praxically

[praxically]

Ok enough lovey dovey

Where is the discourse? Feelings and thoughts about working in white spaces and how to survive it? Help!

[praxically]

For my boo of all boos

[praxically]

For you

I have spent most of my days either looking up at the sky or down on myself. We met on a late Friday evening and after all these years have passed I still look at you in complete awe. I always knew I would find a love like this but never did I believe I would be so blessed…

I have grown in so many ways and I thank God for bringing you into my life. You have and continue to act as my confidante, teacher, healer, lover and best friend. I reflect on you and there is a warmth that settles.

I grew weary of praising our love to shield myself in case you left… In case I was too much. In case my love was too much. I misunderstood what it was to love and be loved. You hold me down in moments when I am breaking and lift me up as I spiral down our stairs and onto the street.

I am sorry for the many months and years that I have spent with the cracks as my focal point. I do not know what I have done to deserve a love so huge that I stand back and now let it engulf me.

You are the other part of me. Without ownership or without restriction. We share a light that shines. There are times - when you need someone. You are by my side. There is a light that shines special for you and me.

I never knew a la la la love like this…

[praxically]

[praxically]

When you realise that your partnah has become that other p(ea)iece of you.

This isn’t one of those horribly romantic posts. This one is one that probably won’t be seen for the one that inspired it, not for some time anyway. We past the checking each other’s social ish.. lol well; most of the time.

My heart feels heavy and I feel like the things that offer me so much strength are now making less sense to me.. I look at my mother’s life and the dynamic that rests between her and my father and it breaks my spirit. 

She is so accustomed to behaviour that makes me want to scream the house down. I try and be the good Indian daughter, but now my silence seeps out of me in ways I cannot control.

So I sit on a swivel leather chair in the living room, with my aunt and parents and think of you.. I feel calm and I even begin to feel a small smirk turning into a smile hanging from my lips.

I didn’t handle the situation as you would have done; I couldn’t sit and bite my tongue. Not meeing fire with fire, but dousing hatred with water the way you said I should. I didn’t do it, I lashed out and stood my ground and the antlers were coming for me. Reminding me of being young, afraid, without voice.

Things are different now; I feel a slight pang of fear but it subsides. A victory for my spirit and a coat hanger for this ego.

Ego Death has been on repeat in my car, Praise the Lord for an aux output and youtube videos on how to install your own “sounds”. Moving on, writing this I feel lighter. Knowing in a few days I will be back in the sanctuary we made together. 

“[Jasmin] All you need in life is love and a cat.” 

[praxically]

Hmm.

[praxically]

I wanna be next to you

Bilal

[praxically]

OK, the necessary preliminaries - someone today, tomorrow is going to find what I say offensive. I cannot control “interpretation”.

I am a South Asian Queer woman, born and raised in London: I do not consider myself as part of the collective that is known as “Black British Feminism”. I overstand...

[praxically]

April | 1961

I decided to retroactively view her visage Would her portrait be the same, or? Uncovered, with bare legs like unmarried stories -  Happy in lonlieness Like tree branches swinging low. I decide that She smiles boldly Sitting at the feet Of her own perception.

[praxically]

[praxically]

So wait, it's not okay for Americans to use symbols from other religions and cultures? Then how dare you wear American clothing? Eat American foods at American restaraunts? Study American theories? Wear our fashion trends? Listen to our music? Earlobe plugs began as African culture I don't hear any complaints. People all over the world get tattoos and these began as Native American culture. Same with piercings, sombreros, etc. white Americans are culturally insensitive in many ways. This is not

You’re an idiot: I’ve updated my reply. Wtf is “American”. Shut up and read some books. What we write is not for you. That might be difficult for you to understand. I will say it again; not everything we write/say/do is FOR you. Peace.

[praxically]

Arches

When words escape me I know I must write or speak a truth that must be refined and redefined by me. Poems stick to the roof of my mouth and as i take them out they retain the mould, that arch, that arch that contains your name.

[praxically]

Words upon flesh

May your Love of the Form, culminate in the Love of the Formless

[praxically]

If you don't wanna be down with me.

You just don't wanna be down.

[praxically]

When I Try To Speak To Other Black Women...

Me: "*says literally anything about Black womanhood to another Black woman on Twitter*"

White man: "Well, rationally speaking, with no lived experience, knowledge or emotional investment, while denying your humanity or intelligence, I would just like to say, BLAH."

Black man: "Well, the real issue is you aren't worshipping Black men enough. Unity. Blah. Me. Blah."

White woman: "ALLLLLL WOMEN. ALL. ME NOT YOU. ME ME ME."

Non-Black PoC: "Oh yes, this specifically Black issue that has literally nothing to do with me is about ALL PoC. So let's discuss ME instead. Let's discuss absolutely any WoC except the Black women this is about."

[praxically]

Is she

[praxically]

Free, right?

We used to sit around the park till after dark

With incense swirling uncontrollably

Now we meet over text messages with emojis

Silently refraining from saying:

Our maps shifted but we misplaced coordinates

The only way we knew how

Dot to dot to dot

But my bindi missed the mark - that last time I shouted in the park

Especially as it's dusk and the spray can is nearly empty

WonderWoman painted in little suns on the shaky balcony

Oh and those old trees in a rose garden that probably still looks the same

Your names are etched onto old clothes and sit in a frame

About Victim

It is not that, so I plot a new landscape

Where sunsets in Southall and Kent

Are closed chapters and I look toward the new horizon

South of the River

Maybe forever.