Poetry Is...

Poetry Is…
Wearing your mother’s clothes because
At that age no one defines beauty more than her.
It’s the first time you realise parents are just humans
And prone to making mistakes.
Poetry is loving just for the sake of it.
Unrequited love. Only confessed to empty rooms at night.
It’s 70’s blaxploitation films. All pomp and swagger.
Poetry is placing your hands in a cold stream of tap water
When the days heat up because the sun is back from hiatus.
It is the string of thoughts in my head
Begging to be immortalised on paper.
It’s all the poems ever written about what poetry is.
What the Oxford English defines it as.
Incessant faith in a higher force is poetry.
It lies in the crevices of excited conversations
Of Black women sharing hair care tips.
It is my memories of back home. Blurred and selective.
It is a hot shower after a 10 hour shift
Spent getting harassed by Essex girls
Who wear orange minstrel faces.
It’s hating someone and not knowing why.
Hip Hop, Jazz and Blues.
Poetry is,
Being hungry and broke at the same time.
Arriving home to find mum has cooked instead of dad.
It is how everything I find endearing reminds me of you.
Sleeping in your bed. Our arguments.
It is kissing someone and enjoying it.
A genuine smile that lingers.
Poetry lies in a well faked smile.
Bingeing on borrowed boxsets of The Wire.
Clocking the tag line at the beginning
And laughing at the joke because you get it.
It is big, warm hugs where you stop smelling
Anything but the other person’s scent.
Knowing someone is truly your friend.
Poetry is crying for hours till you feel happy again.
Funerals. The mystery of death.
It is eating smuggled food. It tastes better
Because it’s seasoned with deceit.
It is how the universe sprang into existence.
Poetry is,
Sleep and the world beyond the conscious mind.
Defined by infinity. It lives longer than time.

My Lover

This drug has blackened
My insides.
Yet I'll not give it up,
Not for a while.
It makes me feel pretty.

They Had Faces Like Grotesque Masks

He asked me why I didn't kiss
I said too many snakes have bitten my lips.
Only poison resides there now

It started with uncles
Who wanted to spill their incest
Inside my thighs when babysitting
For my working mother.
Their desire of turning
A child into a woman so strong
They failed to see it was wrong
To turn nieces into wives.

Group work- white flag.

I don't have a clue

Spitting with my silver forked tongue

the devil and I moved in toe

an oxymoron: I love my phone

his power inspires me

like moonbeams kissing the sea

Two lovers.

Walking perplexed.

White the colour of beautiful truth

Red. The colour of a beautiful lie.

Tongues dancing the kiss of death

who would have thought, what we said

we'd really do.

Hands up.

Insomia

Lights out.
I study the stillness of the dark
My eyes roam everywhere,
My only company: the baby-like cries
Of rampant foxes outside
And my sister's heavy breathing.
She sleeps in a fetal position.
I am filled with envy
Eyes green, glowing in the dark.
I wish I could sleep right now.
Maybe in another realm
My brain wouldn't be in overdrive
And I would be able to survive
The sick feeling in my gut
That shoots up to my throat
Forming a huge lump of emotion.
I have to snatch breaths
To stop yourself from crying.
The type you know once it melts
It will melt, flow everywhere
Soak you up.
It will wet the bed and wake
Your little sister
When she asks what's happening
You would just sheepishly
Tell her to go back to bed
As if it's easy to fall asleep
In a soaked bed.
So I just hold the lump.
Let it choke me
Inbetween shallow breaths.

Schemes swirl in my head.
I plan how I'll confront him
Pretend not to be hurt.
If I act upset he might
Actually think I care.
I convince myself,
It's not me who is hurt.
Just my pride that's all.
A few bruises here and there.
Deep down knows the truth
Of the full battering of my feelings.
The choking my ego received
But to admit, would be to
Say yes I care.
The clock by the bed blinks 0432.
Such an awkward time.
Or laughing at his jokes
When all you really wish for
Is long nails to scratch the
Fuck out of his eyes.

I try to count sheep
Hoping that would bring me sleep
Instead I wonder why he can't
Be mine alone.
Mine to keep.
She would just have to be
The one to fuck off.
I hate her. Hate him,
Myself and the fact that even
With this evidence before me
I will not let him go.
She's cute. Nothing on me though.

I think to myself,
If love were easy,
I would have fucked her by now
Just so I could brag like
Been there, done that.
Literally.

Cool Blue (Jazz)

I'm addicted to the Cool Blue
Cool Blue, she takes me high
Makes me high till I grow
Feathers and fly.
Addicted to the Cool Blue
Follow her wherever she takes me
I ask no questions
But listen to how she
Makes the saxophone sing
Like a lover's deep slow moan
Feel how she makes the trumpet
Burble tales of pain
I watch how she digs, digs
Searching inside me
Just so she can see me weak
Vulnerable, tears flushing my eyes.
Cool Blue makes me feel content
She uses Coltrane as her interpreter
To translate music notes to colours
She speaks. I listen.
I take her all in, absorbing her
Till my heart swells. Explodes.
I'm slave to the Cool Blue
For she makes me feel free
Addicted to the Cool Blue
Dark as the rain
Loud and insane
Her rhythm rests in my head
Making me feel like making love
The way she injects jelly in my knees.
Chills climb up my spine
Till my ears burn like a nut allergy
Goosebumps planted all over my skin
Whenever I take a hit of Cool Blue.

Danielle

She spoke English to alienate us
We spoke back in Shona
Voices laced in adniration. Fascination.
How could one as black us.
Young as us. Speak so white?
Pearls spilling out of her mouth.
She wanted nothing to do with us
We wanted all to do with her father's money.
Eat lunch after school in fancy restaurants
Have ice cream after each meal & Barbies to behead
Knowing Mama would but new ones anyway,
Birthday presents from the President
Because were best friends with his kids.
She never joined in our streetgames
But sat by the portholed roadside
Watching. Pretty face marred with disdain.
We almost broke legs in competition
For her friendship and attention
Just so we could impress her.

She frowned at our barefeet,
Dry skinned heels adorned with deep cracks.
She wore American clothes.
Our mothers made ours.
We would marvel at her All Stars.
After all we could only afford North Stars.
Before she came we hardly ever noticed
Our homemade garments, ashy knees & nappy hair.
She breezed in on her high horse: Daddy's Benz
Lotioned skin, store bought clothes
Chemically boiled hair & an English accent.
She made us look poor. Feel poor.
Us children of whote collar professionals.
We didn't realise that private school
Didn't crown her more intelligent.
It just opened her to a wider world
One we only experienced on black & white TV screens.

The grass is always greener.
So blinded were we with envy
We failed to see hers.