I don’t have a poem for Ferguson don't have a poem for Dakota None for Sandra Bland None Amadou Diallo None for Pulse For Syria None for Gaza And Soweto And Khayelitsha
Because memory-knowledge of those that have been and continue to be structurally marginalized, is often contested, Baszile adds to the canon of literature that contends that even through the eyes of girl-children, the world is but a complicated place and children can see through those complications.
He had to die in that perfect way, with a perfect number of stabs--all around his chest-- and died close to the stream that was across the veld near our home.
You are writing this letter to your younger self, hoping that he could have been less stubborn. You thought your stubbornness was the best quality about yourself. How you must perpetually have the last word in an argument. You liked that a lot, this idea of you proving you are the smartest and should be … Continue reading On Love, Grief, Poverty and Pain, Or a Letter to My Younger Self
I am certain that the kind of love that I want, wants me. The kind of love that stays knows I will write poetry about my past pain but that is not their reference book on how to love me better.
maybe you don’t call it depression maybe you don’t know its symptoms— maybe you blame the devil. it must be the devil, or the boy that left. maybe you blame your father. maybe you prayed he never left maybe every boy you meet, becomes your home, and hell, once they leave. … Continue reading I Tried Calling it Depression.
You need no one's permission to want to stop living. Even for a small second. You're allowed to let go.
and when you hold your new lover, when your breaths become the same, your heartbeats in sync like a lyric, and the you feel. your old love oozing. out of your pores claw into your new lover. may the venom of your old lover the poison of his attachment. be confused in the bond … Continue reading make him wonder.
what if i am the one in need of healing? what if i love you, so much, that i still love him what kind of hell will that be this greed my heart has? what sort of misery, will this heart of mine, continue to endure, what manner of lies can I continue justifying? … Continue reading this greed. this misery. what if?