peony, oxeye daisy, foliage and rose.
i practice their names like i practice how to breathe
without you. i smell you still upon the covers, upon my skin.
citrus, moss and burnt wood. your magic seeped under
my skin into the blood. hypnotising my senses and made
me light, made me forgetful and soft. no regrets.
i only wish, i had kept my eyes open in order to see your guise slip
like a big blousy peony petal to the earth.
let me embrace the orange fish. the orange fish compliments my dress.
compliments my wanting lips and heart, much better, much softer than you.
as i hold my heart in haste and protection, let me embrace something that is willing
more open to my grace than you. i thought i made myself clear, i’m not here to
stare into cold glass eyes, twisted thoughts and warps hands and heart.
let the wind blow through my hair and take all promises of you away too.
the rooms may be empty but this orange fish will make me warmer,
stuck in the dark, you ruminate over what went wrong.
did you give too much in too little time?
did you show your soul too soon, too full?
stop. you will never know his being, his concealment.
his omission. grieve if you must. but it is his loss.
you are still full, still sweet, still in control
of the cake, the knife, your heart.
listen to your heart. allow the serpent to wrap itself around you.
there’s danger yes, risk. but also joy and pleasure to have.
let go, don’t hold on to tight. let the apples fall where they fall.
just savour the h=juicy connection, the meeting of bodies and mind.
be your full self. it is them who cannot not handle your full heart.
the rot is theirs not yours.
i enter the arena on my own terms
looking for what, i do not know
but I’m open and caring, wise and full
the reveal i did not see coming, the betray
harsh and bitter like garlic, it was his insecurities
still i’m the one pinned to the board
like a specimen, like a freak, like a crushed butterfly
Bobbing heads with stars
shaped top tufts, like dreadlocked youths
burst with potential
Cherry, I love you
The fruit, the word off tongue
feeds childlike glee
an early walk
no one else around for now
welcome the moment
“13 Dead, Nothing Said”, the rallying cry rings out.
walking with dignity, arm in arm, a protest, not a riot nor a mob.
a powerful display of unity and resistance. “13 Dead, Nothing Said”,
in the face of adversity. of racism, police conduct, and social justice,
the New Cross Massacre Action Committee respond.
treating black victims as criminals themselves, “13 Dead, Nothing Said”.
on 18 January 1981, Yvonne Ruddock celebrated her 16th birthday with friends,
when a fire tore through 439 New Cross Road in south-east London.
“13 Dead, Nothing Said”.
community solidarity, in the midst of racial tensions and police mishandling,
they marched, 20.000 strong, from the scene of the fire
to the Houses of Parliament to present a petition. “13 Dead, Nothing Said”.
the loss of young black lives barely noted by the media,
no words of condolence from maggie, and to this day, no one
has ever been charged with starting the fire. “13 Dead, Nothing Said”.
Living Wild Studios 