Unmarried

Mama says I atemy husbands.Seasoned themwith my saltyattitude andcooked them ina black pot onthe night of thewaning moon. She claims thatmy saggy beastsare an attestationto my disgraceas a womanand my mortarisn’t fit forpounding groundnuts. My body is afictional tale, sheboldly says.I’m not fit tolay on the groundthat holds thesemen of ourancestors.My complaintsunder the sunare equivalent…

Dark Skin Blues

You said that I represented evil. The shadow of the night glistened on my skin. You blatantly associated me with tar because my melanin glowed under the sun. You claimed that my existence was a misrepresentation of beauty. So, you wrapped me under your arm like a clutch bag at dawn and led me through…

Hypersexualization of the African woman

Fetishized; my worthiness is measured in cup sizes and big booty. Integrity is compromised and dismissed. Body parts named- policed and sexualized. They say; “it’s the sway of my African belle derriere, the clumsiness of my breasts, the thickness of my lips and the arch of my back”. Objectified by the media, my nudity is…