Monthly Archives: September 2014

For my mum, on her birthday.

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“Writer’s block…” (I said.)

“BlaQed, find a muse.” (My thoughts.)

Argh… No-brainer. I’ll make my mum, my muse. I’ll take her on a “think” trip to the thought factory and let the cells of my brains feed on her heavenly being.
“Heavenly”? Oh yes, she is! Heavenly graceful my mum is.

Introduction to this graceful womb-man (woman):

To her elders – Bamudumazile Thembakalibulali Cynthia Sibiya-Thabethe
To those in her life – Ses’Thembi, a woman who gave birth to three but still mothers the world.
To me – My Cinderella, because Queens are known to grow old and die out, but princesses are believed to live “happily ever after”. (A beautiful cliché.)
To the rest – Thembeni Cynthia Thabethe, another strong-willed woman who works hard to keep her family intact.

That’s my mum!

So… After doing the usual tea in bed routine thingy with a “Happy birthday mum.” instead of “Good morning beautiful” little note on her tray reminding her that she’ll forever be beautiful in my eyes. I had to show her that I hadn’t forgotten her birthday and that everyone gets the “Happy birthday” text, but then she’s special so she deserves a hand-written note.

…but then that wasn’t enough and it could never be. I felt the need to do something special, let my efforts hit her below the belt and have her feel my genuine love for her because for her, my loving can never run out.

So I made my, mum my muse.

…and had her inspiring my written writing, by me the writee, I mean “writer” to her, for her birthday.

BlaQed tailored HAPPINESS!

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I always expect them to understand… Understand that BlaQed is an ass, her road ends here and she may never change.

I always want them to feel the need to coil up to my frustration.
Coil up to my needs and enslave themselves to making me happy.

“Hang your soul up in the sun to dry out because in my matriarchal dungeon, your soul is prohibited.” (My thoughts!)

So…they should crack and break their spines, letting their spineless bodies drop dead before me. Forcing them to lie on their tummies becoming my bridge and allowing me to cross over…

…crossing over to the other side because now all the souls on this side were left out in sun on the souling line to dry out and have now been biltonged.
“Bloody useless to this useful of fools who chose to break their spines. Leaving themselves spineless just to earn their right to enslaving themselves to me.”

I always expect them to understand…

…understand that BlaQed needs slaves who’ll imprison themselves in her matriarchal dungeon and await their turn to coil up to her needs and pledge to keep her happy…

…because happiness is all she’ll ever want. The rest is a bonus! 🙂

Awaiting my turn.

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Our day of believing in fairy tales will come.

You’ll meet the guy of your dreams, tell a tale  and call him “Prince Charming”.

I’ll meet a fairy without a tail, write a tale and call him “My Own”.

One day… Just one day, he’ll walk into my life, lock the door, throw away the key and forget how he walked in, because he wouldn’t need to know the exit…

For, with no promises  made his intentions would be of those who walk in and plan to stay in forever.

When that day comes…

He’ll be mine and mine forever he’ll be.

So for now I’ll just wait, until…

Our day of believing in fairy tales comes!

Mxm. Men, please!

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She said: “Khuzeka, ubenok’thula.” (Behave and have peace.)

…but how can I have peace when so many chancers are chancing in these streets?

Now UM’SHELO went from chazing to hlazing. A total shame if you ask me.

See… When our fathers did it (ukushela), their aim was to chaz’ (impress), because they were gentlemen and their manliness turned them into immune beings of boyish acts. Real men in my eyes!

…but now our generation feels that their doings should hlaz’ (oppress), because they’re “Real G’s” -in my eyes, a group of childish male figures whose standards are those of boyish acts- and their only goal is to oppress, repress, suppress and not impress because in their eyes gentlemen acts are gay. A stupid gesture, really!

So now I sit here wondering… “How can our generation be full of stupid, spineless fools who think that their manliness should actually be tested by doing everything that real men stand against?”

Beat her up – to prove that you’re the MAN, cheat and lie – …because MEN can get away with anything and everything. Ill treat her _…because how she feels doesn’t really matter to you. After all she should know that you’re a man and men don’t know feelings. So they say!

…but how dare you men? How dare you build your lives around making our lives a misery?
Poke until it hurts so bad I give in and accept that the poking will only stop when you see no need to poke no more, push until my STEADY turns into UNSTEADY and my knees feel the need to bend and bow down and worship your foolishness.
Have my spine coil up to your need to feel self-worthy.

Why? Is it because your father figure was too short and short made it impossible for you to lean how to be a real man?
…or maybe you’re just an ignorant fool who has chosen to turn a blind eye and not realize that we are women, spinefull chords of a musical of strings that form part of a system that has made you who you are because without us (women) you are nothing.

Man, you need me as much as I need you because without each other we are nothing!

“Baby, daddy is home.”

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So instead of turning him down I decided to wheel him in.

See… Daddy had once decided to use the door and walk out. Like most “I’m not ready” fathers, he decided to open his eyes, see the door and walk out.

So it was through his actions that I had learnt that any guy can make a baby, but it actually takes a real man to own up to his responsibilities and raise one. A sad cliche, really!

…and now the world has squeezed every ounce of manliness within him, he’s back and he just decides to search behind walls off deceit, hurt and excruciating pain caused by his boyish acts of selfishness and unthoughtfulness.
Just to rock up and say: “Baby, daddy is home.”

See… Daddy chose to use the door and walk out on poor baby and mommy.
So… “Dear, daddy… You actually lost your “daddy” title when you decided to take off the “daddy” hat the moment you chose to walk out that door leaving poor mommy in tears. Leaving what was once a ‘home’ as a ‘house’ of pain.”

…but now, how does he say “Baby, daddy is home.”? When a “daddy” role is one he had chosen not to play? When he knows very well that a home is created by warmth and that all the warmth of this here home was taken away by him when he pierced through the comfort walls of my mother’s heart?

How dare he?

See… Mommy had to learn how to raise baby on her own, and baby had to learn to accept that daddy didn’t want her and that daddy never loved them.
“Daddy, I had to understand that mommy is all I will ever have.”

“So DADDY please… Your “daddy” role is not needed in our lives and it’s a little too late for us to play “happy family”.
…and our house is not a HOME, so you have overstayed your welcome. Kindly decide to open your eyes, see the door and walk out.

We don’t know you.”

I said! …because I had felt the need to not turn him down but to wheel him in and school him on how he had taught us to build walls around us.

Passion

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So… He gave me PASSION. “Elaborate your thoughts on that.” he said.

…and so I chose to fall in line with the rest and be decent for a change. I took it to the thought factory and had the cells of my brains feeding on it.

See… Passion to me is unexplainable. It’s an unorthodox of an influx of emotions and feelings that fluctuate simultaneously. It’s an urge to have something or someone. The love you have towards someone or something.

See… Passion to me is the silent sound that has your whole being dancing and singing vigorously. It’s a certain element that instills a thought of wanting something and knowing that you have all it takes to get what you want.

See… To me, he’s passion because without meeting him I’d still be searching for what defines passion.

So, with him in mind I say passion is never ending love, an unquenched thirst, an unsatisfiable hunger and an enormous urge (to have something or someone in any way possible).

I think it’s a collection of “I need, I want and I’m going to get” thoughts. The feeling of deserving something and knowing you’ll keep it for as long as you can because you’re willing to do anything to have it.

Passion is fighting for something, loving, needing, wanting and feeling that you deserve it.
It’s an unexplainable desire.

This girl, your weakness!

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So the idea was to keep them coming. Anchor their souls to my greatness. Have them singing songs of praise with an intention to put a smile on my potholed face.
With no intention to catch them, have them falling and dropping to their weak knees.

See… My only plan was to keep them coming.

So I stepped out of my comfort zone with my short skirt and tight fitting top. My figure screaming “catch me if you can” because my legs already knew that even with their thundered speed their steps could never catch up with mine ‘coz no man could ever reach my standards.

…and so I had to check and see if my BLAQED, naturally flawed face was good enough to have them hooked when I threw around my potholed smile as I waved at their firm masculinity away.

Bear in mind that my only intention was to keep them coming.

So I stepped out, fell in line with the rest and became “the girl next door”. A pretty thing, a guy magnet and started attracting them. Had them coming and falling in line just to get curved because my intentions were not to catch them but to let them fall and drop to their weak knees.

Killing their “she’s mine” and “I can get her” egos.

Reminding them that our strength will forever be their weakness.

Girls rule!

Her weave is not my goal!

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I could never understand why society feels the need to encourage and motivate me to make her weave my goal.

See… For years I’ve battled to make my own skin the home of my own soul because all my life I have felt the need to conform to the standards set by society because my “type” could never be good enough in their eyes.

Oh yes… “Natural is a sin to humankind.
A shame to womankind
A disgrace to the sisterhood
And too much of a joke to mankind.”

Because artificial is the new beautiful and fake became the new authentic. I could never understand how we could go around looking for real men when all we are has become a definition of FAKE in capital letters and unbroken syllables.

See… The closest our kind could ever get to being free, is singing their shallow songs of freedom because even if freedom was given to them they could never see it, for their eyes have been blinded by their thick fake eyelashes.

They have imprisoned their souls in artificial prisons with:
Eyelashes as thick as brooms
Nails like the devil’s claws
Hair as long as the devil’s tail
Make-up like cake masks used to hide shame
Huge asses that go twerking for decades
…not to mention their fake breasts because their kind will never feel woman enough outside those artificial prisons.

So in order for me to be woman enough I had to trade my:
Afro for a weave
Clean cut nails for painted claws
My Vaseline cared face for a heavy caked mask
…because like them, my freedom is not to have but to sing about.

…But then the trade was no game for me because I had pledged to my ancestors to be proud of who I am, to honour where I come from and to never let society change who I am.

Oh Yes… I am woman enough within my own skin and I won’t give up the work I’ve put into building my own soul its home within this skin and I could never set goals to fall in line and be like the rest.

So… I beg to differ because HER WEAVE IS NOT MY GOAL.

Knowing him…

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I said: “Hi, my name is Minnie and I’d love to know about you.”

Let me explain it to you.

When I first saw him, my life’s situation became a coleslaw salad in the middle of a “7 coloured” Sunday dish back in Ghettos -a complicated once in a while experience-.

Mixed emotions, confused feelings and disfigured actions became a part of my life.
I started planning.

Burning my own rules without regret and constantly fearing the outcomes.

His presence took over baba, and life became a fairytale (a dream come true).

He filled my heart with joy. My thoughts were invaded by his presence and all my tongue’s desires became the letters of his name.
I found myself uttering his name out of the blue.

My actions were the dictionary.
Defining the feelings of confused ‘love struck’ beings.
Him and I defined what love was (in my world of course).

I saw the sight that portrait (him) and I was blessed.

So I was wondering if he could kindly let me know about him.

A journey for all but walked by few.

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I said: “It’s a journey for all but walked by few.” …but he never understood me.

See… His head was full of ideas, his nights filled with dreams and his thoughts with wild fantasies of us cuddling, kissing and sexing but then all that to me were lame ideas of senseless souls.

He could never ever be my type. I mean all the stairs in the world could never raise him to my height.

Him learning to love me, became my lessons of hate. Me… Hating everything he loves and him loving everything I hate because his world was built on loving everything about me and mine was created around hating everything about him.

He became blinded by what he thought he had discovered.
My flaws were perfect in his eyes.
I became a QUEEN of a castle he had forever embedded in his mind. A GODDESS for him to worship.

He tried explaining his love for me but I could never understand so much love because love to me was “A journey for all but walked by few.”