THE OPEN

Pull your heart back into you

like it's an anchor being drawn back up from the sea.

To leave it tethered to the ocean floor,

is to trap yourself at a harbor at which you are not welcome.

There's nothing for you here, love

so, sail free

ROTATION OF 1

On days that I just want to feel like a star

You show me that I am your entire universe

I've been one of many moons to many planets

A denizen of darkness, in service only to a gravitational tow.

I didn't know another being could revolve around me.

This is not a push

nor is it a pull,

There are no planets and no moons.

I am the sun,

and so are you.

THE MAYBES ARE MINE TO BEAR

On occasion, I think of the 2 years and 6 months before the running stopped

And I find myself frozen in place

Willing my muscles to not take the empathetic action

Quietly chanting to myself

don't look back don't look back don't look back

I don't need to see the carnage to know it's there

My body is aware of the destruction that was built on top of me

And my spirit knows that it didn't have to come to be.

Maybe if my tongue had learnt to roll that specific way a few years earlier

Maybe if I wasn't so ashamed of my own pain

Maybe if *Raises eyebrows. Leans forward. Waiting pause* "Is that all?"

wasn't echoing through my mind at every waking hour

Maybe if I hadn't run for so long...

I will not lay claim to the destruction

I, myself, am a part of the rubble.

I will, however, take ownership of the rest

The maybes are mine to bear.

FIT

I watch as those around me pick up their weapons and don their battle attire.

This is one of those days when I wonder if the battle will ever end.

But I dare not say that out loud lest it be discovered

that I do not truly despise this assigned enemy.

I may throw blows in the midst of a crowd.

Hurl insults to entertain my compatriots.

But, the truth is, at night, when no one else is there,

When it is just me and my sworn enemy,

I can't really bring myself to hate her that much.

I often find myself wrapping my arms around her,

squeezing her, caressing her.

We share a deep and honest love most days.

Some days, the love is harder to produce.

It's on those days that I believe the captains words

That there are greener pastures on the other side of this war

Better love, greater wealth, bigger opportunities

If only I would endure this pain for a little while longer.

And so everyday I wake up

I watch as those around me pick up their weapons and don their battle attire.

I do so too.

And I go to war with my body.

A Creation Story

In the beginning, there was pain.

The heart, broken, was without form and void;

and darkness completely enveloped the soul.

Then She said, "Let there be love."

And there was love.

Then She saw that the love was good.

So She gave some to herself.

What Do You Know About War?

One sabbath, I wore my highest heels to church. Well, I did that most sabbath but, this particular sabbath, I was stopped.

Walking into the sanctuary, a man felt the need to stop me and ask:

"This your shoe, if them shout war now, how you go take run?"

I shied away in all my high heeled socially awkward glory and walked into the building.

But every time I think of that moment, I wish I had asked him:

Have you ever had to leave your home with,

-let's see what we have here-

Taser

Pepper spray

Swiss knife

Rusted key

UV light

Whistle

Light

This thing my dad got me that screeches obnoxiously loud when you press it

*Laugh*

You ever realize you are probably more armed than a Chicago PD officer in full terror gear



And it'll probably never be enough?

Have you ever had to use an umbrella as a fucking sword?

Spin your purse like nunchucks?

Jab a car key like a knife?

Throw your heels like they're hatchets?

Have you ever been followed for five blocks (and then an entire summer) by a man who thinks "you got a sharp mouth for an 18 year old"?

Have you ever had to beg a stranger for refuge?

Have you ever had to flee your own home?

Have you ever had to flee the club?

Have you ever had to flee your preferred mode of transportation?

Sweetie, I've ran so much that if they did shout war right this moment I'd be just fine.

But I still do want to know, though.

Have you ever been made acutely aware that you're not safe even in God's house?

for Uwa

Still

I don't want to describe my situation as stuck.

Because that's not how I feel.

So,

I guess I'll call it still.

I'm Waiting and thinking and meditating.

Not stagnant

But also not running.

I am content, even in the midst of external pressure to not be

and an internal voice that whispers "this might be all there is."

This is not a waiting for God's time stillness

Or a the universe knows best thing

This is me being fine.

Truly fine.

With where I'm at right now.

My Anxiety and Yours

I must admit what might be some really fucked up shit.

I am jealous of those whose anxiety

propels them to action

whose inner fears cause them to try harder, dig deeper

To move

Cause, see,

my anxiety stagnates me

It chains me down where I stand

Hands me a spade

And talks me through digging myself into a hole that I will have a very hard time getting out of.

It sinks me in my sorrow

And drowns me in my tears.

Renders me stuck.

But I suppose you're stuck too.

You may appear to be moving but you might not actually be going anywhere it won't find you.

Can I be stuck with you?

Spinning

I've spent the last 2 years making my way through "New Daughters of Africa" edited by Margaret Busby. It is a biblical (it's 1000 pages not including the contents and introduction) anthology of stories, poems, speeches, essays and prose written by Black women between pre-1900 and 2018.

On page 700, I am 5 pages into a story by Maaza Mengiste, an Ethiopian American writer. She's chronicling her experience of sitting in a café in Florence, Italy and watching an East African man walk into the street and begin to spin and fling his arms about, whisper, then laugh to himself, move around uncontrollably and haphazardly, before quietly continuing down the sidewalk. Mengiste compares this man, a possible survivor of the death-defying migration from his home to Europe, a journey that often becomes the definitive experience for a person, to Lazarus from the Bible. Two men with an intimate relationship with death, who, nevertheless, lived. In making the comparison, she writes this about Lazarus (and by extension, our East African man):

But to assume that he became worthless once he stepped free from his grave is to shrink his life down to its most significant moments. It is to believe that nothing else can possibly matter after so great a feat. It is to embrace the idea that we are, all of us, simply beings relentlessly pivoting around the same occurrence, trapped by the enormity of an important event, as if it is both the sun that guides us and the darkness that leaves us spinning in uncertain space.

Reading that, it really did occur to me how much of life is spent just gravitating to THE THING. The thing that'll give you purpose (or money or fame or awards) or that'll prove that you fulfilled your purpose. What happens when you deconstruct the notion of "purpose" and decide that just living day to day and acknowledging the people around you and the moments you have with them is significant enough?

I think I'm finding out?

I've decided not to spin around the axis of an event or a moment (or a film or a project or an accolade) that will become definitive of who I am and what I do. I'm cherishing all the mundane moments, savoring the people and the experiences, and not obsessing over the accomplishments (to the extent a Nigerian is capable of).