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So because I was ‘smart’ in class and a little rebellious, I got away with telling the teachers I would not do any of that reciting poems with other kids in class, which is a bad thing retrospectively, but I mean, utilize privilege when you can.

 I’d never forget the day he died, Marzuq looked me in the eye and I saw how much pain he was in. He was just nine months old. He was laid on the bed, as usual on his back for his siesta.

the loss of a father who was also a mother, the pain it carries when you lack the love that was once bestowed upon you and you were told to become a man. 

I would tear pages from my books and write what I felt. Unfortunately, my mum found the papers. I was beaten black and blue. I stopped talking and writing. I now write like my life depends on it, because it does.

I confess that I too would die to reach for the clouds. half abstraction. clouds which exist in half abstraction. you my dear, exist in half abstraction as

I cannot write a poem that does not originate from some deep part of me, and usually, these poems feature people, things, or situations I feel connected to. My mother’s poem being my first significant poem just reminds me that I have not lost that part of me even as I get older. I am grateful for that. 

When I finally meet her I will bloom satisfaction Pluck enough to reshape into hope Track back to this moment and Seduce the small skeptic sizes Of me into waiting a bit longer

My poetry was informed by loss—the regurgitation of constant emotions from the influence of this loss.

Growing up I always had this feeling of estrangement from everyone, this deep sense of loneliness and alienation.

Although this poem speaks to the loss of my mother, while also paying homage to the very essence of womanhood, my mother is still very much alive and well. In an interview with Chimee Adioha of Black Boy Review, Ukata Edwardson once said: "The truth is, in all reality, every piece of art and literature performs a little lie."