Poetry

Where am I from?

Hi I’m Jess

Jessica, if you didn’t quite catch that through the accent.

Which many of you might say is Australian and rather alien

If you’ve never been to South Africa 

Because that where I’m from

Where I’m really from

Not the really that you ask when you look at my white skin.

You hope I might drop the name of some European country I’ve never visited before.

You probably thought I was English and grew up with cream eggs and Poundland just like you.

And even after people hear me speak, they still seek an explanation.

Like, maybe I grew up ‘down there’ there for a short while before returning “home.”

Because how could I be South African if I am not black?

Because some people do think that, because its true that colonisation was a thing.

When I look back at the history, see what the white man has done and know deep down,

They had a son, who had a son, until one had me.

And I remember when I was nine. My mother brother and I went to the movies and watched ‘the long walk to freedom’.

The story of Madiba, or Nelson Mandela. A national hero. My hero.

We left the hall, shocked at our history. 

Stories of mass murder and families ripped apart. Signs with ‘whites only’ and ‘no blacks allowed’ plastered across our city.

And I remember so vividly, my brother turning to my mom, suddenly frightened and upset.

And said, Mom, I’m ashamed to be white.  

And it’s still hard not to think that when we go back home.

to a country still riddled with racial inequality. 

And sometimes I ask myself, do I deserve my nationality- South African

When the colour of my skin makes life easier.

When everything is to my advantage.

I haven’t earned anything there.

I was born if my privilege, I didn’t brave anything to earn it.

I keep searching for where I am from.

My surname, a Scottish clan name came from my dad.

My mom gave me my white Norwegian skin.

But all I know is the rich African sun, and swerving the car to avoid holes in the road, and swimming in sea water that is icy cold, fizzers and chappies bought for 1 rand at the corner store, and milkshakes so thick you get rid of your straw, and trips to the bush to see all the game, never alone because its not safe.

But nonetheless singing the national anthem when our rugby players stand hand in hand. 

No, I know where I’m from.

And I can’t change the past,

And I’ll always carry a little bit of guilt with me,

But that’ll never stop me from saying,

I am South African.

The drip

The metal frame of your bed is icy

Under my grip as I lower myself down

Into a chair beside your bead. Holding my breath

So you don’t hear it shake.

A tube originating from beneath your gown

Leads into a bottle where your fluids create

A constant drip, drip, drip.

Just like the drip, drip, drip of you life

In the form of blood on the bleached white

Floor as you gripped onto life while they

Ripped into you.

I rub lotion on your back to ease the rash

That is festering from the sticky plastic

Bed cover that has left you back rough

And red.

When I leave you I get on the train

And start my trip home once again

As I finally let my tears drip drip drip

Onto the dirty floor.

Stop

A woman cries out in pain

And a man looses his confidence

A white bedsheet is soaked in red

And a baby is born today.

She screams through the pain

As her child screams in fear.

Stop she screams.

When will it finally stop.

A water level rises

And a politician spews propaganda.

A fire starts to burn, trees turning to ash.

Dolphins swimming backwards

And real balls of trash bounce across

A desert

Stop they scream

When will it finally stop.

A hungry mouth begging for help

With a whale inside his stomach

Bone dry and hoping to die

Make it stop, he thinks.

When will it finallly stop.

A knuckle crunches

And a check bone goes snap

A broken china vase

A wedding gift turned weapon.

A love that was once there but has stopped

When will it finally stop

A drunk girl on a bathroom floor

Whose intention was not to be there

Head on the rim and a hand reaching

Under her top. A door opening.

Thank god someone told him to stop.

Two comfy chair with only one occupant.

A family tree that’s spread and the bark

That’s skin that shows its age. The step

Pause step. Stopping to take a break.

Waiting till your heart will finally stop.

When will it finally stop.

Unsaid Everythings

Did you mean to make me love you

Or did you not even try

You’ll probably choose the latter

Always did play the good guy

Did you mean to make me open up

And tell you I was scared

Or were you never really listening

Because you never really cared

Did you plan to make me trust you

When you had me in you bed

Or did you never really mean it

When you said the things you said

Did you plan to make me cry

When you didn’t even look my way

Or had your mind already moved on

Because you never planned to stay

Did you plan on not being friends again

Or were we ever friends at all

I condisered you my best friend

You only saw a late night booty call

No, you didn’t plan this

Cause you weren’t thinking with your head

But I guess I’ll just have to move on

And leave everything unsaid.

Not part of the game

We’ve got one last chance lads to sit on the coach

With beer in our hands and chips in our mouth 

And scream at the Telly for ten straight days

And fall into a deep psychotic haze. 

I’ll scream at the tv and throw a remote in rage 

If a 19-year-old boy can’t make it onto the stage

We’ll vandalise the streets of a country we claim 

And leave the rest of humanity in absolute shame

Like a group of wild monkeys, through the city we’ll roam. 

And leave my wife wondering when I will be coming home

So which young black player will I racially abuse

After my seventh afternoon beer induced snooze

After my team had the audacity to loose

There’s no My, I, We, only they

The actual players who can actually play

Can I call myself a man without my dignity intact

There’s an etiquette to be had and that’s a fact

Football is a game of camaraderie not crime 

So if you want to go support then best stay in line

if you’re proud of your team then make them proud of you

And give players credit, where credit is due. 

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