the revival.

This is a revival. A wakening of someone new, someone different but made up of the same cell. 


The past few months have been saddening, eventful and suppressing. 


So much has happened. So many feelings felt and so many tears wailed. 

brown ballerinas

[this is for the dark skinned beauties with fresh apple-faced faces 

dressed in frilly knitted dresses 

facing their dark-skinned mothers 

sipping on tea like they were raised to be queens

coated in their dark-skinned skin without a stray 

out of line 

except for the unperfected edges

[no one but them knows that their mothers‘ combs ruptured in an attempt to tame their mane nappy hair]

this is for the chocolate girls in the midst of their arabesque penché

[for the chocolate girls] whose pigmentation is far too dark to be a principal 

there’s not a lot of you out there

but don’t let that break you - we know art, we are art

this is for the chocolate girls on their unrelenting, tiring journey in their juice stained pointe shoes

i can’t wait to see your show]

skin

skin show

skin don’t show

i don’t dress for you 

to feel your gaze undress me, dehumanise me 

my skin show, skin tight clothes are for me 

because i work out for me, to feel good for me

to make you envious, get you tripping and apologetic for making me feel worthless

skin show 

skin don’t show 

those six a.m. start ups were unbearable, they still are

but don’t abandon your chicken for the sickly kale leaves, have them both 

allow the curves to fill their rightful place 

expect the unkindness of gazes, the kissing of teeth from your better sweet rivals 

accept the hugs that your skin show, skin tight clothes give you 

they are of a far greater comfort than you will ever receive from any man