Who first taught you the many meanings of lonely?
Was it the fold in your heart/ that ironed itself out/ in the presence of bad company?
Or, the day your father left
your mother’s tears of a permanent absence,
Or, your siblings’ silent indifference?
How do you spell lonely?
Will you die alone, or in the company of thirteen other souls screaming?
What will they do
With a body that won’t stop leaking?
Will they ask you
to clean after yourself
or hire underpaid hands schooled in YESes?
How will they carry your body
on the day you die alone, Zampano?
Will they wrap it in a body bag
or in a soiled duvet screaming of germs?
Hands will touch your genitals
flapping the lips of your vulva
call your penis a clitoris.
(Dead, you say nothing).
Your friends keep dying/of a chronic illness
So, to whom did you ever belong?
What life did you ever have /but for the slices of death in-between?
Because you are what exactly?
- Come lie to me.
- Wrap your head around my chest & call me fuckface.
- Give me a chance to make another mistake.
- Nasikia ati ukimangana na msee amemarry/ hiyo story/ huwezi sema (Lakini pia machali wengine huwa ovyo).
—-Here, I return to colonial essentialisms—
5. Leo ndio ile siku nilikuwa nakushow ya mauwongo. Ngori!
6. Andifuni indaba mna. Ndiyeke tu, ndiyakucela. Enkosi.
7. Remind me who you are, again.
8. Tell me what name it is that you respond to, again.
9. Tell me what happens/ whenever you open your thighs to strangers/ and close your heart to lovers, again.
10. Tell me, in all the languages in your mouth, what words we shall use in your eulogy.
(Do not give me your heart, I can’t take care of mine.)
(I eat hearts for breakfast. Hide yours.)
Si mse angenishow hii storo inaeza kuwa complicated hivi!
This is bizarre.
My brain won’t stop laughing.