I Am My Hair

Inspired by the India Arie song, 'I am not my hair'. Enjoy.

I am me

And in being me

I am everything that defines me

All the different parts of me

I am my Nigerian father

I am my Malaysian mother

I am my British birth

I am my Christian faith

I am my laughter loud

I am my blackness proud

I am my poetry in my motion

I am my song

I am my long

Black, hair

I am my hair

Long because of my mum

Tough thanks to my dad

Wasn't conforming to others' perception of beauty by relaxing it

Simply needed a way to stop them from chopping it

All off

Which is what could've been

Because of the way I used to scream

When aunties combed, pulled,

greased and plaited

Now with the flick of hair

And an eyelash batted

I can exploit my feminine wiles

But I don't

My hair is an extension of me

It is my womanhood

When I take off clothes

And let my hair tumble down

And my soft locks caress my breasts

I feel like a woman

And when I walk down the street

Hair blowing in the breeze

I feel like a woman

And if my tresses were to be trimmed

Drastically

I think I might pull a Samson

And go weak

I don't hide behind my hair

But it's always there

Like some kind of support system

The ways in which I love it

I couldn't list them

"Bad hair days" aren't "bad hair days"

Because they're still "I have hair days"

Yes, I am my hair

Summer

This summer has been like the Summer of Inspiration, no lie.
Everywhere I go, everything I hear or see and everyone I meet is inspiring me, making me think, compelling me to write.

This really is a new phase in my life though.
It's the time I've been waiting for, for a very long time.
A time when all there is, is me and time.
Nothing to work for, just results to wait for.
I can do anything I want.
I'm free. To a certain extent.
Obstructions to my freedom are my job and my mother. Ha.
Two things which I love. Honestly I do.
My field of work is a loving field. When I enter the door I'm greeted with various different voices calling out my name, big hugs, hot-off-the-easel masterpieces and evidence in cuts and bruises of the day's goings on.
Children are delightful.
My mother is a loving mother. Sometimes I think she's doing a terrible job as a mother and I want to throw pillows at her and tell her she's rubbish and highly irritating, but I don't because most of the time she is brilliant. Actually, all of the time she is. Just sometimes, I beg, hands clasped together and on my knees, to differ.
And she's one of those mothers that daily proves the "Mothers know best" theory.

Anyway, I digress. But I won't apologise for my digression. I think that's the beauty and slyly the purpose of blogs. They allow someone like me to literally document the thoughts that go on in my head, as they happen. And what is a thought train without digression.
If one stayed on the same line of thought, one wouldn't get very far.

So yeah, inspiration.

(I've just put my head on my hand, which is fisted and on the table. My knuckle is meeting with the centre of my forehead, and I'm still feeling the bruise which has been there for like two months, no joke. I'm slightly concerned...)

Inspiration is just coming from all directions, yes.
It's only a little bit overwhelming.
But I'm taking it all in my stride, attempting to channel it in intelligent, creative, ground-breaking ways.

I'll be updating the blog with the fruits of this inspiration.
Currently collecting the water to nourish the seeds that have been sown.
I'm very excited.
And I'm hoping that I don't just get carried away soaking up all these new sources of stimulation
but I'm actually do something with it. Otherwise it's a waste. And I'll feel like a waste.

I don't think blogging or writing one's feelings/emotions is a sign of weakness. It takes strength to put pen to paper, or fingers to keys. To take pent up, complex emotions and turn them into something tangible or relateable is strong. To write something, confirms its reality, your acceptance of it, but also your attempt to do something about it. Obviously depends on what it is. But yeah.

Inspire

I don't know what inspires me
Perhaps it's a gust of warm wind tickling the trees
Or the gently trickling freshwater streams
The view from a high tower onto the city below
Waking up in the morning to a fresh blanket of snow
I don't know

It might be the smile of a friend
Or a story of success having dealt with life's obstacles
And not responding with stress
Instead taking it all in your stride
Not puffed up with pride
But confident on the inside
Knowing that after the rain comes sunshine
And the rainbow in the sky is still a sign

The story of a child
Innocence robbed brutally
Broken in pieces
By someone who was meant to be
Trustworthy
Meant to be the only
One who would never let her down
The one who should've upturned her frown
Instead he put it there and made it stay for far too long
But now that pain has made her strong
What he did was wrong
But the outcome is a free bird singing her song
She still longs
To be loved in the normal way
Her view of sex was distorted
As on her back she lay
Helpless
While he had his wicked way
Didn't have to pay
But treated her like a prostitute
Calling on her as he pleased
She didn't understand
Felt like she was diseased
Dirty, unclean
His scent brought unease
The sound of his key in the door
Struck a painful chord
On the strings of heart
She couldn't even remember when it did start
Of her life for so many years it had been a part
Then one day she chose to depart
Packed her bags, shut the door
And never looked back
Carried a cross on her back
And in her just do it rucksack
She held her few possessions
A book of confessions
A bit of change for the concession
Shop
Heads over to the bus stop
And leaves her past behind for good
No longer a girl from the hood
Gonna start all over again
Though it wasn't her fault
She's got to take the strain
Of the rejection, the pain
Doesn't tell anyone from whence she came
Just states her name
Jane
No y, looks like sane
Won't ever take a trip down memory lane
The thought of the first time might drive her insane
A happy disposition she must feign
But it's not long til she begins to feel like this new home is her real home
Around the area she's free to roam
Breathing in the fresh air
Free from his long, greasy hair
That would brush against her skin
As he invited himself in
To her
Now she's moved on
He didn't come after her
She's one of the lucky ones
Lucky enough that she inspires me
To speak for the unheard in my
Poetry
Frankly
Honestly
Whispering their story
With my pen
Then shouting it out loud
Again and again
So everyone can hear
And the madness ends
Pickneys don't have to fend
For themselves
No water or bread
Just a body and a head
A head full of dreams and ambitions
Vivid visions of getting away from the poverty
And possibly
Taking the whole village with them
Daily grind
Not trying to get paper
Literal grind
Grinding the corn to get flour to make the bread to sell so you don't get left for dead
Books left unread
But wise words said
And kept in the head
While the babies get fed
The most striking colour is red
Red blood
Blood red diamond
A product of the mining
The undermining
The beginning of demising
It's not hard to find someone who to confide in
Cos everybody's grindin
These are the people that inspire me to write
Inspire me, with my words, to fight
Fight against the strife
Speaking words of life
There. That's why I pick up the mic.

Pheww. Can somebody say epic?! Lol.
But yeahh, there you go.
All the word sentence cut-offs and stuff are purposeful
Cos that's how I would perform it.
Performance poetry out erree baby yeahhh.

SPOKENWORDPOETRY

is about to take over the world.
Just come back from Manchester where WordCup Final 2010 was being hosted.

http://www.applesandsnakes.org/page/66/Home/214

Wow. Is all I can say.
Kids aged 13-16 getting on stage and performing spoken word poetry to a substantial audience.
Some of the lines they had written...mind blowing.
I was definitely inspired.
The subjects they were dealing with too; politics, injustice. Big stuff for little people. So impressive.
One of my favourite lines - one boy from the west midlands saying how he thought war was pointless.
"Why we usin bullets when we should be usin ink?"
Jeeez. Crowd went MENTAL.

Haha. And it was nice, having performed the night before, just to enjoy the next generation speaking their minds with such eloquence and maturity.
I was just soaking it up I tell ya.

And afterwards I started writing, and I couldn't stop.
Next blogpost - rough draft of my longest poem ever ha.

How Apt

"happy i stopped useless debates that lead no where. silence is often misinterpreted but never misquoted."

Someone on my facebook had this as their status earlier on today.
I think it's maybe the story of my life.
Although, altered slightly, as my silence is sometimes just a word silence because I'm laughing :)

Misinterpreted as rudeness, ignorance, a shallow view on matters or disregard for the topic.
But definitely not any of those things most of the time.
Normally because nothing's really properly sorted out in my head anyway.
Maybe some things are. I can't even sort myself on whether I'm sorted or not. Eesh.

Indecisiveness is a by-product of this unstable mental state, and it just makes me seem like someone who has no clue about anything lol.

I don't really think silence is golden at all,
but at times it does hold great value.

Got my groove back

Last night I realised how much I love soul/funk music.

And I also realised how rubbish the music of today is.

Okay that's like a gross generalisation but I don't think I could ever get down the way I get down to Stevie Wonder and James Brown to like Tinie Tempah or someone.

It just feels like there's no soul behind music anymore, no passion, no driving beat behind the music that compels me to dance. Also live music is just yes.

It don't gotta be soul music, to got soul.

It's like a lot of mainstream musicians make music to make money or be famous, not to share their music. Maybe I lie. A lot of musicians proper love music and you can tell. Like Corinne Bailey Rae - she's sick.

This is just my personal opinion anyway.

And it's probably highly influenced by the fact that I just had a soul-filled Saturday that may have got me gassed. Haha.

Oh well.

I still love it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=inXC_lab-34