Posted in Poetry

Lost Your Mind

You call me angry

When I am actually inconsolable

Broken, inside my heart is crying,

Crying out for love.

You call me aggressive,

When I am actually desperate,

Begging to be heard.

You call me loud,

But you don’t hear my cries of pain,

The agony of my mind breaking into two.

You call me unpredictable,

While others have the luxury

Of bad days and good.

How can I possibly predict

What each day will bring?

You call me fine

And capable of life without support.

Yet, inside I’m already dead,

Because what is living

When you have lost your mind?

© Cece Noel, 2018
Posted in Poetry

Lanes & Races

 

You say that you expect more from me,

Implicitly saying

That black women like me are expected to work

10 times harder.

Normal status quo standards do not suffice

When it’s my efforts as the subject line –

The progress bar slows to a crawl.

You expect me to pedal faster

To gain the same distance as my peers on the same track,

Because it’s the same track but a different race –

Same ground covered but different lanes;

Lanes with potholes,

Continuous uphill terrain,

Unrelenting, steadfast obstacles,

And character assassinations.

My eyes are now open.

My skin is now raw to the touch.

My joints and limbs ache

With age beyond my years,

Yet I won’t stop running. I refuse to stop running.

My open eyes can look around

But I also keep looking forward,

To prove that your head would be spinning

If you were to run in my lane.

So I keep looking forward,

Because that is what I expect from myself.

 

© Cece Noel, 2018
Posted in Poetry

When You Look Like Them

Reflections of headlines in the dull eyes of the right

“It is un-British to mourn so publicly and for so long!”

But there’s no need to fear

When you look like them

 

There’s no need to fear that you will burn inside your home

That the state will taunt you for the colour of your skin

 

There is no need to cry

When you look like them

Everyday brings a fresh beginning.

 

Like peacocks they walk with swagger past the ashes

The tragedy plays no part in their lives

Holds no impact on their existence,

When you look like them.

 

Forgotten are the screams, the inferno, the betrayal,

Forgotten are the broken promises

The cries that came long before the tragedy.

Dull eyes filled with forgotten lives.

 

The conveyor belt continues, carrying essentials,

Essentials rationed to certain citizens

The rest of us thrown off the merry-go-round

Life goes too fast when we look like us

 

There’s no need to wonder how long the roof

Over your alien head

Will exist, until the carpet is tugged from beneath your feet

 

When you look like them

There is no need to lie

To the babies relying on you

Innocent of their birthright poverty

 

Like peacocks the neighbours in their castle

Swagger, clothed in privilege and entitlement

Race holds no impact on their existence

When you look like them.

© Cece Alex 2018

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(Image source)

Posted in Poetry

Black Skin

No means on when you have black skin

Slimy hands like tentacles slide up my leg

As tears like rain slide down my face

Black women like me should know our place

Our place of submission and regression

One step forward and two steps back

Our bodies were never meant to be our own

With white kings and queens on the throne

On the streets they watch with hawk-like eyes

They stare, licking hungry lips like predators

Watching their prey, waiting, ready to attack me

Black women like me are never let be

They move, quickly across the street

Like a “Great White Shark” in water

The chase is on, I run fast, fast, fast,

But he loves the chase and wills it to last

“I just want to say hi”, he cries from behind

“I love your black skin” he froths from the mouth

He begins to slow, the hard rock between his legs

Weighs him, betrays him, so he stops and begs

“I just want to talk” he cries once more

But what’s the point in me saying no?

Because no means on when you have black skin

In this game, a woman like me doesn’t win

 

© Cece Alex 2018

 

Posted in Blog, Poetry

What Is Love?

Love

Loses its shine, like unpolished wood

 

Only lasts for as long as you feel it

Like butterflies in a case, bouncing against the walls

Eventually they must be set free

 

Varying in intensity

So uncertain, so if you do not feel it

Like yesterday

Then perhaps it was never love at all

 

Endless neurosis

Catching you off guard

When you think it is safe to breathe

 

Love

Loses its shine

Because the sun eventually stops shining

Posted in Poetry

Kiri

I smash my head against the table because there ain’t no pain worse than a white man taking my daughter away from me.

 

But still, you question my pain. When you wrongfully charge me with my daughter’s murder you spit judgement at me for showing nothing to you. I don’t care if you look like me. You’re still one of them – or so you think. This is how structural racism works in Britain.

Her neck, her neck, he put his hands around her beautiful long neck, because where he saw a black drug baby I saw a beautiful little Black princess.

 

My princess. So he took her from me.

 

Which is why I smash my head against the table because there ain’t no pain worse than a white man taking my daughter away from me.

 

White words can destroy a life just as much hands. She claimed she saw my car outside her house, so you charged me on her word. Now two lives are lost, and I’m forced to live out my days in incarceration endlessly grieving for my Black princess.

 

So I smash my head against the table because there ain’t no pain worse than a white man taking my daughter away from me.

 

Now there are riots outside of the police station, crying #nojusticenopeace

But the media has portrayed me as a thug with no fixed abode, so there will be no justice for me because there never is for faces like mine.

 

And who gets peace? Surely the hands that wrung my princess’s neck will forever tremble, not from guilt but insanity. Because whiteness knows no guilt when Black blood is shed.

And he will be scared of his own shadow because there’s more to fear in your own mind than justice catching up with you when you kill a black body.

 

Which is why I smash my head against the table because there ain’t no pain worse than a white man taking my daughter away from me.

 

 

 

 

Image taken from BT TV.

This piece was inspired by the events seen in the TV Drama show Kiri.

©The Wallflower Speaks Loudly, 2018