See, these thoughts are buzzing in my head.
Spreading everywhere, transported by the red in me.
Allow me use the silence of this moment to cough out these words
Because I can feel them slowly sucking the air out of me.
So let me cough them out before they suffocate me.
Please bear with me.
Home feels very far away
And I’m just inhabiting space upon space.
Home feels like my father’s sturdy arms on my shoulder and my mother’s care wrapped around my heart.
Home sounds like my brother’s jokes and my sister’s endless chatter.
Home feels very far away
And on a subtle level my heart is being tugged by another in Benin.
I’m just inhabiting space.
My name is Macaulay but I’m not home alone.
This house is just lonely.
Believe me, life is a beautiful thing.
I see the beauty in the irony.
With iron hands parents try to straighten “curved” children.
That somehow explains the beautiful tragedies I see walking around.
With voices crying out louder you believe someone would take notice but when everyone is getting silenced
Shhhhh you just might be next.
I was telling Sandra, Mike and Tamir how Bland the Brown Rice served in the cafeteria tasted.
They know nothing about that now.
When the minority begins to seek solidarity, that should make you question the popularity of the majority.
I dream in black and white but my reality is muddled up in grey.
Sometimes I wish I could colour some things in and make them permanent.
But Miss Saggaff said I wasn’t great at Art so I’ll pass.
Hold on now, I’m still coughing.
It’s serious if I’m coughing blood yeah?
You see these trailer jams haven’t exactly been easy.
Everyone is coming for everyone.
I wish watching my back was even enough.
People aren’t scared to look you right in the eye and stab you these days.
So brothers and sisters can we hashtag the word front stab and make that trend?
I saw this question a few days back
“If you could write a note to your younger self, what would you say?”
It really got me thinking.
I’ll just leave myself a reminder right here to make sure I write this down later.
ORE WRITE THIS DOWN.
I’ll tell her to cry more.
I’ll tell her to feel more.
I’ll tell her these things don’t make her look weak, rather they’ll become parts of her worth embracing.
I’ll tell her to write more.
And I’ll tell her she’s doing a great job and give her a pat on the back because I’m extra like that.
Tonight he’ll drown the pain with burning gold.
And as it slithers down his throat he’ll wish it could burn off the shame clinging to his frame.
He downs down alcohol and the mercury in his courage-o-meter rises.
Liquid courage for the encounter he’s heading home to.
She’ll start with the alcohol on his breath and the false accusation that a woman’s scent lingers on his shirt.
Then she’ll get really angry when he asks her to keep her voice down because the kids are asleep.
A swift prayer goes up as her fists connect with his jaw.
Yes his wife beats him and he is too ashamed to say.
Well before you dish out the blame and give him a very generous serving.
I can still hear your thoughts screaming weak, nonsense, rare, impossible.
I can see the pity too.
He doesn’t need that, he needs a voice.
He needs to know that he can be heard when he cries out and that he will be adequately attended to.
He needs to know that people are fighting for him just as much as they are for his female counterpart.
So my friend is being lied to.
I don’t know if I should sip this tea
Or make it my business.
I’m scared she’ll think it my plan to join the #MoveToBoys2016 clan starting with hers.
Or as always she’ll throw the whole “you’re just jealous” ball in my face.
But I’m getting tired of picking the pieces and packing the faeces.
I really want to smack her hard.
Is violence really the answer or silence?
Should I stay or up up and away?
Well this cough is subsiding.
Thanks for your patience and shout out to Benylin.