I like the nightfall, though I’ve always been afraid of the dark 

The trickling down of the light and warmth just like sleepy eyes that can’t stay open any longer

The final rays like hazy last memories of a night lived and left behind

Followed by a world hugged so close by what comes next, that sometimes it’s hard to remember what lightfall can be

And how we crave its beams to keep us alive.

I think it’s beautiful that we can feel both so wholly that we forget what the other brings 

And yet in this moment all I am interested in is this liminal space 

Of darkness hosting the eternal conflict between what can be hidden and what hides

The dance between fear and peace, rest and restlessness

All held in this otherworldly void, full of us

Tempted to the other side only through the stars that shine down

Meaning upon meaning placed on these stars

Who shine, unaware of how we romanticise when we look up

And how we build them into the stories of our lives, when really what we are looking for 

Is to reaffirm our cosmic heritage, our significance, our impact, no matter how they play out

Because it lets us feel like part of something bigger 

But I can’t imagine the stars are thinking about that

Or that anyone has taken the time to tell them how dearly they are loved

They continue to glow no matter who sees them

So I try to stay grounded

Stay rooted where I am

Let the stars live their lives, and let myself breathe

And when I find the right time in these moments in between, when peace and fear sit balanced and calm 

The rest and restlessness provide the perfect energy

I release.

I try to.

I feel. 

I try not to.

I think it’s important to let nature take its course 

But it’s a long journey to let the nightfall hold these moments 

Where I hide 

And let the things hidden come to play

To honour the spaces that have rewilded since I last visited

And changed and become new things to think about

But this vulnerability is delicate, though fierce 

It has never been simple to live and let live

So the night, the light and I, continue in this cosmic dance 

Answered and answerless for yet another tumble on this floating rock of big feelings

So I hope there’s always another tomorrow

It’s easy to be in my own head

Blissfully tuned out of whatever sounds go on outside

Because inside, there’s a jukebox with the songs I like 

No surprises there because it’s not an open playlist

Kind of dazed, eyes kind of faraway 

But to the world it looks like I’m smiling 

Saying hi and hello and how have you been 

To every stranger with whom I collide

Because inside there’s a jukebox with the songs I like

And those melodies lift me on the days where the joy is loud

And keep me grounded on the days where the floor has fallen through

As a tough day isn’t the mark of my resilience

And I hate to get dark, but it’s true 

That my melanin is the loudest thing to some of you

But that’s fine. Really it is. 

I mean if you can’t game the player, game the system right? 

And I can. Mostly. 

Because I can turn up the volume when the sounds start to break through 

To make sure that I’m still palatable in situ

To hold in the angry brown girl that wants to educate you

Because inside there’s a jukebox with the songs I like

And this isn’t an ordinary jukebox, no, not at all.

This box of wooden bones and magic

Sometimes produces visions, daydreams to distract me

When my hands are full and the baggage is heavy

And my mouth is sealed shut with what we can call politeness 

Cause I don’t know how to stop watching you try and figure out if you can ask me for a copy of my homework

Cause I don’t know how to stop watching you try to decipher whether the only other brown woman and her kid on the bus are related to me

Cause I don’t know how to stop watching you try to correct her language, his accent, my lovers, my family

Cause I don’t know how to stop watching you try to judge whether you can tell me I smell like curry, that my food is weird or that my body hair reminds you of a gorilla

Cause I don’t know how to stop watching you try to figure out if I’ve got a bomb in my suitcase

Cause I don’t know how to stop watching you try and force me into a box 

And if my jukebox doesn’t ground me, I’m worried I won’t make it home

So I swallow what the white man calls my pride, when actually it’s memory

And cap the idea of being a ‘hysterical’ woman for another night

Because I’m not on my period.

So it wouldn’t be in any way understandable if I call you a fucking piece of shit when you’re being one

So I listen

I listen so fervently I think I might explode

Because inside there’s a jukebox with the songs I like

I listen and observe and absorb until I can hear my breath again

And so I ask that you don’t get angry at me when I work myself to the bone

Because I’m not being a try-hard for the sake of it

Rather because I know excellence is not protection

But it will give me some credibility on the days my jukebox doesn’t work

So don’t get upset when I can’t let you in

Or I choose a non-committal freedom in living my life

Because love is hard to come by when I need to be told where my armour ends and where my skin begins

So I mirror the smile crawling up your face when all I want to do is frown

As you stand there and tell me that I’m being overly sensitive

Judgemental 

Fragile 

Angry

Bitchy 

Or worse

Because you really do believe that you can cause endless damage without consequences

Because you genuinely do expect me not to react to the falling ash

And perhaps I can do what you ask. 

Sometimes. 

But only on some days 

And only because inside there’s a jukebox with the songs I like.

Checking myself once, twice

Double back, just to make sure

The confusion in a place not meant for more

Not meant for me, in my lack of fitting into a box 

Not meant for the overflow of options 

Not worthy of my worrying

Because here, there isn’t a right answer

I couldn’t tell you a place where there was a right answer 

But I know that the Kajal on my waterline was ruined, is ruined, by the Empire’s primer 

That a helpless third world countrywoman is all they see

Or if you’re thinking that what I just said might be old timer-y, I’m that kid in the class that’s bound to be one of the excellent minority 

Insert here the words that stung you the most. For me, doctor, mathematician, engineer or some other with a lab coat 

I know that I am subtly told I don’t fit, because when left alone, I, me, myself, I find the fusion beautiful

I know that I have to reassess, code-switch, protect and think every second of everyday about what the reaction to my existence could be 

And the brief moments where I do forget, I am forced to remember

The rise of performativity and awareness days did for me about as much as the clapping on our doorsteps for the NHS 

Does about as much as a social media blackout 

Does about as much as a singular wheelchair ramp in an elevator less building that do not know what access riders are

Does about as much as a rainbow pin 

Because that is all they’re willing to do

And sure, you and I have learning to do, but we know that

But I’m talking about the eyes that see nothing but levels, like we’re all some kind of RPG that can be controlled

Yet their mouths follow the script to avoid the results of honesty 

Because they know it is wrong 

And it may not be all of you here right now that I am talking about, but I don’t know which of you it is, so I’m going to stay guarded around all of you, till I do. Not all men people, did you catch that?

Check myself once

Check yourself twice 

Then maybe we can live in a world

That actually plays nice 

Attune, dedicate, finalise, survive

Keep pushing and pushing 

Break through, on break through, on break through 

Promotional validation galore whilst your friends say they miss you 

Whilst your partner says they miss you 

Whilst your mum reminisces on the last time you called

Until one day you’re sat surrounded by projects unfinished

Deadlines swamping your vision 

Watching that incessant ever moving clock the only surety you have that there’s still a brain behind those tears

Unable to see who you were before this 

And worse, who you are now

Numbingly desperate for time to slow down 

Before the next Monday comes

That pre-Sunday dread kicking your ass 

Because Saturday is the only form of respite you have now

And if you’re lucky, those rare car journeys when shuffle plays all the right songs

Gripping onto those moments like there’s no tomorrow

Because no one told you that the body processes what the mind can’t 

And so you pushed and you pushed

Ignoring the signals for rest 

Forging success sure, but paying for it in blood, not merit

A P45 of unhappiness sat in your inbox

Now your back aches, your shoulders hurt

Your head throbs every night 

So you’re on a hundred and one medications 

And not one makes you feel well enough to tackle more of this 

Not one honours the needs you actually have

And I promise you they won’t

Not until you choose that for yourself

And I’ll be here for that, when you are ready

The moon. 

You’ve heard of her right?

The closest thing to a friend this planet has

The closest thing we have on nights when everyone else is asleep 

Perched up as close to the edge of the window, rooftop, anywhere precarious and high up as far as the adrenaline will allow 

Just to feel near to her

Some days I swear she smiles back at me 

Consorting with my sleepy eyesight and tilting her craters just enough so I can feel her cool warmth through her hazy smile 

Easing me enough so I remember to taste the free air of this night

That peaceful breath steadying me

As always, knowing what I needed

And then I’m pushing my glasses closer to my face so I can see her better 

Squished up against the bridge of my nose, blinking hard

As if my sight will find some more clarity stored in the back somewhere

Trees rustling as she glides lumpily across the night sky

Every now and again she gets covered by a leaf and disappears for less than a heartbeat

As if she couldn’t house a million and more leaves just like the one obscuring her from me

Yet this night as she is bathed in red, orange, and more molten hues

There’s something slightly more spectacular about how she allows a leaf every now and again to shade her

As if a stage trick for a quick costume change

As she soars undaintly to her next arch in the sky 

Somehow knowing I’m about to tumble headfirst into slumber

She goes off to smile at a thousand more 

A parting beam caressing my brow 

So that I sleep thoughtlessly in a calm only she could crown 

Our tale unfinished

Left with nothing more than a gentle interval 

For now 

I kind of love that we’re in an age where we have the choice to label things 

Label things by way of calling shit out

Telling it as it is

Redefining boundaries

Or not labelling things as a way of non-committal freedom

Fluidity and ever-changing beauty alive and well

Optimistically I would say, we’re crawling towards a world

That requires no explanations of self 

Because it’s currency resides in kind words and empathy

Rather than claims of scripted normalcy

And yet

I don’t have full faith in all those coming to the new world with the likes of you and me.

I still wonder about the flags that we’re going to see.

Not the nationalistic ones that sends cavalries wild for cruelty

For in this world without explanation

Borders cease to exist

But flags of the red, green and pink tinted variety.

Red and pink flags I needn’t divulge into 

Because let’s be real, that’s what your therapist is for

But those sweet emerald fabrics woven into a being

That’s the song of which I want an encore

Green flags in a person who was kind to a waiter

Not buying into the narrative that humanity has a hierarchy

Rather seeing individuals as echoes of rainbows 

Held in photographs that we may never see

Green flags from the one that bought you flowers

Got to know your friends

Hyped you up no matter what you wore

Green flags because they stayed in on a Friday night

Or whatever it is that you deem admirable 

Because I’m hoping that the bar you set is above the floor

And green flags in the one that nestles you close, 

But their inner child even closer

Starry track records of being better

Trying for better, trying for change 

And isn’t that all we are really craving?

An ear in more than just words

A love that holds true 

Like a butterfly in a hurricane

I’m scared 

I’m scared of what might become if we aren’t in this together

If we don’t breathe in four leaf clovers with every step we take

Throw salt over the correct shoulder

Never open umbrellas indoors

Ignore black cats even if you think they’re cute

All to keep the demons at bay

Because we’ve been told heaven is empty 

And I don’t know how many ruins are left to arrive

I’m putting in the work 

But at the end of the day 

If it’s just a handful of us fighting 

The green flags won’t matter

In any way

Because if we all can’t call a spade, a spade 

Unite in ways that actually mean something 

Put our necks on the line for the only world we know

Our necks on the line for those throats that have already been closed 

Then all we really are

All we really have been 

All we ever will be 

Is afraid. 

And that label I’ll go down fighting so as to not take

Call it expectation when they get their cap and gown 

Ridicule them if they don’t 

Act surprised at an accent or lack thereof 

Laugh as they dream of freedom

Tell them it is much better now 

Then degrade them for the service they provide for the NHS

As if yielding oneself is a walk in the park 

Sidelining their families to protect yours

But of course they don’t belong here

Abide as the ringleader says to

Encourage his archaic ways

Label them as heroes

Label them as terrorists 

So when they sacrifice their lives, their loves

The blood won’t be on your hands

My people are dying 

The effects of constant segregations 

Are still murdering 

Prayers, condolences, apologies 

Don’t cut it. They never have. 

You say it is a pity

You say it shouldn’t have happened 

Then why did it?

Surely you did not believe your applause on the doorstep would save them?

We are not machines 

We are not your way to optimise production 

Nor are we your disposable equipment

Begging for your mercy 

Begging for your help 

Begging for your equality 

Was a plea of the past 

We are so much more than you choose to see 

Even if our lives are cut short

Even if you try to diminish us 

Our power lies in our love 

Our memory 

Our authenticity 

And our very skin 

Do not tell me, it is not a choice

Because by this point, 

It has become our expectation