Foto’s Kwabena Appiah-Nti
Lieve mama,
Jij was mijn prototype vrouw, mijn blueprint van een dame Leerde mij wat een dame als trots beschouwt en waarvoor ik me moest schamen Mijn benen dicht houden als ik zit, bescheiden tussen de extremen. Niets van mij mocht onnodig ruimte innemen.
Jij leerde me dat ik alles kon worden wat ik wilde, en dan vooral alles tegelijkertijd.
Sexy, but tired, but altijd sexy, nooit kritisch of met geklaag Sexy, but niet hoerig, respect hangt af van wat je draagt Sexy, but somehow, forever maagd.
Sexy, maar nooit je sexy gebruiken aandachtshoer, Sexy, terwijl je je flexibel beweegt door vrouwelijk obstakelparcours.
Ik beweeg mijn karkas in andermans hokjes en gangen Telkens als ik pas wordt het doel verhangen Want alle ballen moeten hoog gehouden worden, Vooral als ze naast een penis hangen.
Mama, ik had nooit kunnen weten in executie van je leerlijn, Dat simpelweg dragen wat ik wilde, Revolutie zou zijn.
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Foto’s Kwabena Appiah-Nti
Colouring red roses red
I lift myself skywards
By all the things I wear on my nakedness
In them, I sponge in my black and my individuality
Make it palatable, a vertical inheritance of my sexuality
I’ve shelled my being in the closet for far too long
So, I know that every colour I own is an emotion
To be worn, to be paraded into the unclothed sunlight
And my heels, they strut the streets with prestige and audacity
I understand how this life is to be travelled
So, I blur and marry the lines between masculinity and femininity
Give every silence a voice, make them as fluent as the ocean
You can tie my style to a chair and beat a confession out of it
But my style doesn’t scream, doesn’t break bottles of glitters
Doesn’t stoop low for this generation’s accolades and validations
I only dress to express my mind and not to impress your stares
So, you see
I am the new standard, I am the rooster you should bet on
The eyes of the streets appetize when I show my pearls
They are beginning to recognise a boy as new as me
I tell them
I am yin and yang
I am one foot into the future
I am the flower boy with a thousand jewels
I colour my red roses red, so they are mine
And this body,
This body will forever remain a humbled poet
Reciting and honouring every piece of creation, I wear on him.
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Foto’s Kwabena Appiah-Nti
The mirror bites back
I was born to look like me
still I feel torn whenever I see
my reflection
imperfection
imperfection
imperfection
Incomplete
press delete whenever I peep
the tiniest flaw
my skin so raw
yet I was taught
to use baking powder
they said that blending
blending
blending is key
unless
we’re talking ethnicities
I was born to look like me
which always means
too much of this
and too little of that
too skinny too fat
dancing on the brim of a hat
I break borders
by simply existing
one thing about blending is:
mixing one and the other
makes one like no other
so don’t even bother
to make me feel smaller
I still won’t fit in your boxes
I rock this rigid society
I have every right to be
my complexion’s what makes me complete
calling my physical treats imperfections
is a rejection of the connection
I feel with my ancestors, my heritage
yes I differ from average
because
I was born to look like me
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