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31 | 31 Poems for August 2017

There’s something exquisite about your smile, your brown eyes have got me hypnotised, and your heart is a gold mine.
I’m addicted to everything you say and do, so be my poet and I’ll be your muse.
We’ll figure out everything else once we’ve found something to do between our sporadic bursts of laughter.
Let me comfort you with soulful conversations accompanied by several bottles of red wine.
We could vibe out and listen to James Blake, and you could tell me about the days when you couldn’t see the colour in anything.
I’m no stranger to the waves of the ocean, so I eventually want to get lost in the depths of you.
You are a picturesque South African city worth exploring even when tourists no longer come to visit.
Their dollars, euros, pounds, nairas and rupees may run dry but my love for you will keep overflowing.
I could write poetry and love letters on your skin but my handwriting is not as beautiful as my words are.
I’ll be your poet in a world that’s still acquainting itself with all the writers of exquisite African literature.
In the Supreme Court of your love, people have told you untruths while under oath – I think the law calls it perjury.
We could vibe out and listen to James Blake, and you could teach me how you see the colour in everything.
I want to get lost in an endless field of sunflowers while basking in the warmth of your presence.
KNS Jul 2020
An evening shower often begins
with a conversation
between myself and my body.

I turn on the music;
a comforting melody that sets the tone for this dialogue

I caress my left arm with my right hand.
"Why can't I be thinner?
Why can't I be lighter?"

My skin hears me and whispers,

"Though you are not thin, you are full.
I hold the muscles that allow you to articulate and move.

Who told you that your darkness was not as beautiful or as powerful as the light?
You come from generations of spirits that fought for their darkness
and fought for its freedom."

I look at it and begin to weep
and a tear drop falls,
rolling down the volume of my tummy

Wiping the tear, I reply

"Thank you for reminding me of my inherent beauty.
I am sorry that I do not recognize how much you do for me,
I am sorry for the verbal abuse that both myself and the world have spewed at you,
I am sorry to not have been your protector,
But

I pause
and cradle my chest
wrapping my arms tightly around myself

"I am here now.
I am here."
A poem about learning to love myself as a black womxn.

— The End —