to be African, to be Woman, to be Creative, to be Fashionable, to be Intelligible, to be Beautiful.....to be IMARA

imara by Mshana

This is the canvas and the pages on which I curate and display the life I wish to create for myself and other liminal hu-women like myself. I explore here my passion for fashion, present my literally inspired visual arts, write my visual arts inspired written works, share my linguistics, travel diaries, show my finding comfort in food, and heck, whatever else I feel like... Welcome and enjoy!

Bleeding


of heart breaks yet keeping on loving

they say the ones you love are the ones who hurt you the most


I am bleeding. Not the kind of bleed that symbolises endings and letting go of dead things within but the kind that symbolises murderous commentaries that killed souls, and beings, and dreams. Because with every unreturned ‘I love you,’ I hurt. They say words cut deep but I think silence cuts deeper especially when he is the one who makes love songs for you much deeper.

I am bleeding. The green on my skin is not a black woman’s beauty ritual but what happened when oxygen stopped reaching some parts of my body because the broken vain that’s bleeding into my lungs, is too close to my heart so my heart can’t function as well as it should, as well as it could. As well as it could if you had reciprocated the love with which it beat with the love that it deserved. I swear, if you gave my heart the love that it ascribed the thought of you to, it would have been beating as fast as it did when I first met you.

I am bleeding. And just because you can’t see the pain it doesn’t mean it isn’t there. My lungs are over flowing with blood shed in heart battles on whether to love or to leave…that’s why my tongue spits red stained words, bold and confident, as I try to breathe out the suffocation your poisonous love fumes that sneak in occasionally making me believe there is a burning flame of love on the other side just to find out that yours is the new kind of love…the kind you find in gas containers that run out after a while and I have to constantly replace with a new one from the false love store.

I am bleeding. And I hope it’s just your colour blind eyes that cannot locate the red behind my false bright smile…because if you see my red stained insides and choose to purposefully ignore, dear friend you shall die. I will share with you the poisonous love lies you fed mine eyes when I give you my love in good morning smiles…and all your days will be filled with guilt biting off your insides. Soon you too will bleed. Not the kind of bleed that symbolises endings and letting go of dead things within but the kind that symbolises murderous commentaries that killed souls, and beings, and dreams.