I discovered my mind was clouded with vanity
My mind had made a call to arms against myself too many times
That night i came to her without my crown or purple robe
Telling her what a bleak king life had made out of me
She showed me where she kept her Mozambique dream
A paradise purposely hidden
She taught me how to dress my dejection as meekness
She was a purple mimosa
The way she folded when i touched her
She said my body reminded her of the sun
Of things that must not be touched
And things sacred that must not be known by naked eyes
She said she pitied my making homes out of women’s thighs
I was a young man who thought been a king in your home made you sovereign away from home too
I did not easily lend my ears to my mother
She warned me until i realised she was my oracle
I’d forever be my mothers saddest memory
I made a thing about stretching! Some of the images are hard to see, but if you click on them they should produce a larger image!
Image sources that aren’t mine (the three routines):
THIS SHOWED UP ON MY DASH. WHAT.
Thanks for this.
She wrote poetry that made you want to sit on a heavily shaded lawn with a cup of sweet tea.
And read it right in front of your father and his brothers who believed boys should never wet their hands in the kitchen sink washing dishes or bend sweeping floors.
Men who fathered their children afraid to be friends with their sons.
She wrote poetry that healed all of you, even parts of you that were hidden under shadows for not being manly enough for your father.
You learnt it was human not womanly to cry.
And when you picked up an axe to cut wood, it wasn’t ego or show of strength that made the job easier.
You were in a hurry to read the part where she spoke about how her words will always haunt you, even your shadow.
And how you will always find parts of her within you
she wrote poetry - Tapiwa Mugabe, tapiwamugabe.tumblr.com
British colonialism in Africa in a nutshell.
British colonialism everywhere.
European Colonialism in general
White people history pt 4
If you want to read a really informative, short book about British colonization in Africa from a first-hand perspective, you should read Portrait du colonisé, précédé par Portrait du colonisateur by Albert Memmi. It appears there’s an English translation (The Colonizer and the Colonized) too so that’s great. It really opened my eyes.
Anonymous said: when you realize your sense of emotional boundaries are completely fucked up because you could never trust your parents with your true feelings, so you end up oversharing with people you barely know.