Ubuntu

Once again, my starting point is – me…I’m not going to TELL other women their experiences. Perhaps same, different, but all paths eventually converge. It’s usually not her fault, but humanity, and humanity as a patriarchy. Off to a good start, then.

To speak of mirrors, then. It is not a cis male mirror, reflecting itself. Nor Plaths dulled, muted mirror. It’s no longer even my own, but that’s a different piece.

No, my mirror doesn’t reflect. It emanates. Bounces, returns. Light. So that light is light is mirror manifest light.

Then, how do I get to this mirror on the other side of patriarchy?

Smell of the earth!

A turtle winks, floating above.

The motley crows.

Sight of flower, surrounded, a face which reflects what the human world forgets: her face earth to crow to turtle flower me. Ubuntu: I am cause we are.

There is a process, women are taught, to forget this common dignity: it’s called patriarchy.

For so long I resisted calling God female. A lot of people think it’s just a term, a shrinking of the Almighty. Its the opposite: once the physical is once again sacred, the world opens like a fractal, and the natural world is, your oyster.

The processing of my life was displacement, usurpation, and reconnection into society: then, becoming a complete outcast.

They displaced in me those things they did not accept: hair, noise, happiness, intelligence, standing up to cis males. They just would not accept me till I did what I was told. She’ll “manipulate” her way in.

My mirror came to reflect someone else: the male God. Reflecting back, like a chime of meaningless echoes, I got into the swing. Suddenly, I was ok. A reconnected soul: ubuntu.

My poetry is all goddess, I’ll not get descriptive. Only to say, or ask, even, how does one shatter that illusion of God, once for all?

My way, I would not recommend.  Jeez it’s fluke I’m here atall.

BECOME AN OUTCAST. The bravest step, like a moonwalk, I have ever taken. I no longer care. Tho hounded, I am happy.

They actually believe in their own importance, they think their serpents snare, could hold me? And it’s all centred around this camp-fire myth, that someone would care what they think. Not an old wives tale, a mummy daddy camp-fire, evefilled myth. So important, they see themselves as God in the flames.

BECOME AN OUTCAST! A vigilante of words, thought, desire, and – love. Actually,  just follow your own heart and path, and woman, you don’t have to try, you’ll become an outcast!

I think it’s brave, and an accomplishment,  and a compliment tho as a little girl it was the greatest threat. To be or not to be.

So, pulling the weed by its roots, my spirit is uplifted.

BECOME AN OUTCAST. Spread light, let it grow. Open your mind, then LOOK IN THE MIRROR.

Cal Kalve