what’s your biggest fear?

what’s your biggest fear?
it’s an incredibly superfluous question if you really think about it,
because what else would you say other than the fear of everything you’ve ever wanted?
barreling at you too fast for you to adjust for,
lingering at the corner greeting every tom deena carly harry before you,
cramming into spaces too small for its long limbs and wide grin and
suffocating you suffocating you suffocating you,
what else beyond the stuff of your dreams?
all you were deathly afraid to say out loud because you were
scared the God you half believe in would be vindictive and snatch it away
for every time you half believed,
all you’ve ached for finally folding itself around your scorching skin –

what’s your biggest fear?
how supercilious of you all.
what else do you have room to be afraid of,
when love is all there is?

Photo Cred: http://www.enlightened-consciousness.com 

On Things That Don’t Make Sense, Episode 1: Love

everything is weird.
somehow we’re supposed to believe that it is precisely this lack of order that signals everything is happening exactly how it’s supposed to be.
never in my life have I encountered such a senseless evolutionary disadvantage.
for example, i’m pretty certain only things that are there should be able to move,
or at the very least some kind of tangible sense of something –
something you can point to and say ‘this is a thing called this, here is this thing’.
why then do those that claim this thing quiver in places that don’t exist?
the thick gooey stuff holding your heart beats together in a string,
that place is shaking and shaking and shaking.
it has to be dangerous to have that little control over your own bodily state –
a waving eyelash, the swish of a pink, pointy tongue, a coffee-flavoured baritone and
you’re a mess of quiverings.
apparently even a vague hint or a memory stuck on a replay loop is enough to
send you into some kind of catatonia –
hours spent theorising, philosophising, or otherwise trying to deny that
yourself no longer belongs to just you,
and a vague, formless anxiety sort of becomes second nature.
it lives in a mason jar with a blue lid, next to where you keep your vitamins.
do you think god (if you believe in that sort of thing) does this for funsies?
is he/she/it up there just kind of tra-la-la-ing,
watching us fumble around, hearts trailing –
offering feeble imitations of forever to each other in the hopes that
someone out there enjoys naked Harry Potter marathons too?
that would be kind of… mean.
wouldn’t it be much kinder to say ‘hey, you with the paranoid eyes,
you’re going the wrong way’, and lead us to where horrible things don’t happen –
like dropped heart stitches and bad kissing?
i don’t know, maybe there’s a reason why humans are so obsessed with binaries…
you know, for sanity.
because if there’s a you, surely that must mean that
someone out there has this life thing figured out… right?


I Never Could Colour Between the Lines

i am a cirrocumulus cloud.
morphing without boundaries around the jabs of the wind,
i am red wine spilling over sides of containers
staining fingers and bed sheets and the lining of your oesophagus,
maybe if I had the body of a little boy it would be different,
or a laugh like a wind chime,
voice like sparkling lights off the edge of champagne bubbles,
delicate delicate delicate
goes the heart but nothing matches on the exterior,
i am too much.
deep-rooted cracks coated over with second-hand grime,
a booming hundred and twenty wpm to hide the fear,
bold bold bold
goes the speaker but the left hand tremors if you look closely,
i am not pink i am not yellow i am not your gentle hues of blue,
i am a violent red-streaked purple slashed through with black jagged edges,
continue to tell me i am difficult to love,
seek peace from this storm in the arms of others softer,
i hide from myself behind my own bright smile
and if you never seek me,
there i will remain.

Obligatory End-of-Academic-Year-I’m-So-Over-This-Shit Self-Introspective/Procrastinatory/Inspirational Blog Post

So here I am, sitting in this café, listening to Lemonade for the 378564th time and drinking coffee. It’s a warm, sunshiny day, I’m sitting opposite a black Republican smiling sweetly at him while wearing my Fuck Trump cap and there’s a soft breeze fluttering in through the open windows wafting along the scent of spring.

It’s a beautiful day.

Inspired by the good vibes, I open up my computer to do some work… and it’s not happening. It’s just not. Like… my brain is unable to can. It’s tapped out, staring at me with its pink spongy arms crossed like ‘nope’. The Sophomore Slump (aka Early Senioritis aka The Hump Day Of Your College Career aka Why Do I Need This Degree Anyway I Just Want To Live In A Cottage And Make Jam) is REAL.

Naturally, I give in to my brain’s inability to get in formation, and do what any millennial would do in this situation – the Innanets. In the midst of my ensuing lazy trawl through social media, while wailing internally about burn out and needing a long holiday or an extra strong mojito, I see a tweet from the founder of Blavity, Morgan DeBaun: “No one cares. Work harder”.

Screen Shot 2016-05-26 at 4.06.51 PM

And it’s like God’s woken up from Her nap to slap me upside the head.

It’s so easy to lose your drive in the messiness of this school and in the madness that is this country. It’s easy to give into the urge to curl up in foetal position with Ben and Jerry’s and watch Grey’s Anatomy all day because what’s the point of pouring so much energy into an institution that’s like an intellectual Azkaban for people like me? And sometimes, checking out like that is necessary. Sometimes you need a break to be able to get through the next few weeks. And that’s okay. It’s also a slippery slope… because that bed gets all too comfortable and soon enough you realise if you just stay there for another hour… or if you lie there all day… or what the heck, let me just stay here forever, you won’t have to deal with all the bullshit. And that’s just as dangerous as not taking care of yourself.

You (and I’m speaking in particular here to the black women that break their backs just to keep breathing) are extraordinary. When did you forget that? To quote one of the magical black women I’ve had the privilege of getting to know here, “mediocrity walks through these doors every day and it’s NEVER black”. You are the reason why these institutions have anything to boast about in the first place. All of the hard work you’ve done to get here – I see you. I’m affirming you. I recognise you. You DESERVE to be here. Granted, there are probably oodles of places you’d rather be (**cue Home by Michael Bublé**) but hang in there. Your success, your happiness, your goals are worth it. Entirely worth it.

Before I get back to work (…sigh…) here’s my list of powerful women whose essences I’d like to distill, throw into a blender (along with the pure, unadulterated shade of the late, great Prince for some flavour) and chug. Read through, make your own… do what you need to get yourself back. Just in case you, like me, needed a little extra push today.

  1. My mama
  2. Michelle Obama
  3. Angélique Kidjo
  4. Serena Williams
  5. Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
  6. Mae Jemison
  7. Beyoncé
  8. Laverne Cox
  9. Miranda Bailey
  10. Hermione Granger
  11. Toni Morrison