1. Nene liked the smell that came after it rained.
There was green paint peeling off our walls. You said if I stayed, we could paint it any colour I wanted. I wish you’d said lavender. I know you don’t know though. All you know is that you love me. But you don’t know the taste of my skin or the size of my breasts. You got me C-cups. Darling, you should hv gotten DD cups.
2. She let him go, there…
Shall we never speak of deeper things? Like how the scars on our fingers matches the colour of our hair. What do we live for? For men with emptiness and scars we cannot heal? We are no alchemists, we women with hearts that beat like thunder and hips like the crescent moon. We are mothers and dreamers and teachers alike. Who has lied to you, sisters? They tell you to be silent because they do not like the way your voice struts across the room. Why have we begun to live by rules we did not create? For these men who are too afraid to cry but would rather paint mosaics of pain all over our skin. Do you love yourself? Or are you waiting for him to approve of your dark skin. When will you speak of deeper things, sisters of Eve? When, when will you let yourselves dream?
He said I was a unicorn. That my shadow was so beautiful in the moonlight. I wanted to ask what that meant. And if it made him love me. I wanted to rub castor oil into his blood-red Mohican haircut and reveal all the secrets my body held. To him of course, to him only.
He said I was a unicorn. In between one of our frenzied kissing marathons he stopped and brushing my Afro curls from my face, he said it. “You darling are a unicorn”. I turned the words around in my head after that. On days when my tremors started and he kissed each knuckle with such reverence, I believed.
Unicorn. You are just an excuse for the brutes and all the silly games mean squat now. Unicorn. Hands of a stranger crawling over me, bruises festering in places his lips used to be.Unicorn eyes. Unicorn breasts. Unicorn tears.
Everything has gone cold. My lungs, my fingers, my words. In my dreams I am 14 and you are not under my skin. In my dreams, heaven saves me from you. There are no words for the tsunami raging in my chest, no words seem to suffice. I am breaking, melting, drowning. I am a pile of rubble in a yellow sundress. Hate. Hate.Hateful, hateful hate. I am mad at you, I want to shove you and egg your house and graffiti my pain on your back. I get it. I am alone in this and no one will ever truly care. I was foolish for hoping, for thinking I was made from anyone’s bones. I am queen of narnia, and that will never be okay. And that’s okay. I will go back to the beginning, right before the fever that made everything go cold. I will be infinite and you will be forgotten.
There is a need to give my emptiness a name. She is too powerful to exist without an identity. I call her Kainene, and on nights when the certainty that I will die alone covers me like an expensive cashmere cloak, I call her Rae. Rae, the illusion that is…
I thought I should let you know, he doesn’t visit my dreams anymore. There are no horrendous nightmares or screams at 3am when it’s still dark outside our windows. There is the bitterness that clings to the walls of my heart like old paint. It’s falling in chunks daily and truth be told, I am anticipating being bare. I missed you, with your kind words and gentle nudges towards freedom. I dunno, sometime I think you were sent to me, a porcelain angel brought to life so I wouldn’t be so afraid to try at crying. Crying helped, there were lots of tears and on days when I let the fear of being open push me into corners, the tears seem like they are never leaving. How can one soul break another into nothingness so? I’m happy you are here now, because with you I forget. You paint me in shades I could never find in water color palletes and that in itself is why I know I will breathe again. This, this is for you. I will be there through everything. The days when the sun is caramel gold and the days when it pours. You are beautiful and it’s true because all you have let me see is your soul. I am fine now. I hope I never let my hurt scar another but let it be known that I may never love feverishly again. I hope, truly truly hope I can do that for someone and somehow I fear it won’t be you.