from victim to victor.

my apologies for the misunderstanding or the lack there of, from myself and any woman who has survived sexual assault.

all i know is i’m sorry,
i’m sorry the hem of my skirt
is an invitation for you to blurt
all that makes me feel like dirt,

i’m sorry i acted like your slurred words were unheard,
because they made me feel like my comfort was never preferred.
as you chauffeured me,
i hoped ignoring you would free me from your verbal arrest,

i’m sorry my eyes sent a message,
and opened up a physical passage
that made every no i screamed a yes,
and now my body i no longer possess.

i’m sorry i believed these lies,
that the right to my body is a social disguise
based on the notion that a man has a right to anything in his eyes.

i’m sorry i didn’t get the memo,
that if i drink too much i go from being a woman to being your hoe.

i’m sorry if my apology isn’t coming off entirely too sincere
so let me break it down and make it a bit more clear.

this apology is a symptom of a social disease,
seen from the street just outside your house to completely public bus stations.

with outbreaks of slut-shaming and victim blaming,
there is no cure in sight,
under this current system of patriarchy.

if a person has been raped,
look for the rapist
and not the reason.

i wrap myself around myself to remember who i am,
because who i’m not is embedded so deep
and now i’m completely lost.

 

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r.i.p. nkuku

when you opened your eyes to look at me,
i had hoped you would know who i am,
reminded of the great queen you groomed me to be,
the wind beneath your wings.

you were loving, caring and old,
we always invaded your humble abode.
there was something about an unmanageable three generations in one room,
that made history seem tangible.

her frail fingers casually carried 71 years of her life,
they tell stories.
her index finger crookedly points me down memory lane,
to a time.

a time when two piece meal ya hungry lion was a myth,
but she bought it for herself and gave it all to me.
a time when her house burnt down,
but old lady nonetheless bent down,
to water every brick that was laid and laid,
a home rebuilt.

a time when i constantly had to pause the dvd,
to explain why the man on the tv,
was running towards us.

nkuku your strength will not be forgotten.
like a seed that germinates,
you have grown and dispersed many more seeds.

we are not created or destroyed,
we are vessels shifted and restored,
what we are is given to us,
death does not come because the body is too exhausted to exist,
it comes because the greatness inside can only be contained for so long,
i will not cry for you,
because you are not dead,
you have passed on.

as i witnessed your years of strength,
i understood what life really meant,
that wrinkles are worth more than a diamond could ever be,
that the heavens have gained an angel,
and free at last you are free.

but when tomorrow starts without you,
we will try to understand,
that an angel came and called your name,
and took you by the hand.
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