July 18, 1918 - December 5th 2013.
I am sugar sweets of yesterday coating itself onto you.
I am better than last night's darkness.
I am the star that belongs to no sky. Afam bu Ijeoma.
July 18, 1918 - December 5th 2013.
I don’t care how I feel about religion, I don’t care how terrible the world is, my kids will believe in Unicorns if it makes them happy and I will sprinkle angel dust in their souls so they’ll dream in color. I will wrap gifts in love and they will be forever soaked in it’s magic. I don’t care how I feel about religion, how terrible the world is, what the world throws at them, my loves will always say, “my mummy writes about me even in her dreams and she says I’m the most amazing thing to happen on earth.” There’s no man, no woman, no witch, no wizard, no devil or even angel that will make them feel anything less than magical.
You try to be a little softer,
tongue a little delicate
your little sister says
"Ada, be a little colonized with your accent."
you gather your words
hurling out your political mantras.
you hold on to anything that reminds you of home
you carry her in your voice
you carry her in your walk
and some days, you search for cousins in the faces of strangers.
You are made of sugar
and light breathing
with skin the color of a thousand Enugu nights
and tongue the reveal of light.
do not increase the colonization of your tongue
do not wear a culture that is unreal
do not whisper your heritage yet scream theirs.
do not find only faults in the explanation of your homeland
do not let the distance keep you from calling your mother beautiful.
There are certain uncomfortable conversations you have with yourself past midnight. You pour yourself a cup of tea. You sit, you listen only to yourself. You turn off everything and you have this uncomfortable conversation with yourself. You decide there and then who stays in your life, who goes and who is worthy of a second chance. You sit. You cry. You write. You quietly weep for every single time you blamed yourself for the fault of others. You appreciate your gift. You slowly sip your tea. You do not call anyone for advice. You do not text anyone. You just know the only voice left to listen to is within and your path is different from others. You give yourself time. You fucking forgive yourself, darling. When morning comes, when you realize it’s been four weeks since anyone asked how you are doing, you quietly evolve into something more than strong. You become brave.
God is between my doubt and fears, begging me to fight for me.
Currently peeling some words. Will be back soon.
How old were you when you discovered your parents aren’t superheroes? How did you feel when you found their cape in the closet and you watched them become human. Tell me how many days you stood with your heart ripped out of your soul. How numb did numb feel as the moon stole glances at your soul and prayed light into you. Did you cook yourself some soup, calling in sick to life. Place everything here and watch everything fall. Someone should have told you how light you were years back, how easy it was to make you smile. Life comes teaching you lessons and you sneaked into the room only to find tattered capes of your parents, like the one they wore when you were sick and almost died at two. Those nights your mother sprinkled holy water on you, some called you an ‘Ogbanje,’ the child who dies again and again. You also found the cape they wore when you were born and parenting was like walking on water. Magic.
lolawazhere asked: Hey by any chance were you featured on black girl long hair?
No, wrong Ijeoma. :-)