of ptsd
mama don’t call me dirty
the screeching
of visceral pain
sometimes in january
on the ways in which our bodies remember past traumas and find expression
travel lethargy: numb goodbyes and anxious hellos
11 September 2018 London Heathrow Terminal 3 20:13 Travel Diary i left like I had arrived. harried and panicked. going through motions, its hard not to feel like leaving is fragmenting as though losing bits of yourself. but arrival is no better, all you've got are the pieces of you that survived. i am sitting... Continue Reading →
the obscure hall and its hollow walls
I am wandering around the obscure walls of the sunken place searching its oblique halls and I can't see past the darkness and the emptiness. there is only hollowness. I am alone, frightened, unable to fathom my surroundings. It is as if the hollowness of this place came to hollow me out. It reverberates through... Continue Reading →
-breaking apart
sometimes, it feels as though I'm melting spreading into lather-like substance losing firmness consistency breaking apart, slowly- irrevocably a withered fern losing its light other times, melting is like healing its the scabbing of old scars its taking me into surprising new forms its as though the fire of pain came to glue me to... Continue Reading →
Choosing Single
an essay and some poetry on love, self-love and singlehood
i was taught to never make eye contact
- of everyday escapism
– vapour
of grief
They Call Me Baartman
Self love is unlearning the centuries old myths of black undesirability, Unlearning self-hatred Self-love is Sara-Baartma
mamello.art 