I remember the days when they called me Big Butt, imitated my walk, and stared. “Do you walk like that on purpose?” Today, they hold the titles for the biggest butts in show business, Australia, the world. The day they smelled chocolate. I said it was cocoa butter and they exclaimed, “Why would you put…
About Development
They tripped over that strange opaque place Lunged, twisted, and nearly fell on their face Gained ground on a rebound and then Fled from the potential site of their fall from grace This is the pattern repeated often, Never explained but should not be forgotten Not by those who witness the chasm Between the have’s…
Piece of advice
Don’t give feelings names Don’t name your moods Don’t give it anything that will make it seem even more real don’t humanize it We get more attached to things when we name them, but without truly understanding what they are, we make our own misery from scratch Because sometimes we find ourselves calling for it…
A Beating for Love
Your fist pounded my face In shock I stood there Not moving, not screaming The first time it happened You said you beat me because you loved me You put the blame on me I don’t remember doing wrong Your gambling and drinking Your womanising and flirting Your problems and woes Were all my fault…
The Act of Valor
The world is going down Yet she stands firm, unshaken, unafraid Upon the surface stands nada but chaos, anguish, dismal Fear, compels souls to crack down like leaves Like a mojo the universe is casted to an intense pain The Armageddon at its zenith Is she the last lady standing? Calm is the ground she…
Aria Deemie
At just 24 years old, one might not expect such acute awareness, such tangible sensitivity, capable of recounting raw and painful realities with clear, transparent, effective words. But we are in Liberia, and she belongs to a generation born while the second civil war was still raging, enduring its effects in the difficult civil and…
Stank with Sweat
The brave face I wear is never washed It stinks with sweat my mother’s and mine She taught me how to put it on to fit my wobbly bones to be the face that you would know My brave face has a smile it lasts for thirty seconds and plays back after a minute It…
Looking Forward
Hanging on small dreams the year folds itself in the tired sunset like a mimosa leaf It murmurs and screams new names old promises lies retold at the same place where songs are set on the loose in unplumbed laughter and tears We lay wreaths of frustration with no other option but to see hope…
Abigail George
Abigail George is a South-African feminist, poet and writer based in Port Elizabeth. Born in 1979, she is a prolific writer: she has written a novella, several books of poetry and collections of short stories. She is a Pushcart Prize nominee and the recipient of two South African National Arts Council Writing Grants and of one from the Centre for…