He builds things.
Like we have lived in this synergy for most of our lives. He builds and I break. He builds again and I break again. And the last time…he did not build. He watched as I tore down and fought with myself to stop when I knew it was enough, but I continued and he knew that this was the end.
We were suns when we met. Unbeareble heat emanating from our pores and the other bodies in the room could feel it. They saw us burning our way through the crowds until we finally met each other…
I met a boy.
If Ma thought that this is what love should taste like she had never really tasted it. Because long after the first taste has stopped lingering on the tongue and only the memory of the last sip is swinging pendulum-like in your mind, only then, do you realise that it was not what Ma said it would be.
I do not wish to dishonour her memory. She was a great woman- our mother. She knew many things about life because life had revealed itself in the most unkind way from the moment she was born. Naked…
The hashtags that the media forgets and their relatonship with our tongues.
On some days words come easy like flowing water from a tap – they cascade out of the tongue and dance around the atmosphere – shifting moods in rooms as they wait to be swallowed by foreign throats.
Some nights they are hard to come by. Dried up in our bellies like fists of different emotion that have never learnt the alphabet. We let them stay in us because if we let them out they may cause a shattering in the little peace we have surrounded ourselves with.
When their bodies belonged to their fathers, they knew that they could not be given to worldly things. Desires were worldly. Worldly in that they allowed them to be inside of their bodies and see the parts of themselves that chose to become alive when they disobeyed and allowed themselves to cave into these desires. When their bodies belonged to their fathers they knew that it was not the same thing to see a man that you want and allow him to talk to you — allow him to kiss conversation out of you with the hopes of opening you…
We forgot that our hearts didn’t belong to each other
One of us
One of us had left a heart with their name on it
One of us
One of us had promised to have steady hands to another, to never drop their heart
To never drop the ball
To be consistent
To never allow space and absence to choke what was new and hopeful
One of us
One of us was here but not here
One of us was trying to be here and there and we could both see that omnipresence was a gift God had denied…
Is it my fault that technology has advanced to the stage where I no longer feel the need to carry cash anymore? It’s not my fault. If you answered the question instead of just continuing to read, thats not my fault either. Calm down Kumbirai.
It all started with what was meant to be a quick shopping trip to Morrisons. I took a trip to Waterstones. One of my happy places. Spent some time in there going through the isles of books and books. Ran my fingers through some books and picked up a few books to glance at the…
She sat on the veranda next to the man she had known for so many years. They had known each other into marriage. Known each other into children. Known each other into building a home deep in Matebeleland. Close enough to ko Bulawayo but far enough to notice that the toilets did not flush here.
My great grandfather often sat there, smile on his face whilst she fried liver on the two plate stove. The smell hitting our tastebuds and the pang of jealousy in our hearts because we knew that was the only taste of that perfectly fried liver…
Mama was coming from her market day when she found me in the bathroom behind the main house. it was a little four walled room with an old browning bathtub that had no tap for running water. My naked body was squatting before the cold bucket of water and I was vigorously rubbing soap between my legs. Mama never knocked on the door when I was in the bathroom. She would walk in and say that she had seen it all before and we would laugh. The door opened and my heart pounded. I kept rubbing the soap in…
I want to bury my head in the sand. I want to stop myself from knowing. I want to unlearn and unknow things that are stealing my comfort. I lost some of my peace these past couple of days. I allowed myself to cry and buried myself underneath my blankets and prayed.
My God, this world is so broken. It’s bleeding red all over and it seems only those who don’t hold weapons are the ones bleeding. Those who are never the cause but always the casuality. And it’s so unfair, it is unfair.
I called a friend. We spoke…
I’m really good at packing up and leaving. At not staying places and making permanent homes in people. I’m good at not staying. Not allowing my roots to spread and dig deeper. Leaving is my favourite thing. The decision to leave is one I make without hesitation.
My family ask me often where I will be packing off to next. The funny thing is that when I say I’m good at packing, I mean it as a symbol more than the actual act. I’m a horrible packer.
I try and squeeze everything I own into the suitcase. I’m one of…
Girl from the Southside…of Africa 🇿🇼/ 📍🇬🇧 Came through drenched 😂. Making things. I wish above all things you may be in good health.