This House is Not a Home
This house, is not a home.
Its given me more dark days, than light ones
More punishments, than rewards,
More anxiety, than happiness.
Sin titulo
y cuando digo muerta por dentro
realmente digo entrañas en carne viva
digo culto al dolor silencioso…
All I Know is Love
All I know is love
I grew up, drinking it by the gallons.
In this time of a pandemic and loads of panic…
Like the Sea Rushing In
I mouth at her glittering neck, her skin hot and wet like a melting sun. Slowly, I find her parted lips and we stumble into another kiss. My heart stutters from the fullness of it.
Coolieween
In the next series of images you will see, I work through the traces of these violent histories of Indo-Caribbean misogyny that have been left behind in our houses, songs, language, families, communities, and bodies.
Colour Me Black
Black child's mother says her ears gave it away
The hint of shame on an otherwise perfect face
Good Hair
Good Hair speaks to the upliftment and love for all women of colour. The influence of colourism and hair type bias has been an ugly remnant of a social conditioning adopted from slavery that is still very much alive and well today.
Thriving Despite: Worlds-Shifting through Corona
Radical love in the time of Corona is making space for arms akimbo and mouth agape, for knee(s) bent and heartache, as we vacillate between dread, prayer, and protest, as we let go of how things were and how they should be.
Memory Games
Yuh wake up screaming, parched lips bitter from the tail-end of another nightmare…
Belonging To Barbuda
Sally: You bring me here to ask foolish questions like that?
Body Count
Because to me, it means nothing; it’s just a number
It gives me no validation nor brings me shame
I, My Grandmother
My grandmother seasoned Saturday soups with songs,
but never the ones from the land she left behind.
She anointed my scalp with oil,
plaited my hair with prayers,
spooned love with the chocho into my mouth.
In Chrysalis
There is a misconception that the love of a man is hard, reminiscent of a stone statue. They are harden, unmoving, craggy and as such brittle.
I Am Sitting
I’m tired of sitting. Now, I am standing up.
gaze
don’t you dare break her gaze
don’t your dare break the chain
the stories must live on
we don’t exist
it has come to my attention that we don't exist
A Triptych on My Queerness
Even after all these years
I still scared to say these words in public,
still caustous
to let Gay spilt my teeth open
being straight
my body was trying to speak a language
my mind hadn't learnt yet
Forgiveness
As Shea sat in the pew listening to Father Lewis preach about forgiveness, her mind wandered back to the trial. Fr. Lewis was getting into the throes of the sermon and showed no signs of letting up any time soon. She allowed her thoughts to drift.
NESTED
My gratitude for your kindness was never expressed
For I was too young to be grateful
Too young to care, understand, or appreciate
You blessed three little girls of color
And valued their mother, a loyal worker for years