Rough Draft Poetry, ten minute free write

Mzanzi, I have come to understand

That you were never my home to begin with


Not because your language

Is heavy on my tongue


(the past rides upon its shoulders)


Not because my skin

Is the color of thieves’


(I’m trying to recompense but it takes time)


But because a man looked upon me

On Long Street like I was his thing


I knew a girl

Whose man beat her


(is the only home for a woman

a prison

assembled from notched bedposts?)


I worry that I occupy too much space.


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