Lets pretend we are happy.
The golden sun rays are bouncing off the sidewalks
the children are playing hopscotch on those side walks,
carrying red balloons in their laughter and brightly coloured rainbows are painted across their faces.
Lets pretend the weather isn't changing.
lets pretend it isn't raining
lets pretend, the cold raindrops are not seeping into the cracks in the sidewalks and the hooded men, are just passing by..
lets pretend that seasons change
and the cold glances I get from the neighbours barred windows are only temporary
lets pretend that babies are not born everyday
lets pretend the do not have to carve themselves out into a world full of wishful thinking
and the amount of sun in their skin
determines their fortune
lets pretend we arnt the ones carving that future into them
lets pretend that bodies dont walk for miles and miles bounded in chains
lets pretend bodies were not trained to be targets for dogs
lets pretend bodies don't hang, bodies don't float bodies
don't die in vain
lets pretend its all forgotten
no stories told
no lessons learnt
just a casual poem.
poem is about the cycle of humanity, the beauty of human connections, the darkness that connection brings as well as a lot of contradictions about the world that we are raised to believe is ours and yet..really its just history repeating itself.. Enjoy
"Where you goin' mabhebheza!?
lemme put a ring on that *** yo!"
Streets are named after me,
After my disobedient tongue, my rough edges and ***** skin,
They call after me
They mimic my mother's voice
And lure me into an alley no-one will walk through alone.
Sometimes I am that alley.
Sometimes I am the rose and the grave.
Sometimes I am the war-zone and the home.
I guess it depends on who's listening..
those random idiots that take it upon themselves to call out to you from across the street. yeah...you already know.
My skin is a platter of fruit,
He picks at my vines like Sunday dinner leftovers,
Hes always been a generous man,
This whole house is plastered with his fingertips, his forearms, his fists
He hangs my self esteem over the lounge chandelier, locks my tongue away in his corner cabinet..well,
Its for my own good he says, and you and I both know he knows best..
So you wanna know how i got these scars?
Crimson eyes meet purple fists on most days,
Guess you can say we have a Colourful Life.
This is for the survivors, those that stay for their children, those that hold households together, and those that are still gathering the strength to leave.
What if we could mend our own hearts
And closure was nothing but a *******
What if royalty was a personality trait
And we were born with our actual crowns
What if we had solid ground for our feet
And we had wings for hands
What if we could visit the ones we've lost
And grace was felt only by those left behind
What if we could cut small talk at bus stops
And our children inherited only our intentions.
What if we could build our own borders
And raise our own daughters
What if we could own our own thoughts
And dreaming was a form of time travel.
What if parties were meant for the broken
And being young was for the brave.
What if love meant honesty without ultimatums
And **** it..what if you called me back!
Ive learnt not to trust my own smile.
Ive learnt to make it my camouflage
Slippin in and out of paper thin sarcasm,
Feeling Cold in my own skin.
I laugh at my own pretences.
Its the only way to feel normal. To feel something.
My body is borrowed.
There is no right way of doing anything.
I beat myself up about what comebacks i should've used.
What i shouldve said.
How i should've acted..
***** face is the new rest face.
On guard 24/7.
She sat at the edge of her well-beaded cansi throne looking out to the joyous crowd that had gathered around the alter of her fears this was it.
This was the day.
This was her day- they said.
Clutching onto her inherited bouquet of plastic flowers
She tries to swallow down the rising well of her tired tears and the hunger of her robbed childhood.
They dress her.
They pin lace and red satin bows around her 14 yr-old waist as she reminisces..
The rings of sand around her ankles..
Playing mindlessly underneath the autumn sun.
This was the life she knew..
Instead she is forced to think of tonight. Tonight he will break the ridges of her innocence with the same fists that taught our daughters how to keep their mouths shut
With the same hands he will tuck away the gift of her young silhouette underneath his corner table
This is not the life she chose.
She knows nothing about bearing a generation for a man 3 times her age
She knows nothing of the smirk on his face as he welcomes his guests..
This was his wedding after all..and she was just his prize..
This is a poem about the horror of child marriages. Not enough is being done about it so thought I should open the conversation. Enjoy
— The End —