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[pink-literature]

she is more

If words could describe the euphoria of her touch, I would only lay crouched at the tip of my pen.

If songs could sing her beauty and her love, I would conjure up choirs for selfish desires.

If the beautiful crystal silver dewdrops fell from her petals and thorns, I would rest my head on soil just to taste the depths of lust.

Therein lays the difference in loving her. The drops and touch and music. The serenity of her clasp, she holds on as we’re slowly rollicking.

Therein lays the wonder of her skin, its tenderness a cliché. For it resembles the peach that eve was to eat and risk hiding in the bushes.

Therein lies the words from her mouth, questioning every man made logic. Why can’t it be when it comes so natural to feel and glide between her floes.

Stories and taboos of her curves, her truth and how she left this woman broken. Longing for the liberty to live more like her I dived willingly in the oubliette. Her mother’s love was too hard for her, her father’s never came. So she mastered how to beguile and inveigle the mondaine. It was a dance with a spin that engulfed me in the distressed winds of her soul and yes I fell within the tornadoes.

It was a darkness framed with dim candle lights, with a moistness and warmth I could not leave behind. It was a key to the lock of this caged society. It was something freeing when from across a room she saw me. Her eyes penetrated into the hidden enclave and as if galvanized by her glare I rose to her.

If ladies, maids and dancing babes told stories, taboos and tales, and savants question her wonder, may my testimony hold the orgiastic burst of verity?

She is more to me than you could ever be. My first taste of a new reality.

[pink-literature]

freer by chisomkanma

In this generation we are freer. We do not appreciate this for our knowledge of the painful past in our heads is shallow. In this generation we are freer. Freer to love who we wish in the shadows of curtains that reflect on the naked bodies intertwined in sweet unison. Freer to dance on the shores and never be considered mad but to be envied for our peace. Freer to bask in our vanity to the point that we earn our livings from it. Freer to diagnose ourselves with the pain that aches our soul and search for cures. Freer to soar to high lengths politically and unite or tear apart the word with our radical thinking. Freer to go against gender idealisms and make for ourselves what we were truly called to be. Freer to scream down the man when he forced us to suck under the tits of restriction and ideals. Freer to go against orders and be made the hero for it. Freer to think past religion and sects and worship ourselves instead.

We never appreciate it. We never know the joys this privilege holds. As I read the histories of the less popular heroes, unlike the known stories of he who made a country independent or he who sailed around the world, I realized we have so much more to be appreciative of. Once upon a time a woman was told she could not be an author in the heart of the Eiffel and fought till her name was heard. Another man had put to jail many a criminal but was never given the recognition because of his colour. A woman stopped the killing of twins in the west of the African plains, going against the crude traditions. The women who faced torture in the behind the bars for they dared to ask for their fundamental right to vote. A couple, white and brown married in the first legal attempt to love. A woman who’s child was stolen from the suckle of her tit because she loved another woman. The poet and writer jailed in the midst of his creative genius for he saw the fair skin of the mature golden haired lad to whom he gave all his love. A married man wore his wife’s dresses in public for the sake of the little game they played for the sake of erotica. Rich history we neglect, distracted by vanity.

So we must remember; when she storms into conference rooms filled with people awaiting her presence and is welcomed with hearty cheers. Her skirt hugging her curves for that is only her choice of cloth. Never taken less serious for we are judged now by what we have to bring to the table and not the way we dress. The toxic masculinity steaming down so the open mindedness of a man shall finally set in and allow him function properly. When she steps up the podium to give a speech to the whole world and it stops for she is loud and proud and her words through the atmosphere resounds.

So we must remember; when he can walk through the world with his hands in his pocket without being shot down for fear he holds a weapon. Abolishing the belief that the darker the skin shade the more the evil that lies in it’s pores. Right now it only seems the darker the skin the more pain and trauma anticipated only for the response of the world. When race is no longer what guides our ways of life. And we all merge into the beautiful colours intentionally created to live in complete unison. As we no longer rate each other by stereotypes but stay restoring our cultures and adapting new ones together as a race and a family. As we no longer put each other at different ends of an incomprehensible food chain and are free to move and dream just for the face that we are human. When we realize there is only once race, the human race.

So we must remember; when she cuts her hair and ties her bosom in a cloth so tight it holds each breath. As he applies the finishing touches to his makeup on his way to work. When we realise that we have the freedom to be whoever we wish to be and appearance, like art, is a way of expressing the true self one chooses to be. As I walk in the store with my sisters and brothers to buy a pair of heels for the party we are to attend. As she decides to go topless to the function.

So we must remember; when we spend weekends where ever we wish for religion is no longer being forced down our throats like hard hot coals. When we flow free through the universe choosing to reverse who ever and whatever we wish. Going to church only to have true connections with our lord. Bowing at the temple for we knelt down on our own accord. Singing at the shrine for the songs of the gods touch our eyes as drops of true satisfaction graze the ground. Or standing still and soaking up the energy of the universe with each breath. For we choose this, it was not passed down to our generation.

So we must remember; when he stands at the corner of the crowded room with loud music playing in the background and his eyes meet the love of his life. When they both meet in the center of the room hand in hand and spun to the beat that played as the crowd cheered in acceptance as it would every couple. When their beards grazed as they went in for the slow dance, the first one they would have. The one they would recall in fond memories to their children and grandchildren for generations to come. The one they would recall at family and friend gatherings as smiles light up the table in imagination of the beautiful story. When they toast to a good life on their wedding day, each of them splashed with the colour of the rainbow.

So we must remember; when they march to the center of the war that the strong headed have irrational spun to fight radical anger with radical peace till all is won. When we come up with treaties that are followed and the new generation war leaders become peace conductors. When each sect drops down the fire and ice to coexist with much pain but too many joys at the end. When head wraps, long garments, and green army cloth are laid down on the floor to dry up all the blood. When the splashes to be heard hitting the concrete could only be the rain and the bangs in the sky heard far and wide is thunder.

So we must remember; as the mutilation stops and the education drops. When the girls with covered hair sit with smiles on their faces to learn what is said in school. All sexes with hands held reading the texts for the words taught. When the abduction of fellow man starts only for the reason that they are another culture. When world domination is not the only goal and we only wish to live sweet lives in body and in soul.

So we must remember; when the words flow from the tips of her fingers. Vigorously typing whatever she feels without fear of what the elders would think for she is free from their scorn and backward ways. They only scorn with jealously for they wish they had only realized this freedom sooner. As she goes on to publish best sellers of collections of thoughts that everyone believes in. As she is the medium of expression for many who stay afraid, quiet and silent. She knows nothing lurks in the shadows but a better tomorrow where freedom is even freer and our ideologies do not stop us from achieving true peace.

So we must appreciate our freedom for what it is worth. Be thankful to our ancestors for what it cost. And with all this beauty we shall soon burst. And peace and unity to all the world.