Of memories that arise uninvited.

Why do you keep walking

through

my memories,

like one who has earned the right

to be there;

within me.

You are an

uninvited

exquisite

tenderness.

Can’t you hear my heart

whispering,

Go away.

My gift.

Sometimes,

the only thing that I have to give to you,

is me.

Cracked and fragile;

pain oozing from dark places

that I can’t even see.

But, you do.

You see,

and you don’t flinch.

You catch me when I fall;

tenderly you bind me up;

stuff love in the holes,

and stop me from leaking out of

my memories.

How do you craft such a strong

net from

my brokenness?

I walked in shame, until.

I wore a lifetime of shame

before I finally realised,

that the poisoned refrain you sang over me,

was birthed from your own fractured dreams.

—I walked in shame, until.

This is how we heal.

Your story belongs to all of us.

Speak through the pain,

and lay bare the thing that would

strangle you.

Give words to your shame.

It is not yours to carry,

alone.

This is how we heal each other.

—This is how we heal.

Melanin.

When did we decide

that the worth of another

human being,

lies in the amount of melanin in their skin?

We must undo this evil.

Talk to me of old love.

We talk of young love

as if it’s the only love that matters.

Those heady days fade.

Eventually.

No, talk to me about old love.

With its gentle patina of well-worn comfort.

Of another, knowing your thoughts,

knowing what makes your heart race with joy,

laying down dreams so you can find yours.

Talk to me of choosing the same one,

over and over,

and over;

even when it’s hard.

And one day to finally have our hands untwined by

death.

– Talk to me of old love.

Trials.

Some things are more beautiful simply because they are over.

We survived them.

And therein lies the beauty,

and the relief.

– Trials.