The Joy Scribbles

My best friend says I have no idea how to fall.  He walks a bit too close when I've had at least 4 shots of tequila.  " you don't know how to save yourself. You're going to break."  he says.  And I don't know he is right until a boy says  " I don't love you as much as I used too"  And God I love him.  God I'm reckless.  I fall head first in love.  And I fall all the way apart.  And I break myself on people. 

The first time he says he loves you,  you ask if he remembers when you were ten and your dog died.  If he remembers the hug he gave you.  He says yes.  You tell him that was the last time a hug put you together,  and you wish you guys were ten again because 17 is a terrible age to fall in love. 

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.

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. 

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...

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...

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. 

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 ...

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.

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...

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