Proud Roots
Sometimes, when I dream,
I wake up as nothing short of
A Proud African Woman.
But, I’ve always been short.
And I can’t paint my skin…
Sometimes, when I dream,
I wake up as nothing short of
A Proud African Woman.
But, I’ve always been short.
And I can’t paint my skin…
. The morality of victim is always called into question. I think my story, can easily be summed up as ‘alijipeleka’
I am forced to admit, that I am quite a sporadic writer. I woke up the other morning, at three thirty, jumped out of bed and scrambled for a pen and lots of paper. I had to write about growing up, something I am suddenly very happy I’ve managed to do. Perhaps, one day, when…
The windows of this jav are clean. That makes me comfortable, it shows care. Care isn’t love though. If this was a loved car, It would be all clean. Not just wiped down, So obvious bits gleam. Why can’t I stop myself from seeing, the familiar, cloudy brown, bottoms and sides? The pane still…
She owns the world, with a paint brush Of words Which caress lifes’ obstacles with an overpowering; ‘It is well.’ October, November which bring rainy days, She picks out the lilac to frame the grey and rain purple rain So the roads, with confetti celebrate our way. She speaks in metaphors of a…