Happy Monday friends! I hope you packed light and got some party clothes, cause this Monday we are one more embarking on a journey!
So today we are in Great Britain and we will explore:
UGLY
Warsan
Shire FRSL (born 1 August
1988) is a British writer, poet, editor and teacher, who was born to Somali parents
in Kenya,
east Africa. In
2013 she was awarded the inaugural Brunel University African Poetry
Prize. Her
words No one leaves home unless/home is the mouth of a shark, from
the poem Conversations about Home (at a deportation center), have
been called a rallying call for refugees and their advocates. Shire uses not only her own personal experiences but also the
experiences of people to whom she is close. Shire's poetry featured prominently
in Beyoncé's
2016 feature-length film Lemonade.
Poem:
Your
daughter is ugly.
She knows loss intimately,
carries whole cities in her belly.
As a child, relatives wouldn't hold her.
She was splintered wood and sea water.
They said she reminded them of the war.
On her fifteenth birthday you taught her
how to tie her hair like rope
and smoke it over burning frankincense.
You made her gargle rosewater
and while she coughed, said
macaanto girls like you shouldn't smell
of lonely or empty.
You are her mother.
Why did you not warn her,
hold her like a rotting boat
and tell her that men will not love her
if she is covered in continents,
if her teeth are small colonies,
if her stomach is an island
if her thighs are borders?
What man wants to lay down
and watch the world burn
in his bedroom?
Your daughter's face is a small riot,
her hands are a civil war,
a refugee camp behind each ear,
a body littered with ugly things
but God,
doesn't she wear
the world well.
She knows loss intimately,
carries whole cities in her belly.
As a child, relatives wouldn't hold her.
She was splintered wood and sea water.
They said she reminded them of the war.
On her fifteenth birthday you taught her
how to tie her hair like rope
and smoke it over burning frankincense.
You made her gargle rosewater
and while she coughed, said
macaanto girls like you shouldn't smell
of lonely or empty.
You are her mother.
Why did you not warn her,
hold her like a rotting boat
and tell her that men will not love her
if she is covered in continents,
if her teeth are small colonies,
if her stomach is an island
if her thighs are borders?
What man wants to lay down
and watch the world burn
in his bedroom?
Your daughter's face is a small riot,
her hands are a civil war,
a refugee camp behind each ear,
a body littered with ugly things
but God,
doesn't she wear
the world well.
Thoughts:
This poem hit close to home.
This poem is me, this poem is you, this poem is us!
Wear your world proud and let no one strip you off it!
See you next Monday!
This poem is me, this poem is you, this poem is us!
Wear your world proud and let no one strip you off it!
See you next Monday!
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