…some of my most intimate pieces.
Six months pregnant and on fire.
We too, dear Kenya, we children of different nose shape, hair texture and skin hue,
we are your children too.
My too much is now static.
And, you’re chilled out, like that’s
how its supposed to be.
Do not think that blind hate is not blind.
We must seek to define, what they try to divide.
Mama taught me that; practice makes perfect,
and didn’t teach me how to settle for less.
Invisible fingers trace boundaries to our knowledge…
Without you no one else perceives,
That you stood to burn for me.
He was stronger.