Poems
Poems
by Tshepo Jamillah Moyo
Dear Lover
Dear lover, I was 14 the first time I let someone make a home of me. I was 15 the first time I made a home of him. I am 22 now. I have made a home of myself. With high walls and luxury. Perhaps one day I will let you in.
Slut Shaming They are 14 boys whose names you should remember. I am 90% sure you know them. They said they met you one night. You apparently like to wear black lingerie and red lipstick. You also like your hair pulled and nipples bit. Don’t you remember? I told you she was loose, she can’t remember all 65 of the men she’s fucked.
104
a HOLAAfrica publication
I
Q-zine
When God loves a Woman i. To You. I wish I hadn’t told you secrets about myself. Like that one about how sometimes after a really long day I run a hot shower just so I can cry. I should not have scribbled my weaknesses on a piece of paper, folded it sixteen times, and asked you to hold onto it for me. You should have never heard me say “Sometimes I don’t believe in myself” And “I believe in you” should not have comforted me. I should not have made a home out of you.
Botswana arrogance. And I definitely shouldn’t have worn your faith in me as a coat of armour. But the way you say “You’re beautiful” must be the same way God said “Let there be light,” and there was light. More like a command and less like a compliment. And the way you kiss me must be the same way God breathed the breath of life, and man became a living soul. So maybe I am a woman of faith. ii. To Me
I should not have walked into you, thrown off my shoes, taken off my pants and bra, settled on your lap, and watched a rerun of Law and Order.
“Unto the woman, he said, I will greatly multiply thy sorrow and thy conception; in sorrow thou shalt bring forth children; and thy desire shall be to thy husband, and he shall rule over thee”
You should not have seen the woman I am on really dark cold nights.
How does anyone believe the miracle of birth is sorrowful?
No one should ever meet me when I am not “Poet, writer and super hero.”
We need a God whose pelvic bones know how to stretch for living souls.
No one should see what I look like without a coat of
We need the kind of God that knows how to break.