything but an impostor. Nothing but an anxious shell of a pretender. Just an actress with a really good script for a strong woman. A brilliant one." I wrote this scribble in September 2017, a time in which my entire life felt like one big break. I was fragile and raw desperate for a place were I would be allowed to break in and where I would still be seen as a warrior even if I did. So when I did not find that place I decided to create it. One of the many goals I ...

Although I’m perpetually single every year since forever a friend of mine asked what ideas I had for dates in Gaborone that didn’t include food. This single girl may not be having a valentine date, but I do have some dope ideas on how you can take your partner out for a little fun and different romance in this small city of hours. Some of these activities do cost a little bit of money however, remember that romance is not just about money but rather about thoughtfulness. For valentines my advice is to pick a gift or date that shows your partner you pay attention to them, listen to them, and put thought into making sure they are happy. This list does include some food ideas because my personal preference is to be well fed on dates. So, in no order, here are my valentine date ideas for 2018: 1. Bounceland Although the place is considered ideal for families, bounce land is a great active date idea for you and your partner. It’ll allow you both to get in touch with your inner child, ...

In 2017 we saw some amazing books come out of the African continent. Spanning across Fiction, non-fiction and poetry, African authors made it a point to push their literature to the forefront writing books about Africans in Africa for Africans, and Africans received them well. Towards the end of the year the Abantu Book Festival hosted their annual festival for celebrating books by African Authors through a seven day festival, with some of our favorite authors being part of signings, panel discussions and even poetry nights. However, one thing cannot be denied while African authors have been at the forefront African female authors particularly have been giving us gems, writing books relevant to the African Woman’s daily plight. If you’re looking for inspiration from some of these authors to understand consent and the African feminist wave, these five books by African women are a great way to start out; 1. Pumla Dineo Gqola’s Reflecting Rogue: Inside the mind of a feminist Reflect...

What if I can't forget you? You won't my love.  I'm not the kind of woman you forget.  Just remember,  don't let the smell of me linger in everything.  Don't let my touch haunt you.  Don't let the color of my eyes taint everything.  Forget.  The way I break sometimes.  But you will not forget that when my storms were over.  I was a warm summer day.  You were a child in a meadow.  I was filled with adventures.  You were a curious cat.  I was a comfortable couch.  You were an old soul.  I was a new book. Fresh of the print.  You were a teenage nerd.  I was an old book.  With dog ear pages and tear stains.  You were a collector.  But then I was nothing. and you were something.  But.  I know I'm not the kind of woman you forget. 

No one is the victim here.  Except her.  But not me and definitely you.  Its unfortunate that she has to live the rest of her life being the girl you settled for when you realised I'm the kind of fire that doesn't burn out.  I hope she one day finds the courage to ask if she tastes like me.  I hope you say yes. everything tastes like her.  I hope she leaves you. 

Why do you find the unavailable so alluring? Where did it begin? What went wrong? and who made you feel so worthless?…And what about the others that would do anything for you. Why did you make them love you until you could not stand it? And how are you both of these women – both flighty and needful? Where did you learn this, to want what does not want you? Where did you learn this, to leave those that want to stay? —   Warsan Shire

Dear lover, I'm 22 now, I've made a home out of myself. Maybe one day I'll let you in.

You write him a love letter. A long one. He says nothing except, "how do you keep finding new ways to break my heart? ". You say "sorry. I thought you should know. Even though I can't make a home I still love." He walks away. You realize then how selfish it is to keep asking people to stay. You suddenly think of all the men you've loved. The one who hurt you, the one who left, the one who was never really there, the one who loved someone else. How selfish of you to ask anyone to stay. Not when in the same breath you pushed them away. You pick them terribly dont you? You pick them the way young boys pick flowers for girls they love. Temporary fleets of attention, that wilt. You keep them much longer than you should. then they stench. Dead. Never buried. Just there dying, filling everything with the smell of death. Rotting the bits of you you love the most. You love every minute of it. You cry when they leave. Pull yourself apart. P...

They're a number of love stories I've told but never ours. It's my favorite one.  Its the only one that ends without a sour taste in my mouth. The only one I still pray for. I pray for you. Did you know? Do you ever hear my prayers? I pray the way mother's pray for their children and women pray for their husbands. Prayer is a woman's best firearm is something my mother says. I don't think she meant for me to use all my Ammo protecting you. I don't think she meant for me to pray for you so hard. But, I find sanity in knowing that even in the moments when  I choose myself over loving you God will love you for me. In the moments when you would look to me look to him. I'm not nearly responsible to hold your heart in my hands without dropping it. I fear I already have, but I want you to know. All these years later, All these boys later, ' All these scars later, there's not a smile in the world that warms my heart more than yours....

                  I want to live a life where I don't break boys, even the ones I love.

My vagina is pretty.  She is definitely pretty in the conventional neat, everything tucked in kinda way. Or maybe not. Maybe Vagina's are supposed to have big lips. Or maybe they're supposed to have curly thick hair. Or nothing at all. But my vagina is a small girl. Uncomfortably small. She hates tampons, she hates pads. she hates anything scented. She really hates thongs. She particularly likes cotton. Doesn't mind lace. But God she hates thongs. My vagina is sassy. Confrontational. She holds grudges. Throws tantrums. Refuses friends. Picky. Sometimes she says no. Violently. Just No. No thanks. Not today. Not later either. Or tomorrow. Just No.

"I AM THAT CLUMSY HUMAN, ALWAYS LOVING, LOVING, LOVING. AND LOVING. AND NEVER LEAVING." Kahlo, Frida.  The Diary Of Frida Kahlo: An Intimate Self-Portrait.

Perhaps there is a place I will keep you.  But I no longer wait on boys to choose me. 

Some of us love badly. Sometimes the love is the type of love that implodes. Folds in on itself. Eats its insides. Turns wine to poison. Behaves poorly in restaurants. Drinks. Kisses other people. Comes back to your bed at 4am smelling like everything outside. Asks about your ex. Is jealous of your ex. Thinks everyone a rival. Some of us love others badly, love ourselves worse. Some of us love horrid, love beastly. Love sick love anti light. Sometimes the love can’t go home at night, can’t sleep with itself cannot contain itself, catches fire, destroys the belly, strips buildings, goes missing. Punches. Smashes heirlooms. Tells lies. The best lies. Fucks around. Writes poems, impresses people. Chases lovers into corners. Leaves them longing. Sea sick. Says yes. Means anything but. Tricks the body. Kills the body. Dances wild and walks away, smiling. Yrsa Daley-Ward

I am sure in some part of the world I exist as a sin.  Some kind of mistake.  I exist only as all the rules I've broken and all the places I've refused to fit.  I'm sure some one calls me a whore.  I'm sure another calls me a kaffir.  I'm sure someone calls me a heathen.  Dirty. Dirty. Dirty. Dirty. Dirty. Dirty. Dirty.  Dirty black girl.  with no morals.  Look at how she swings her hips existing only to tempt me.  Look at how she speaks. So eloquent. Does she think she could be white?  Smart enough to sit with the boys?  Look at how she knocks back those shots, Look at all those men she touches.  Look at how she doesn't hide?  Nasty. Nasty. Nasty. Nasty. Nasty.  Nasty Black Whore.  Does she know shame?  Shameful dirty nasty little black whore.  Cover yourself. 

him: What's Wrong with you?  Me: EVERYTHING

Sometimes I hear your name in the silences when I pray.  As though God is trying to say, "Its okay hold on to him" I don't. I just let go.   I breathe heavy.  Heavy. Heavy. Heavy. Heavy.  Only on some days.  Only on the days when someone asks about us.  Then, I breathe Heavy.  Heavy. Heavy. Heavy. Heavy. Heavy. So I stay in bed on those days. 

This is not a love story.  One night a really drunk boy sits with a really drunk girl.  They talk about everything.  He feels like she could be the one.  She can't stop staring at his face. they think they're in love.  so a couple of months later he says  "You're my girlfriend" she says yes.  Then one night he says "I love you" she says "me too" then he says, "I don't love you as much anymore so I'm leaving now" so she says "okay" and then she breaks.

Oh darling... I could love you. I really could.  But this boy left with bits of me and I'm saving all my love to grow them back 

“ what the literal fuck are you doing? he is not your home, he hasn’t been in so long that even soft poetic souls know it’s time to let him go. you piece of shit. you never were good at things like this. you think because you loved him, it means he owes you the time of day? he didn’t ask for this. he didn’t ask you to stay. what are you doing? you know better than this. your teeth are knives and you are stone dragon. stop being soft for him. close off your ribs. close off your tongue, your spine, your lips. you aren’t supposed to care like this, like he’s the center of your happiness. why do you gotta be so fucking caught up in him? why couldn’t you just call it quits? what are you doing? why do you even give a shit?" [ Love ] Letters to Myself //  r.i.d