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[sibsmans]

jacqweenline

GHANA

[sibsmans]

“Love me in a thousand tiny, unsaid ways.”

— alison malee

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Photo of the Day – 24th of July 2017

Untitled by Adrian McDonald

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look, girls like us are magnets for ruin. see the sky collapse on us each morning. see the light leave our bodies as we remember we aren’t beautiful. don’t you know? girls like us look prettiest in pieces. here, here are the hands: look how still they are, look how simple (ignore the trembling) (ignore the bloody knuckles) here, here is the mouth: that’s right, stitch it shut (doesn’t matter if it hurts) (doesn’t matter if there are things you want to say) look, girls like us are ¾ disaster. see how we bleed and bruise and burn. see what a pretty sound it makes.

unnatural disaster || s.o. (via allthesinkingships)

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I am eternally, devastatingly romantic, and I thought people would see it because romantic doesn’t mean sugary. It’s dark and tormented — the furor of passion, the despair of an idealism that you can’t attain.

Catherine Breillat, “Interview by Martin Tsai,“ The New York Sun  (via thequotejournals)

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I’m not sad, but the boys who are looking for sad girls always find me. I’m not a girl anymore and I’m not sad anymore. You want me to be a tragic backdrop so that you can appear to be illuminated, so that people can say ‘Wow, isn't he so terribly brave to love a girl who is so obviously sad?’ You think I’ll be the dark sky so you can be the star? I’ll swallow you whole. -@wu_shire #warsanshire

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Jaz Miyagi by Jabari Jacobs Styled by Jourdan Kadow

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Dawn’s grey dress bellying   over me: a shock of flight,

& the trees grazing the sky,       unzipping dawn’s dress,

bartering with the wind for my doomed currency of breath.

              *

Sun’s cleave & slick, sun’s honey. Suddenly, fuchsia, sycamore seeds.

Slow flare of hope bursting the eye, black wing unfurling   & unfurling.

Admitting form,  permitting colour. Inventing beauty.

              *

Blue blade   which overtakes me   all night— desire

sleeping beneath the skin   like shrapnel— ache of silver,

ache of light   where no light   ought to be.

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The finest soul are those who gulped pain and avoided making others taste it.

Anonymous (via wnq-anonymous)

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Her body existed only where he touched her. The rest of her was smoke.

Arundhati Roy, The God of Small Things  (via theliteraryjournals)

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here; have it with your morning tea. (extract from A Case of You- inspired by James Blake) #poemsbySibzy #poetry #poetsofinstagram

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all your men Die by accident in cars I've seen you brew potions with their bones Dance in the street during construction Naked except for your laugh Grandma says slam the door till it sticks Dead things can live with you You watch his smile settle on my lips. Sangoma // Sibulelo Manamatela (I think the things I write are poems, sometimes)

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you leave every fortnight The ghosts say they have seen you Swirling like clouds of dust On top of his grave and sometimes Between the Nile and the Red Sea They should have built him A double-corpse coffin You sleep alone on a double You and he won't leave alone Not me, not each other. Sangoma // Sibulelo Manamatela (I think the things I write are poems, sometimes)

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you dead thing you I swear you've gone mad I've seen the ghost of His smile settle on your lips You say his skull grins at you I've seen you swallow a rock Gallop around the yard at night Naked except for your laugh You say fear tickles your throat Cough it out you'll choke to second death. Sangoma // Sibulelo Manamatela (I think the things I write are poem, sometimes)

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Wrote an opinion piece on a child suicide. 

I don’t think a big enough deal was made about this. I say this because they aren’t enough articles about it; it didn’t slow down the world or speed it up- the world carried on in its usual lazy and mindless pace.

But then again, this was only a black child, so you know how it goes; water under the bridge.

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Right! ( takes a deep breath)

So I was extremely nervous to post this poem, only because it opens up old wounds and gets me all up in my feels!

Basically as a kid. I was not raped but,I was sexually abused by an older man who worked for my family. As I got older (about 15, I was in Grade 9) I was terribly afraid of men and I was in the peak of my clinical depression. I think “peak” is the wrong word to use in this context, how is “depth?”

Okay so I was in the depth of my depression and as I was working through my issues with my therapist. I began to ask myself about my childhood and I remembered a time that I had completely blocked out. I was also asked by my therapist to describe how my depression made me feel.

She wanted me to describe why I was so lifeless.

Why I saw life as this futile never-ending pit of darkness.

So I wrote this and at my next appointment I handed it to her.

That is what I had experienced from all of it.

I haven’t written in a while but be sure to watch this space. I am excited to explore how I have grown in my art.

I hope this poem brings awareness to rape and sexual abuse and it’s traumas and effect on the victims.

I hope it brings awareness to mental disabilities.

I would love some feedback 💕

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Legendury Beats ft Wizkid Ojé | Dance Video | Sherrie Silver

Sherrie😍🙌