Wounded


A Poem

By Dineo Mya Serame

If you ever find me at the hands of a white man with wounds for vows and a fallacy of a love
Know that the trauma drove me here
That I loved my black men with deep voices and Kalanga roots but a black man with a deep voice and Kalanga roots violated me and spat on my face the very same day.
That his apology was more of a “sorry you didn’t enjoy the messiah in my dick enough” 
Not “sorry I made you into a paper plate and dished all of my unmentionables into you”

Hold him against the light
This white man with wounds of love
Hold him against the light
Do you see what died in him, do you not think that is grief too familiar with the left side of my bed?

If my story ends at the mercy of a man with fire on his belly
, readying himself to a life of forced submission
Know that I’ve met a man like him before
And that with him I learnt to love poets but not enough to trust them with my lonely days
And with him, I learnt to get horny over empty promises and bible quotes
That the sunset bullshit ended with his 26th birthday and we’ve learnt to pretend like the hugs were a good substitute for bad sex
And then came the war and summers written into actual bad fucks with boys I don’t even remember

But bless the hope they pour into my breaking heart
Bless the stranger who thinks bad love like that ever left me
See my father “murdered” my mother months before I was born and I’ve learnt to live with death like that for 24 years
It is hump day every other day in my house!
I am learning to undress bad sex with good laughter and red wine
I am past weaving myself into a good wife

But hold him against the light
This man who pretends to be too holy to leave the broken unloved
Hold him against the light
Do you see what died in him, do you not think that is grief too familiar with the left side of my bed?