Please leave, there is nothing to bring out of me . I fold

I fall silent. Rejected the living, the alcoholic stench of men and cheap sun burnt hair, I have missed myself. I remember that I have a name. I think of him and how i can never unhear the soft rhh sound when he pronounces the letter L. I think of how tired I am, tired of growing into being an adult, I think of how the city is not always one thing - the city is a foreigner to this moment of silence & darkness but it’s still both these things - so am I on certain moods & certain days. I think of how nothing is ever political unless said by black people or women, I am both. I think of him, again. My ears have become immune to the noise pollution, I am sitting with myself. I must admit, I do not know. For the first time after years of cramming learnt ideas, of a pride in saying I’m English smart, shelves & shelves of colonial pieces I want to admit… I thought I have tasted the sweet redness of love with my own tongue, the rush of lust and a master in intellectual pornography. Mind do not mistaken male attention for something closer to God. Closer to God. Closer to God. But here I am , in a cold bedroom of emptiness with myself, I have not the slightest idea of who this being is. I think of him once more. I miss him ? I do - because humans miss each other. Because people feel entitled to each other. Because I have never laughed that much, unbothered about how my stomach folds as I boast my soiled black gums. I have a coffee stain I like to pick on my table, I never wipe it off because it’s from last Saturday when Jackie came over. I had baked croissants that morning, Jackie is not a fan of coasters. The stain became my Jackie. I might not see Jackie again but I’ll have his mark on my table. I probably have attachment issues, social anxiety as well - these are the camouflages I used to conceal my low self esteem. Self esteem. Self esteem. Self esteem. (I’m sorry for writing in the way that I speak. I stutter, the voices are back, I stutter the voices are back. I fold. I fall silent. I fold, I fold myself into small bits so i can be more digestible for you. There is nothing to bring out of me but a dreadful deceit, an ugly mucus at heart, a painful loneliness. I fold. I take off my socks and lie on the floor. I sob. There is a burning sensation that has made a home inside of my chest, I want to vomit. I always want to vomit. For the first time, I must admit…. I do not know.

  • Please leave, there is nothing to bring out of me . I fold
  • Likhona Cophiso
  • 2023
  • Print on Paper
  • Sheet Size: 30 x 38 cm
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