A PanAfricanist Queer Womanist Collective
By Khanya Jack
I’ve never understood the concept of being numb until today.
The only constant is the lump in my throat
reminding me that against all pretense things are not okay.
As I firmly press my mental being to react to my current state of affairs,
she looks me deadlocked in the eye and resists any form of reaction.
Project this to physical pain is all I ask.
Allow me to see my numbness,
allow me to feel this heartache,
release me from this dark ditch.
Passion is what I crave for, fire fuelling through my body, inviting all things senseless.
Instead all I manage is a stare into hollow spaces in my mind;
How am I ever supposed to leave this behind?
Anger is all I long for, just to let out a piercing cry expressing extreme pain,
relieving me of my deprived power of sensation.
My physical being conforms to my daily routine, while the mental attentively observes my thoughts,
surroundings, feelings, trying to make sense of where I really fit in.
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