The Joy Scribbles

"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.