Child Molester

What is this that I carry from head to toe,
The burden of which I must carry wherever I go.
When people see me they cross the street,
The dogs that they’re walking stare and bare their teeth.
The shops are closed to me,
They will not sell me bread
The jobs are closed to me,
They’d rather see me dead.
I must carry it with me,
The shame of my black sin
Now I know how it feels
To be North American -
and have black skin.

(African) Immigrant

I hate the snow

We try to run in front of it,
forgetting that

life started behind our backs
and happens despite our protestations
 - a meld of events, emotions and skin cracks.
We want to see the world, but only through closed eyelids.
Are our lives for rent or do we own our souls?
Let he who is to be god make his claim known.

The cold is where the dead things grow
and I tire of it; I want to go back home.


there is vanity in self-loathing
to be humble eyed,
you must possess something worth pride

cowards live long lives
but the brave die young and live forever;
neither fate is worse, neither fate is better

look after Innocence,
but know that she lies - 
go into everything with nothing but open eyes

and when the time comes,
do not sell your life for less than love,
or risk making love what you’ll always fall. short. of.


I’m sat at the bus stop, waiting with my book.
Silent and steady, waiting, waiting.
She comes over with her pretty blonde bun;
red-velvet stained lips to match the dress she sits on.

And of me, for a man she must’ve mistook,
for she smiles at me and I say hello!
Or rather hello should I have said,
but I stay my tongue instead.

So onwards-on I awkwardly look,
for a very senescent 3 minutes;
Till the bus comes and I leave (my faulty chair squeaking as I recline),
leaving what I was waiting for behind.

Life, Love and Religion

Don’t forget me, she pleaded…
As if I could.
As if the winds could huff and puff away the woods.

So never! I swore.
Oh my love, hear my roar.
In a decade, no, two more besides,
you will be emblazoned in the flames of my crimson candle;
a symbol that even the sun dared not handle.

From then on I slept
with candles dancing in my head;
I shall not forget! I shall not forget!

A decade past, and then two more besides;
till the time finally came to fulfill my vow.
At 12 noon, the centre of the day,
I lit my crimson candle,
taking care to ensure the flame did not sway.

And if you were passing by and you saw and you said pray tell?
I would place my fingers on my temple
and wrinkle my nose in thought;
for I could not, for the life of me, tell you why,
my crimson candle shone in the summer sun.


Together at each close of day
we sit in the yard and stare at pink sunsets,
daydreaming of times past and runaway things;
We talk and you laugh, leaning into my shoulder as you are wont to do.
And though they may be right when they say,

the only heaven to be had
is the heaven in our heads,

those sunsets with you
are heaven enough for me.