Who Gave You the Right to Procreate?

I almost cried at work tonight! There are few things that penetrate my cold hard exterior that I’ve built in order to do my job. Few things make me feel, makes me think, few things.
I met a baby tonight, one who had just begun to live and was almost ready to die. The mommy didn’t see the need for antenatal care, so she went nine months without seeing a doctor once. Her baby was born with a heart condition, it was difficult for me to watch him, pale, blue struggling to breathe, struggling for life and not feel agony. Sometimes when I think that humans can’t be any  more cruel, they up and surprise me yet again. That infant will probably not live to see a month, and that is a tragedy. There are couples and families that have tried in vain to have a baby, some who spend thousand of dollars, trying every new and experimental treatment on the block, just to be told that they would never be able to have their own child. It’s sad, that the ones who want can’t have any and the ones who have don’t want.

Sometimes I wish I was a rabble rousing, holier than though, evangelical nut, who was on a crusade to rid the world of IDIOTS WHO GO NINE MONTHS WITHOUT GOING TO THE DOCTOR ONCE. It bothers me, that they feel that having sex has no consequence and they have no responsibility to the growing person  inside them.

Firstly, I’m pro-choice, I don’ wave it like a banner or hold rallies about how awesome and right we pro-choicers are but I am. I don’t condemn someone who is pro-life, that’s their choice and I can respect that, but I believe in the ability to choose. I never want to be one of those persons having babies and being unable to care for them, thinking that its the government’s job or relatives’ job, or even the random man of the streets’ job to feed my children. If you can’t afford them, I don’t believe you should have them. There are enough abused, neglected and abandoned children in the world, without adding to the quantity. Being pro-choice for me, doesn’t mean using abortion as birth control or being loose and irresponsible. Yet to have that option of birth control and abortion should the situation call for it. I can tell that the backlash from writing something like this may be great, but fuck it, who cares.

Where I come from, prenatal care is a free service offered by the public heath department, you can go to the clinic and see the midwives, get standard care at no cost. If you want to see a specialist of course you will spend specialist money. There are always options and there are always excuses.

I conducted a research project when I was in my final semester of School of Nursing, investigating the percentage of women for 2010 who didn’t have prenatal care and the complications that occurred as a result. What was surprising was the high amount of women who didn’t see a doctor was approximately 30% and from that percentage only 5-6% actually had complications. The problem was however, was when the complications came, they were usually devastating to mother and infant.

This culture that we have cultivated of entitlement has really begun to dig us deeper and deeper to societal despair. No one wants to work hard for what they want anymore, they demand. From everyone but themselves, and it sucks, further reinforcing why generally, the poor always remain poor. I’m so tired, seeing women running into the hospital, in labor, ready to deliver a baby that she doesn’t even know the due date. It also bothers me, when they come in bleeding, after having taken four cytotec pills, bleeding out almost half of their blood volume and expecting us to save them. It’s the job, but it bothers me, that women feel they have the right to procreate just because they have a vagina, but with every action, there is consequence, I just hope it won’t be too high.


Mirror Mirror

identity d

I’m fracturing


renting from the seams

as pressure builds within,

it should be easy,

giving up on things

that make you toxic

but i’m pathetic

attracting leeches

like leeches

to blood

allowing them to suck my essence dry

i’m secretly sadistic,

pretending to enjoy my pain

by hurting others

and I’ve been

hurting others

stuck in this inter-neural battle

with myself for far too long.

something has got to give

Something has got to build

Because this life of delapitated love stories

And demolished dreams are beginning to take a toll

As I attempt to take 

Hold on all the things that make me 


Ronda. ..

She was only diagnosed three days ago

but she knew long before

that she was dying,

and i’d like to think that she’s made peace with it…

twenty three year old…

all tatted up

making mistakes and drawing her own conclusions

six months ago, she was invincible

doing what those afflicted by youth do best…

she had barely begun to live..

barely knew what she wanted,

wanted to be

what she wanted to do

and it wasn’t fair

that she should suffer,

wasting slowly into a pile of nothing

turning to a god that she never believed in before,


crying screaming

going through all the stages of grief in an instant

she wouldn’t last long, she knew

she saw the stares

the unshed tears

the silence

when everyone

spoke to everyone but her

it wouldnt make a difference

wouldn’t change her fate

one day… soon

she would die

and that would be the end of that…



The crazies always come out late at night 

It seems 

When it’s dark 

And raining 

And people are asleep. 

They walk in roads 

Sitting on corners 

Feeding stray dogs 

From bins and boxes 

And all the yucky things 

That we scorn! 

They talk at the top of their lungs, 

Or so they feel 

Arguing with imaginary friends 

And villains.

It… Is sad 

Seeing lives wasted 

And people hurt

Destroyed by decisions and circumstances,

Some times I pity them 

The crazies 

Them and their shabby cardboard houses and tattered clothes 

Sometimes I could care less 

Too caught up in my shit to be bothered!

But it bothers me


The crazies 

The people 

The humans

That are just like me! 

Struggling to survive 

On the revolving hamster wheel of life. 

It should concern me a little bit more than it does 

But I am still caught up 

Drowning in technology 

And social media 

Loosing my humanity 

With each text message I send. 

I should be bothered 

Guess what?

You should too! 

Whisper to Me in Music

It’s how you speak



Well paced words


Like a piece of sheet music

On strings.

This orchestra of words



Hummed like an old spiritual

In the fifties

That vibrates entire bodies

Setting pulses racing

And hormones raging

Fur Elise

Your masterpiece puts even her to shame

Building tempo

Frantic pace

As tears well up

With feeling,

The music’s building

Telling tales

Only an artist can

Crafting perfection

With your voice



Which Climaxes into an effortless

Series of annotations

That you speak

Just for me,

I love… The way you speak

in music.


Everybody is broken
Living lies as reality
Covering pain and imperfections
Not to mention
hidden deep
Loosing sleep
As closets rattle
Hiding tales
No one dear utter
But it never gets easier!
Living lies
Pleasing every one but you!
It’s sad
How much time you waste
Fitting in with jones’
And Benjamin’s
Living peripheral
Afraid to let others see you…
Living broken
Afraid to be whole

Had a patient last night, in the grips of an acute psychotic break… it strange, we talk so much, we, human beings, yet we never say the things that need to be said, living pieces of lives for everyone but ourselves! let us try today to live for ourselves.



I was ready, 

prepared in both mind and body,

I had entered into this room naked 

with nothing but a thin sheet of insecurities 

covering my poetry.

I was prepped

or so I thought

because when you began to slice into me,

I knew this anesthetic was a farce…

I felt everything

every nip

every dramatic stitch, 

as you removed my poetic soul

I knew this was the end,

end to my inspiration 

end to my drive,

I had hoped that you’d be gentle;

yet from the moment you picked up that scalpel

I saw my dreams dissected.

What was intended as constructive

turned out to be a sadist’s wet dream,



flaying my ideas with surgical precision.

In all honesty,

I never knew how absolutely atrocious my imagery was,

That my tone was flighty 

and my rhyme non-existent.

I never knew 

that I was so bad

until this “educational session”.

You promised,

promised that I wouldn’t feel much pain,

and trully I didnt,

this numbing emptiness that remains inside me 

cannot be described as pain. 

I trusted you, 

trusted you to keep my dignity intact…

its just me and this damaged poetry now,

permanently drafted,

 so, thank you!

There goes another scrap!

I’m so weird

I just caught a  glimpse of myself in the mirror after leaving home and I couldn’t help but chuckle a little. I can’t believe that I went on the road looking like a crazy woman.

I took my sister home after four hours of sibling bonding AKA me styling her hair and I had intentions of installing some extensions in my hair, so I was deep conditioning with my plastic cap, I got so carried away on my hair binge that I didn’t realize the time had gone.

I was driving along the highway, no makeup, head covered by plastic cap, singing along to TLC’s “Creep” at the top of my lungs. Which wasn’t much at the time, as I was in full swing of my seasonal allergies. Every time I said, “and so I creep” it sounded like a busted washing machine, living out its final days. I had to admit it was funny, lol, but the worst part was when I stopped at the traffic light, a few persons passed me… the look on their face was priceless. What the hell? What can I say, I’m pretty.

It took me a long time to love the image I saw when I looked in the mirror… always so caught up wanting to be someone else. Wanting to feel special and important. It took me a while, until i realized that my face wasn’t gonna change so I had to get use to it.

Racism’s Colour

I called a white woman a cracker today

Cause she represented everything

That was wrong with the world,

And I knew I was right,

Because they started slavery

and they treated us badly

and they were the cause for every bad thing that happened to Negroes.

And I knew that I was right!

I called a Jew a Kik last week

because he cut in front of me in line

and I knew that I was right,

because they thought that they were special

and everyone should bow to them,

they hated us for no reason,

so why couldn’t I hate them too?

And I knew that i was right!

But how dare you,

call me a nigga?

my heritage lost

my name erased from the earth


I am the victim

Of atrocities against humanity

as if you haven’t taken enough from us

attacking and berating us

and there’s no way that can be right…

Can it

As if we all haven’t suffered enough.

Hate is hate in any colour,

It will never be right

Monochromatic Me

It’s getting difficult,

keeping up with you

being untrue and giving impression that all is well

and things are great.

truth is

I’ve been miserable

wiping away tears and the remnants of sex

that no longer hold any interest for me.

and I’ve been feeling guilty

sharing me with others

putting everything above and beyond you

and i’m sorry

for all the little drafts of love letters that I attempted but never finished

that I scrapped before they ever had a chance.

I’ve been selfish

being happy and happy and happily forgetting you

until I hurt,

aching from all the other things that were more important,

I wish I knew

that you were the glue that keep me sane

relieving stress and giving me comfort

if only that was enough

For me!

I wrote this piece to my blog… My voice when I was mute!