gökhan is turkish
it means: ruler of heaven

first time i met you:
september 3rd 1993
first day at school

we looked at each other
we wanted to sit together
we became friends

how sturdy you were
people always thought you
were much older
but me?

i had a babyface
hated my babyface
wanted to look older due to my
fatherless childhood
always wanted to be my own dad
wouldn't work though

so gökhan became my daddy
father figure and protector
i looked up to you my man

ruler of heaven

six years later you died of cancer
i rushed to the hospital
countryside germany

when entering your room
aware of your death
i saw your stiff body

and you were smiling
i will never forget that
gökhan

an african-turk growing
up in germany 1990s
called gökhan tatchouop
lost the battle against cancer
sixteen years old

and he really died with a smile
because he was a good man
who did the right thing

as i get older year by year
i could be gökhan's dad by now

you're with me

My hair is my pride yet does not define me
My curls are a part of me but they aren’t me
The sentence goes “Bugs has an Afro” not “The Afro is wearing the girl”
If I want to extend it I will. If I want to cut it I will.
Never will I straighten it, tie it up, or relax it for people who cannot handle my curls at full volume. For these people I wear my Afro. I wear my space buns, my crochet braids, my shaved head. The only thing unprofessional is your 19th century attitude and prejudice opinions. It is a work place not a plantation.

It was unforgivably uncomfortable,

The prying gaze of the Sun.

It felt like a million eyes staring

Without blinking censuriously at my soul.

Stripped of pride with nowhere to hide,

I felt naked, wrapped in her fury;

She spoke sternly without pity.

Her words pierced my skin like arrows

Poking at the very core of my sanity;

I raged with sadness, helpless, drying.

Till Night came in shining armor:

To save the day.

© Layiglover

It was a weary afternoon.
The sky was drowned with angry clouds,
The ambience, drenched in strokes of blue
For the sun was in hiding like it had a flu.
"The earth must share in our agony"
I thought to my self as I stared at the skyline
Which not so surprisingly was visible:
There was hardly anyone within sight,
The regularly buzzing village square
Was doused in a silent melancholic tune
The memories of our sons and fathers
Danced to with reckless abandon.
It was a grand fest of pain and sorrow.
Every turn, every corner was painted red.
The air reeked of bravery and courage,
The valiant heroism of the weak.
"Rain!"
A little girl shouted from a distance.
Everyone rushed out hurridley
To behold for themselves this miracle
"The gods have heard our prayers"
Mama Iyat shouted dramatically,
As she started to do a dance.
The gods are mourning for the souls lost,
Weeping for what the senseless war had cost

little African girl, you belong with the sun
little African girl you grow with the soil, the trees, the earth.
Your melanin glows whenever light shines upon it.
Your beauty aligns with the galaxy that surrounds it.
When you see the way your hair defies gravity, the way it curls and is a beautiful bundle a top of your head, what do you think?
I hope you don't think of perming it so it could be completely straight, so it could lose it's fun, because it should stun anyone who walks by it
You should never have to think that your hair is not beautiful with it's tight curls because I 4c you glowing radiantly as your hair surrounds you, I see you loving yourself every way imaginable to man, I see a girl who was taught that your hair is too hard to handle, I see a girl who wished she had straight hair so she would look pretty all the time
I see a fighter who fought to stop the hurt she brings to herself.
Little African girl you are beautiful the way you are.
From where you came from your, beauty stuns them all.

An African girl married a Chinese man,
They spent their honeymoon in a caravan,
Soon they had a baby girl,
She looked Chinese with black curls,
They named her Mwana Dandan
12/4/2019