I have never been good with emotions but I’m an artist with fists.
Sometimes I prefer beating myself up with a bottle
Because Mommy said that’s how you make beautiful canvases.
She would say, “Life ain’t a fairytale,” because someone
has to do the dirty work of mining the pixie dust.
On nights where I became a home for dear mother
She would tell me how pixie dust was made out of
broken dreams, hearts, homes, and all that God did not deem worthy.
From that day on, I have mastered the skill of hiding bruises.
Being black and blue means you’re closer to being ash. Pixie dust.
I have come to accept that my lover’s hands are like a boomerang
Always thrown in my face and quick to come back
Because that is how God answers her prayers.
Quick, and with such passion for those whom she loves.
Her love needed to be seen, to be felt. I mean, how do you get someone to believe?
Mommy says I need to be strong and strong people must be tested.
She says God forgives, so must we, for days on end. We must love as if we don’t hate.
She says this with tears in her eyes as if God will flood the earth again.
As if life would hang its gloves and her fists would not feel a bit heavier every day.
We both needed saving but our screams were not loud enough to break glass
I have never known what love is but I have felt her.
On days where she wanted to take me to the grave with her.
But I knew how to hide the blue and black away.
I learned how to smile because the world won’t bury a smiling corpse.
And I refuse to be turned into pixie dust.
© One Pamela Pusumane
Bio: One Pamela Pusumane is a young creative writer an poet from Botswana who is passionate about writing pieces that push the boundaries and get people talking about the things we tend to shy away from in our daily lives. She is currently pursuing her BA(Hon) Social Sciences undergraduate degree at the African Leadership University in Mauritius. You can also find her work on Instagram, Facebook, and Hello Poetry.