This I Knead

Being a writer is a confusing thing - more so because it's so intimate yet public. While it may be daunting to feel that you have the right words at the right time to write, books are collections of words strung together and change through the time of writing. Start to write and let editing happen later, but you must write it in order for it to become a book! Of all the things in life I need, This I Knead. Share With Me.

We keep seeing efforts to erase and delegitimise trans-diverse people, lives and bodies. We chose to love and to fight through love. We choose to shine rather than absorb hatred like some vortices with nothing better to do with our existence. We will not be erased. We will not disappear. We will not crumble. The book is available on Amazon and OkadaBooks . Of all the things in life I need, This I Knead. Share With Me.

Set her on fire and cast lots for how loud her  voice should ring. Set her on fire and ask the kink  in her hair why it holds on so tight. Set her on fire and compare the contempt  in her eyes with your shattering humour. Set her on fire and watch as her spit comes alight and her tongue fans the flames.  Set her on fire and hear her laugh harmonise with each flickering tail.  Set her on fire and don't expect  her to rise - she is  not a phoenix.  Set her on fire and watch her call  her children and grandchildren over to learn how to burn. Set her on fire and ask the fire  why it wraps... up her thighs and cups her breasts.  Set her on fire and keep showering her with your words and  battering her with your fists.  Set her on fire! Set her on fire! Set her on fire! Set her on fire! Remember to never look away, or you'...

Of all the things in life I need, This I Knead. Share With Me.

Image Credit: kelseytaylor210.wordpress.com Should your freedom depend on diminishing someone else's dignity you are no better off than those who oppress you. Your words come harmless wielding flags and slogans but your bullet cap teeth crunch and hurtle pain and you close your eyes to pray. Your truth has been compromised by your hunger yet compassion peels your eyes open and you turn from ' God ' towards Love. Of all the things in life I need, This I Knead. Share With Me.

There’s a Lesbian at my table. She sits adjacent to me and eats the food I make. She chews well enough –   with her mouth closed. She doesn’t swallow too loudly, Or slurp her drink. This Lesbian at my table bides her time by calling me “Mme” , and seduces me with offerings: “ Nka lo siela tee?” and “Ke tswa go reka kuku e e sukitshana.” I suppose she has learned well – she can slip herself past thirsty eyes and unchaste ears. I found the Lesbian at my table where I had left my beloved child. She seems to have consumed her like a hungered bird – waited too long through a rainy night and awakened to find no morsels creeping along the moistened earth. When I sat down for our evening meal I thought I saw the tassels of booties I had knitted while swollen like a mango at summer’s end. They were yellow like the sun whose over affectionate kisses had me too ripe to touch and unforgivingly tender.  They slid between h...