hello, i offer up my final poetry diary:

From September 18th onwards, all of my poetry knows it belongs in her book. it even knows which one of her chapters to settle into. so it would make no sense to list through all of my life’s goings on in these two months to make sense of my writing. (i do not bare the soul for nothing, there is no exchange, no lesson so this baring of self would be in vain). but trust that i looked after myself in these two months. was doing my best and prioritised myself enough. in fact,

October saw me transition into a period of pause. i paused what + who +where i needed to. autumn felt prolonged and i tried hard to take longer walks admiring dying leaves but then November came and fresh energy overtook and i met new people which i always do in this (scorpio) season and i am testing out the outcome of these meetings and lets see. and December 2017 is a preview to 2018. in october and november i put in the work to make that prophesy comfortable.

i read through my first poetry diary for Oct-Nov 16 just to look at myself. i like that i remember writing that post and struggling to have enough poetry and now i had abundance and had to discipline myself to select only a few. i’ve grown in my writing then. i like that it feels natural and obvious to write as i do, sharing self as i do. also, i have autonomy over who i read, this time last year i was taking some interesting classes and the reading lists were important but this time i am roaming and reading what feels right. especially contemporaries. especially other black womyn. like my sista Gade Powem‘s recent blog post. and i can hear it all in the confidence of my writing. i think that autonomy is a major key for me at this time in my life, a lot of things have ended and begun in this period by my own decision and this is a life that i want to live, an intentional one that makes me sure of myself,


in this eleventh chapter i speak my loudest,
manifest the greatest.

Chase yourself.
You are allowed to redefine without asking/thinking/looking pretty while you do
Test out that new you.

photo frame
a mood, courtesy of the final room in the Soul of A Nation exhibition.

And we all must have atleast one night dancing borrowed hours away


To Fela

I have seen so many women fight with themselves
Over and over
Growing only
Louder and louder
When they seem to be getting closer to the conclusion
That they themselves
Are whole
I have seen them
I have seen the way they claw at skin until raw
Only to prove that they are hurting
Need healing
Will dismiss the feeling
Of their own smooth hands,
Like aloe to burns
Hands dripping in remedy
Easing their way across the chapped surface
Like they don’t know that they retain sacred
Sought after
soothing moisture
you can be sweet to the
Self-scarred patch

Today I prayed for a love i can listen to
Listen to and repeat


tate 2

How many times did you hear that girl cry for help and decide she did not need it,
She would save herself,
Would find God,
How many times did you hear that girl ask you for some love
And you give her something else
something lighter that she might be able to carry
Tell her she is strong
How many times did you tell her she was not through suggestion
Tell her she is strong
Tell her she is me




May my fingers never forget the delicacy
In which i must handle these scriptures
May the pages never be cold
And unfamiliar and distinct

wandering day
that time God prepared me for delayed trains and i went documenting.

commit to something
do not allow yourself
to be attracted to everything
distracted by anything that calls
your name in low decibels
sing over it
sing the praises of this thing
you are creating
this thing that is creating you
and cannot be mother or mothered.



I make homes out of stories I am told. I build a roof over them. I furnish them and build a life I have never lived in them. But I live them.

I live in them
I rush home to them on the days
When I am trying not to question God
But must know what kind of plan this is.
I sit still and content
By interrupting realities
You must stop giving me these stories.
They will take the days away
The first time you offer them.
They will not wait,
These stories
They will take the days away
They will punish the world
And draw the curtains
Ignoring the sunset
Swearing to paint a better one
They will tell me that I have much to worry about in the sweetest poetry in uncolonised tongues and in songs sung out to me with no regret
These stories will not let me see them naked in the daylight
As if
I must be hidden from the truth of myself
as carpenter
as writer
as provider
of these emptied bodied stories that i feed with my of despair in today.

setting sun and her daughters|my family.

October-November done.

poetry diaries done.

(public assessment of growth redirected elsewhere)

thank you (so much) for reading what i write.

Amara Amaryah.

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