Returning to self | Zawadi The Art

Ke nna Mpho Vinolia Mashego Ke morwedi wa Maki le Siphoso Mashego Ke motau.

Ke motho wago bua kuwa shakwaneng, shakwaneng ya kgomo le motho go phalang, go phala motho asa jeweng. Kgomo ke mallela teng, gageshu rea tibela, re tibela pela letlateng. Ke motho wa legola tlhogo mmele ke lekanele, Ke maputlaganya a mmaphuthi, mashia tau ka lebelo!

I rented my mouth to a language that is obsessed with papers I twist my tongue to accommodate its sharp edges It is constantly demanding flexibility, banging on my vocal cords for perfect tightening and stretching my throat to create more space. More space to convert my brain cells into currencies My eyes to induce its ability to see more white than black, brown or any other colour My ears to distinctly listen to bass tones and deafen the high-pitched tones My feet to march towards a skin that does not resemble mine It has infiltrated my entire system destroying threads of the rich melanin that is inherent in me.

My name is spelled from the papers I have scraped for, each has a detailed portion of respect that should be passed my way I cling to the remnants of myself that isn't scattered papers I cling on, although I know that practice leads to fluency Eventually I will become monolingual, articulate and excelling at being flakey, weightless, disposable piece of paper.

Africa is bleeding, our leaders are the new owners of the colonial missiles and rifles that have been pointing and firing at us. Who else do we need to summon to end these genocides and femicides?

Which book should we open that doesn’t have our blood inked on its pages?

Which ancestors should we call that won’t demand girls and womxn as sacrifices?

Which neighbor should we turn to who won’t call us foreigners in our own continent?

We have been exposed to flames for so long that we are pouring gasoline onto ourselves. How do we breathe when we are collectively inhaling these fumes? Which part of ourselves do we start to heal? Should it be the internalized hatred first?

Or the salivation over being the white man's prized possession? Or the generational massacre of womxn in the name of a man? Or should it be the diligent slave mentality that carries orders from colonial forces to kill homosexuals?

Who do we hold when we’ve declared war on each other?

Who else are we going to speak to that will understand our tongues? Do we even know where our tongues are? Do we remember our mothers?

Do we remember that we were birthed by the soil and the sun? Do we remember ourselves?

Do we remember ourselves?

I was always here I never left, you were too focused on other factors outside of yourself that you forgot what home meant and felt. I am here. I’ve been here. For you. Thank you for coming home.

The girls that look like boys, the boys that have breasts, the boy that walks like a girl, the man with a beard in a dress,

Is it a boy or a girl?

Is she or he breathing?

Is she or he human?

Will it stop you from loving them?

You took our healers away from us, and forced us to praise paper. My people cannot speak to the sun anymore they forgot how to summon clouds. You exploited our bodies, dug and sucked the spirits of these lands then you drowned us at sea. You drowned us in your image and we excelled at performing your scriptures But the ocean is rumbling now The mummies are awakening now The ones you gave the mirror to, They can see now!

Confess your desires and you will be granted pleasure in multitudes Surrender to your truth and you will live a life of clarity and bliss Honor your being. Trust in your name. Rejoice in your pronouns and LIVE.

Dearest Rainbow Community

Dear Lesbian, Dear Gay, Dear Bisexual, Dear Transgender/Transsexual Dear Queer, Dear Intersex, Dear Asexual, Dear Pansexual, Dear Rainbow community, You are not at fault. You're not a sin to be constantly punished. You deserve to breathe. You deserve to walk this earth with pride flowing with your every step. There’s a sky full of gifts to bestow upon you. There are wells overflowing with warmth to dip and immerse yourself in. You are merged with magic in your being. Thank you for breathing. Thank you for living your truth. Thank you for YOU.

I am unfolding poetry, making sense till it becomes senseless. My life is a clutter of speeches, at times I tiptoe around my voicefeeling its fragility but trusting in my core to stand with every word.

I am a lesbian I am a multi-spirited being I am a renegade and most importantly, I am a gift.

I am on a journey to home; home to the people that birthed me. Home to the memories that built me. Home to the hands that held me in warmth. Home to a community that frees my spirit. Home to myself, home to my art, to my core and home to my life. I have come far yet I have just arrived.

I am Zawadi I am the rebirth of Mpho Vinolia Mashego We are The Art!