Day 4
So these pictures were take at an abandoned house by Rubben Mabuku.
He's a strictly black and white photographer and he told me that he doesn't do photo shoots, he does concept shoots.
He
wanted to capture me as a poet and he prefers picking places still in
construction because of the varying textures but I had different ideas for the
location.
When
I got the pictures back, they did what he's out here to do - they
inspired me, gave me a concept to work with because yes, sometimes my
poetry is happy and is for the purpose of healing.
But sometimes we have to fall apart before we can start again.
Windows
If our eyes are the windows to our soul
Tell me what you see when you peep into my home?
After removing the blinds, letting myself and others see, doing my best not to be elusive.
I know things aren't as obvious with people as they are with actual things.
I know with us it's often in how we carry ourselves.
What we are willing to reveal, how badly we seek to heal
The role we choose to play: the king, the God, the victim, the martyr.
The average Jane who wakes up every morning just trying to be better.
So when you look at me, can you see if I've been abandoned?
Can you see any bad graffiti, leaky ceilings, ways that I seem damaged?
Would you blame me if I did my best to hide it in a world that preys on weakness?
Mistake the ways my fear plays out as my quirkiness?
Would once white walls just further prove that my innocence is long gone?
Would walls that stand despite the cracks be proof that I'm strong?
Maybe it's easier to keep the blinds shut.
For people are so reckless with that kind of information.
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