About Me

This story is about me. 

About the real me, the “now” me.

The me standing here, in this place, at this time, T.
This is not about the ‘me’ ten years ago

The child who wrote a poem titled “Joyfully” 

But couldn’t even tie her laces rightfully.

The girl who at age ten knew she must probably be over educated

Because some of her mates couldnt pronounce ‘Simile’

And they said the past tense of register was ‘registrated’.”
This story is not about me seven years ago

The ‘me’ who could spell N-O

But never pronounce it out loud

In fear of upsetting the crowd.
This is not about those times,

When the word ‘friend’ meant

‘Partner in low self esteem’ 

And I only wished it would mean

‘That smart, pretty, confident girl

Who leads the “big team”’.
No, this is not a story about the insecure teen.

Who couldn’t realise

That ‘me’ is precious, special 

And deserved to be treated as such 

By others, but first by me.
This is not about the naive ‘me’ 

Who believed that life 

Was only either black or white 

and no other way;

And that you couldn’t mix the black and white 

And make do with gray.
This is not a sad story,

Where ‘me’ is throwing a pity party.

Soliciting your nods, head shakes 

And occasional tears, 

Filling your ears with junk about my fears.
This story is about me. 

About the real me, the “now” me.

The ‘me’ standing here, in this place, at this time, T.
The ‘me’ who is content to not be her, 

Content to not have had his life, 

Her family, his past, 

The ‘me’ with smiles that finally last.

This story is about the ‘me’ 

Who has stopped looking for the easy way, 

For excuses and reasons

But who chooses every day

To own her flaws, learn her lessons.

To not apologise for her convictions.
This is about me 

Who knows the two definitions of fear: 

Forget everything and run or 

Face everything and rise

And who, of the two, chooses the latter, 

Because ‘rising’, 

It’s my only choice in the matter.

This is about ‘me’ who understands 

That it might not have been my choice to fall,

But as for whether I stand or not, I’m the one to make that call.
This is about a girl who knows what she’s fighting for,

Who knows she has to lose some battles in order to win the war. 

About a girl who’s not afraid to throw wide open the gates of her heart, because “hey, the right people have the keys to the door and the rest of you can feel at home in the yard.”
This is about the girl who will not let shards of broken heart, tamper with the lens.

Through which her world comes into focus, 

The lens that converges on the sense in all the nonsense.

The girl who aspires to be the friend Solomon was talking about.

The friend who will always be there with or without.
This story is about the ‘me’ who has grown, 

Crept, walked, run and then flown.

The ‘me’ who embraces challenges

Who’s excited about changes

The me who, even when life’s shade is mellow

Always seeks amidst the dim to find her yellow.
This is about me, 

The she with brown skin

With black eyes and thick rims

You know, short sight but big dreams

The girl who’s in love with words and keen

About sweetly blending them in sound, 

And about how the artist within is found,

The ‘me’ who knows her past, her history.

And gladly wants to share the journey’s story..
A story of phases, of metamorphosis

A story for those who have thought that for them there isn’t a before and an  after

Or that in all their bleakness, there couldn’t be any laughter.

If this is you and you live in this perpetual night

My story is for you to see

That if you can see the darkness, then there’s a flicker of light.

Faint as it may be now, it still has the potential to shine bright.

Spoken word performance of this poem is coming up soooon!


​When You Say You Love Me

Love means many different things

To people of different colour and age.

So when you say you love me

I want us to be thinking the same things

I want us to be on the same page.

To me Love is not much about roses and rings

Not about chocolate and sweet things.

It is also not about the Hawaiian sunset and beaches

Nor how far your wallet reaches.

Love is not about biology:

“Baby, my heart beats thrice for you”

Love has nothing to do with seismology:

“Darling, you rock my world, only you”.

Love is not those words about sugar in tea, bread and butter.

Honestly honey, I don’t even know how breakfast got into the matter.

Also take note of this:

Love, to me, is not in Paris

No, Love is not in Venice

Or any other exotic cities.

Love is not defined in the song

“L is for the way you look at me..

O is for the only one I see..”

‘M not saying the songwriter is wrong.

Love is not in all those late calls and “romantic” messages

All of which, by the way, are free

Love is not even in those three magic words: “I love you”

Aka 143

Love means many different things

In all the different places I have been.

So when you say you love me

This is what I’m hoping you mean;
That your love for me

Is your choice

Your choice to stay

To stay with me

With me, all the way

Even when you know I’m imperfect and flawed

And that things won’t always go as we thought

Love is your choice to stay with me all the way.

Love is your shoulder for my tears

Your cheers for my trophies.

Your gentle hands when I stumble

Your soothing voice in my awkward silences.

Love is your integrity and honesty

It is your fidelity and unfailing loyalty.

I’m not saying I wouldn’t like

Red wine and candle light

Or fun talks and strolls at night.

But more than these, I want your heart.

Every. Single. Part

So…. Turns out you can watch a spoken word perfomance of this poem, yay!!! 

Don’t say a word!

Don’t judge me!

Don’t ask me why

I march on the streets, holding boards

Heavy with angry words.
Don’t ask me why

My voice is indignant and curt

And don’t tell me to hush

Because all my songs speak of hurt.
You weren’t there

When they took away my real books

And instead gave me the sort of education

Where my teacher was

A drunkard four times my age,

And my exams consisted of baby production.

you’re never there when the old fool pounds my dreams to pulp

and I end up with a black eye, the physical reminder

that my vision of a bright future is now fading, disappearing into

the black hole that is this life.
Don’t talk to me about culture.

You weren’t there

when at the slightest inkling of my womanhood

they took red hot stones,

placed them on my chest

and not only burned away my breast,

but put a scar on my soul,

You didn’t feel the searing pain,

When they spread my legs

And cut out my flesh,

And now I can never feel whole.

I can never feel woman enough

heck, I dont even feel human enough.


Don’t come around me

And preach about decency or

How I’m the cause of my rape.

You didn’t see when the people

I call fathers, neighbours, friends

Lifted my long skirts

And tore away at my innocence,

Day after day with no shame

And then they made me take the vow of silence.

you don’t know how many nights I cried

how many times I tried to muffle the silent screams that

in my head everytime the monster walked into my room

with an evil grin and eyes  full of hell.

I went to hell every night.


Don’t you even dare quote scripture at me.

So you know scripture?

Where was scripture

When they seized my glory

With shards of broken glass

Leaving me on the floor unwashed and crass

All because my love and partner was gone

And he had left me all alone?

when his once friendly siblings

turned into vicious canivores

sucking out the very life from me and taking everything by force?

When they took away my livelihood,

My hope, all I had that was good

And left me only with my tears

And a chair by the window,

Why didn’t you then quote scripture

About how to treat a widow?

Don’t jeer when all I ask is to be treated fairly

When all I want is for you to see clearly

That there’s blood running in my veins

Just like yours

And though you’ve hurt me,

I don’t even want revenge,

I just want remorse.


You ask me why I walk away

I’ll tell you why I cannot stay.
Yesterday I loved you,

Today I don’t.
Yesterday you were sweet and warm, too good to be true.

I loved your words, I loved their font.

Today, you’re ice cold.

And sour. Not a sight to behold.
Yesterday, you shone like gold,

Glowed like the princess in a fairy tale told, 

About horses and princes, beauty and myth.

Today, I remember 

The sad saying about things that glitter. 

Four words I can muster

You. have. no. lustre.
Yesterday, you were full of stark colour, 

Bright red, brighter yellow.

Today, all I see are shades, 

More than Fifty shades of grey, Shades of a dirty careless spray

Of black, brown and the opposite of gay.
What can I say?
Yesterday, your scent

It felt like it was sent

From heaven’s garden

You smelled like rosy pink and ocean blue

Today, when I stand next to you

 I smell decay… I’m through.
Yesterday, you smiled

Your eyes wide and I said that was cool.

But now I know you only lied

And today I feel like a fool.
I know,

Yesterday is only a day ago.

But today, today’s the day I go.

… And I fell in love.

I spent three hours writing the perfect poem; tweaking the verses, deleting and undoing, searching my mind and thesaurus for all the right words…

Then another seven days timing, recording and listening to myself, memorising the words and still mixing them up, pacing and reciting, before a mirror making sure I got my expressions right…

But when I stood on that stage for two minutes, I knew I was hooked.

That rush of energy,

That strangely beautiful catharsis,

Those cheers,

They sealed it for me… 

And I fell in love.

With spoken word poetry.