Picture painted by Abasido
I’ve held grudges for mid-nights that refused to give me the right words, for ecstatic memories I needed to feel at times like this.
Here’s how people who applaud the cracks and loopholes in my craft talk to me.
Did you hear them? Did you see what I wrote about them? No, because they feed on silence and that quietness that keeps them at a distance.
Don’t sing praises yet for the way I make you feel. Don’t be confined in my thoughts for too long imagining how I penned it all down. Don’t love me only when you can relate to my pain. Learn to understand this place I choose to write from. Learn to fall with me without fighting gravity. Appreciate the loathe that burns through the words that speak for sanity. Know this. Know this always that I’m a breathing war.
I wish I allow myself be whole everytime my fingers itch to speak. I wish I wouldn’t choose parts of me that aren’t naked everytime I listen to my body’s vibration. There’s art in feeling the way I do before these processes. There’s also the art of picking what my soul’s spirit wouldn’t let the world listen to, self-betrayal.
I’d cut through these layers of my flesh to compromise for losses. I’d paint my worries red to white the agony of womanhood and my evolution. I’d dance to the tune of every poet I adore to feel sane and not hate that I do this. I’d give up writing about lust, what I think of others and where I’d rather be just to outshine these constant thoughts.
I’d betray myself everytime for this art. Writing.
Do you find yourself sometimes in similar situations of self-betrayal? Would love to know in the comment section below. Thank you.
PS– This content was featured by Abasido Michael with his beautiful art inspiring this post. Do check his Twitter page out and appreciate his content and art if you like them. Thank you.
Dyna Ekwueme Copyright, 2017.
by Laurence Howell.
Anyone even briefly analyzing the global political landscape over the last year or so could be easily forgiven for not being filled with too much optimism for our future, with many paying close attention to the recent discovery of a second Earth, eagerly waiting to see how much a single ticket will be.
Picture gotten from-Britishprotest
Firstly, though I thought it would be interesting to analyse France’s recent banning of the Burkini and look at some of the flawed reasoning for it. The French government claim that the burqa and burkini are a security risk as they allow citizens to be concealed, but the same isn’t being said for motorcycle helmets or habits of other religions. To me this is a religious profiling of every Muslim, as a dangerous extremist that the public should be paranoid of being blown up by, perhaps the event that this paranoia stems from is the mass shootings in Paris on November 13th of 2015. Isis claimed responsibility for the attack, but the West’s response to this has been extremely reactionary and evidenced double standards. Whilst pretty much the entirety of the leaders of EU member states came together to mourn this terrible attack, which it was, no such unity was shown with the victims of the July 3rd 2016 Karrada bombing in Baghdad. This attack was also carried out by Isis. Since the Paris attacks the West have instigated a bombing strategy in Syria in response, this to me shows the callousness and hypocrisy of many Western political leaders, who empathize and mourn the dead but pursue policies in response that result in even more innocent death.
Someone who stands opposed to the actions of these Western leaders is one who gives hope to me and many others, Jeremy Corbyn. A conviction politician, who guides his policies on whats best for the people of the world rather than what will make him look like a strong a powerful leader and gain support in a largely corrupt media. Arrested for his anti-apartheid views in 1984, frequently criticized for his support of political negotiations in Ireland rather than continuing the violence and a staunch opponent of the Iraq war. Corbyn’s humanitarian principles are something which are seen as the antithesis to a lot of modern day leaders. The smear campaign that has been run by a number of Labour MP’s, predominantly run out of Alistair Campbell’s PR office, creates the image in my mind of “don’t promise that you’ll make us look bad”. But despite all that’s been thrown at him Corbyn by the media and those like Eagle and Benn, he still hasn’t resigned and is fighting strong against Owen Smith in the leadership election. In fact, one of the biggest victories is moving the party to the left as the opposition candidate has had to adopt many of the same policies as him in order to appeal to the growing membership who support socialist principles. One thing is clear, the membership are tired of spin and career politicians and so if they elect Owen Smith he must prove those such as myself who tar him with this brush and stick to the positions he has claimed during the leadership election, otherwise he will face mass scrutiny from them.
Disclaimer: This piece was originally written by Laurence Howell and this is one of the media he chose to air his personal opinion regarding British politics. No parts were added by me or anyone.
Dyna Ekwueme Copyright, 2016.
It was the outrage that came from her timid being that bored them all. Her overwhelming stream of emotions and reach for the presence not present. It had sparked the uneasiness of the rest who couldn’t stand what they called “the girl”. They thought of her conversations as one filled with illusive poems and a rare kind of joy for places and people they can’t relate to. “It must have been hell to endure or maybe she just told us another version of it all”, sane people thought this.
Picture gotten from-Pinterest
No one knew havoc like she. The turmoil she built in the others’ hearts when she spoke of their guilt and wrote to save those ridden on. At some point, I could tell she became immune to the voices that overstretched her will. She went on to lean on her own tears when her bed and those white fluffy pillows were too far from her exhaling temple. The fear she bore was all printed yet made discrete in her confidence and zeal. It was her weakness and her battleground but in all, she fought them.
“I remember replacing the still life image with an abstract. I remember the first gaze of disbelieve. I remember putting it away countless times and bringing it back to the same spot, hoarding the meaningless like it were a pair of shoes”. That was the art. ” The meaning I found in no meaning, spellbound by each scene I displayed in my own confusion.” ” Should I dispose this or not?”, “all in my head with no form of frivolous escape. It earns a place as always in the warmest of hearts whenever I tell it, just like you just felt knowing this.”
It’s nothing. No one will ever know of this kind. The chronicle is void so does the person who just told it, but then who? My plea, feel nothing.
Dyna Ekwueme Copyright, 2016.