happy national writing day.
i always miss the national/world “_________” days so i feel like i should show up properly for this particular one.
sometimes i feel like most of my writings, even the prose, have poetry at the bottom of it. towards the end of my undergrad, i noticed that my favourite writers had this trait too. baldwin. angelou. didion. walcott. i love that i can’t write a play without it being poetic or entertain an autobiography or an essay without feeling it’s poetry. and as i grow in my writing, it’s cute observations like these, on night like these when i shouldn’t have deep conditioned my hair so late on a weekday, that i feel most appreciative and committed to playing around with that. under this massive bracket of ‘writer’ we’re allowed and entitled to call ourselves out and carve our own nuances.
this national writing day i’m exploring that. in new ways. i’ve always been inspired by what i can produce during freewrites. i’ve actually always loved the vulnerability of freewrites, it feels honest. and today (tonight) i am inspired by the challenge set by Dean Atta’s :‘ i feel most free when…’ so. i’ve shared a few freewrites from that premise and few other bits, writings + poetry + prose that have summarised my mind space as of recently.
extract from a monologue|
where else are we diasporic if not at the bottom of the Atlantic ocean. are we not thrown here, by self or other, and told to live, still? are we still bound to our children? are we listening? (are we listened to?) but are we not constantly listening? we remember, even if the world did not ask for our names, didn’t pause. didn”t wait. still we stay here, settling. steadying the waters
me, i feel most free when i am not told that i am being watched. when i am being stared at and nobody but myself knows that i know this. i’ve known this is how we sometimes get lost and found in the presence of absent eyes. i know that sometimes., i am not a mirror for you or anything that you can find weight
lessness in. but sometimes i help you. i know that sometimes you help me. sometimes we help each other when we are not hurting,
in the middle of our living
freewrite 2 (featuring golden hour me)|
And left the wounds open
And pressed down on the pressure
And did not clot the blood
And did not call for my mother
And did not hug me close
And did not tend to the bone
And did not stay by my side
And did not look for the pulse
And did not count me down
And did not offer apology
And did not quieten my screams
And did not take it slow when I flinched
And did not care for the swelling
And did not cater for the numbness
And did not dry my tears
Healing came and did not tell me how brave I was, afterwards.
Picked me up and put me on my feet,
sanitised and sanctified them
Sweeped careless fingers over my hurting head and did not
Lower them once
Healing just, shouted memorised hymns over the protest
And dug fingers deep into weak palms as we stood
And healing did not stop dancing with me
Until I collapsed to my knees
And begged my God
To accept my thanks.
.- feb 2018.
thank you for reading what i write.
if you have any writings from national writing day, share the link below! don’t forget to like and share this post and subscribe to the blog for updates and late late night poetry.