heart

| Sheree

Hey I’m just sitting here minding my own business but you still want my attention.

Still crawling up the back of me, lurking to steal my thunder and steal my power.

You don’t want me. You don’t want me near you. You don’t want me to shine.

And yet …

You can’t leave me alone. You can’t turn away because you know I’m mighty fine. You know I’m divine.

You know I hold the secrets of what it means to be fire. You know you can’t hide your desire no matter how hard you try to hide, to blend in, to mystify.

You can’t hide your desires because of your long, ugly, harsh venomous tongue dipping lies is always going to give you away, betray your cold and encrusted lying heart and mind.

An Ivory Tower Heart

| Sheree

I must make my heart, my queen for the love she once poured out, an ivory tower, a silent, giant, jagged-edge mountain of harsh rocks, wood and ruin.

Reaching up under a pale night sky, reaching for the stars, for some kind of spark, being witness to so much unnecessary, preventable violence, l choose to transmute fear into rage.

l choose to transmute fear into rage.

l choose to transmute fear into rage.

Do not mistake these rose-tinted cheeks as doll-like innocence or fairness. I’ve grappled with my myths and the myths you’ve fed me about my place. And passion, flames and fire have risen yet threatens to consume you more than it could ever harm me.

Burn whiteness to the ground. Burn that construction of whiteness and all that shit down to the ground once and for all. For all.

See I’m still carrying that tired old play script that a Black Woman is the mule of the world, saving everybody else when no one gives a fuck about me.

I’ll keep working on that, my queen, my heart, fixing that ivory tower to remain out of reach and impenetrable and safe.

The Dregs of Summer

| Sheree

This summer has been the summer of hydrangeas. Everywhere I’ve been this summer, on my travels and just walking the neighbourhood, I’ve been met by these blooming bountiful heads of colour. Big bushes bursting with these delicate four petal bunched-headed flowers. And every time my heart has sung at the sight of them

And as the summer comes to a close, with the changes in temperature and of light, these flowers will start to turn brown and in this flitting beauty of autumn, they will still make my heart sing as in their beautiful fragile death there will be rebirth.

Meditative Walks

| Sheree

Thank goodness for the long light nights. They’ve been pulling me outdoors. Even after full days of activities, I’m finding solace in evening walks. Alone with my thoughts. Alone with my feelings.

I appreciate these spaces and places I roam. Allowing my senses to land upon some beauty. Some part of nature to hold my attention. To hold my hope.

Thank you.

PAD/023 – empty

| Sheree

The last thing I emptied was my heart

I emptied my heart of lies and shame.

Took out the crammed spaces and rot/

carried them all out to the trash.

It was decluttering to the max of my heart/ of my love – for others/ for myself

I tell, you I haven’t felt better. Heart beating full-blood-red.

Like a new lamb to the slaughter, I’m showing up in my day to day/ jumping/

Springing/ heart open and bleeding.

It continues this write for life

| Sheree

If I was following the book along meticulous, then I’d be starting week 4, of the Julia Cameron book, Write for Life. But hey life gets in the way and SLOW is my mantra. I wouldn’t be digging deep if I was to rush through this text as it’s like mining gold really, there are gems everywhere.

What I’m reading is speaking to my soul. I mean receiving reminders that my best writing, the only good writing comes from being vulnerable. Which means I have to lead the own with my heart, through by heart, by my heart. Otherwise, it would be false, untrue, and boring.

Being vulnerable is my strength. It’s one of my superpowers!( You see what I did there, right? I said ‘one of’. Because I have many superpowers).

Being vulnerable on the page means writing what disturbs me, what fills me with fear and what I’m unwilling to say but will share it anyway.

Being vulnerable means being willing to spilt myself open again and again on the page as Natalie Goldberg says. Because then I’m being honest, daring and authentic. Writing how I really feel opens myself up to myself.

I might be behind in the book reading, but I’m not behind in terms of being vulnerable and writing from the heart. And this means I have to be patience with myself and tender. As writing with heart is a tender way of being. And takes care, attention and love.

DuppyMigrant

| Sheree
Road Openers for (E), 2019, Alberta Whittle

There’s some deep grooves

laid down through the moves,

forced or voluntary,

in the migrant’s heart

a migrant’s heart will always be a split – colonialism running through the blood like dis-ease

stitched together, makeshift, with tartan, kente, plastic and twine, scattered cowrie shells divine.

a ghost of its former self,

a migrant’s heart will always beat

out of place and time.

Between Landscapes

| Sheree
Peel Crags

The walk is blustery. A chill sets in. The stone wall from centuries past worn into smooth layers, slips and trips around memories.

She breaths deep and releases aeons of pain. Her body relaxes into the currents. And with arms wide, she lets go. Her shadow is a moving dark mass across the landscape.

Her heart, the energetic space of unconditional love beats for all, pumping the blood of life throughout and between this landscape and hers.