grey

Listening now to the sound of the gong,

flowing through the membranes of loss,

of loss brought forward as a sacrifice to the gods,

to the gods of retribution who stand between the clear grey line of,

blackness meeting armed whiteness at the back of police vans,

of gunpowder and stolen voices– anchored unto the seams of the Atlantic,

of the Atlantic heavy with unborn child, clinging to the expanse of being and becoming,

of being and becoming in between the greyness of limitations that are both blinding as

they are obscure.

Listening now to the sound of the gong,

praying hope over the darkness of snatched nights, whispering mothers, walking over the edge,

over the edge of our dreams that lay beside us by day and haunt us as they lay beneath us, all too often.

All too often, do we find the greyness, unyielding,

but always

there

 

Letters to Ayoola

Ayoola,

I was filled with so much joy when I saw your handwriting (that cursive script I could never master) on the envelope that was left on the doorstep of my apartment. As I read each word –I felt the peace, the joy and the love fill my soul. You’re happy and my heart could not rejoice with you more. Baba sounds like a wonderful man: everything that you waited and prayed so dutifully for. In short, your letter has brought sunshine and smiles to my spirit. Ose, Ore Mi Atata

I’ve been praying more and working harder. I know you’ll smile at this and say “Less work and more prayer!” I am trying to strike the balance but there is the common saying “God helps those who help themselves”? So I suppose I am testing the hypothesis.  

It seems, however, the more I have tried to organize and categorize all the various facets, the more out of control everything has gotten. I was thinking the other day what a beautiful feeling free-fall must be–letting go completely. But more truthfully Ayoola, the more in-control I have set out to be, the more out of touch I have become accustomed to feeling.  So, I’ve been building barricades that will ward off any unexpected pitfalls in April.

So, I’ve been building barricades. You first saw them and tore them down but I have rebuilt them to be much more solid and encompassing than before. It was an unconscious decision. Unpacking insecurities is so cliche and I have never been very good at articulating  my emotions. So these barricades have worked to ward off those who want to see beyond the smile and laughter. The barricades have made me an island but I realize this may only last for a fleeting moment. When love leaves and resentment comes to nestle in the corners. 

I am just somewhere between floating and dodging peace. Yet it is all I long for these days: Serenity knocking as opposed to the jostling bodies and loud sirens. So I’ve been thinking maybe the barricades must come down? but how?

Ore mi, I know you’ll probably read this saying or thinking, “you don start again oo” and you are probably right…But I long to see your cursive again so please fill me in on all the details of passionate Baba and the unrelenting pot-bellied Oga-CEO.

Stay well,

 

 

 

Ode to the asshole

We all gathered. Gathering meant an event. It meant some possible specks of different on our grey lives.

And so we gathered.

And I was summoned.

I feared they might not understand. This reason for rage, this apparent loathing for the creation and existence of another- much like me? I thought not.

 

This is my ode to the asshole!

The one who makes promises he cannot keep.

The one who expects to receive always and is never satisfied with what is good.

The one who already has perfect but will trade it in for used- often.

The one who almost always has allergies for the truth, faith, trust and honesty.

Whose ego is blinding and ignorant. And often unnecessary.

 

This is my ode to the asshole!

Who has taken and taken but is yet to pay his credit.

Who has preyed on the “sweet and innocent” for far too long.

Who has learned to speak in forms of pick-up lines and cheesy romance novels.

Who expects chocolates and roses to be the only expectation.

Who has grown to believe that “easy” is the norm and the new religion.

 

This is my ode to the asshole!

Who lurks behind the shadows of misplaced “daddy issues” and a never-present Mother.

Whose hands are always waiting to slither between warm thighs.

Whose belief in chastity and self preservation have been lost in the passion of a poorly punctuated r n’ b song.

Who is always ready for the laying down, the getting in and the coming but somehow unavailable for the diaper changes and utility bills.

Who will fool you too often and break your heart too soon.

 

This is to the asshole!