tapiwa mugabe

I’m excited to announce that I am going to be officially publishing my first book this summer! :))

Tapiwa x

It is only when you are stranded in a hostile country that you need a romance of origins; it is only when you lose your mother that she becomes a myth; it is only when you fear the dislocation of the new that the old ways become precious…
Lose Your Mother (via ruralcity)

Anonymous asked: are you still looking for women of color writers?


Yes I am heading a project for self identified women writers in Toronto, and I am part of a project bringing closure and healing and expression through love letters.

You can submit and forward all inquiries to my email

(Source: weekendplaylist, via piiwa-lou)

..have you forgotten me, she asks?
Do you not remember our long walks under unforgiving October suns
Barefoot - the baking earth melting our soles
I miss your grandmas cucumber
A perfect heat remedy
Or how she sealed her wisdom in a jar of peanut butter
Every spoon full making your bones remember the song of your birth
And did I not pour all of times sands into you
Using my hands
Also borrowing all three hands of time
To massage and rub honey and warmth into making you spread your wings
Yet today you tell me to leave
You say you are an unfortunate lover
She says, what is this new song you sing?
Chorused with a cacophony of apologies
Forget the dreams we forged but do not forget my name
For my tears will testify against you
And my tongue will tell of the ways you made home in thighs
How you made my body quiver
I tell her our love was young
Little did I know hearts do not number days as minds do
And my heart was an unreachable mainland
I kept an archipelagos of lovers
This is what I thought made me a king…

her forget me not - Tapiwa Mugabe, (via tapiwamugabe)
so excited about having a co-release date with the incredible yrsa daley ward for her collection of poetry on tuesday june. 17th. from the u.s. to the uk. the world of woc writing will be expanding beautifully on this day :)))
xoxo nayyirah (via nayyirahwaheed)

(via nayyirahwaheed)

Mother says home is always is heavy on my heart
But only because I stubbornly choose
to carry it on my own.
I show her how I carried Gogo’s joy, light
like pollen on bee legs.
How her smiles made my heart glow
and I danced for her.
What more is yearning to a back
that learned to saddle expectations born out of misogyny?
I came with a head worthy of a crown that
passed over her, her and her, and her….
Reasons why I keep prayers
in the seams of my soul for daughters
And a crown for each in my eyes and mouth
But umkulu kulu said we will see God’s wisdom actualize.
So I tell mama not to worry,
Though my heart is a wildflower
I was taught how to harbour a caterpillars patience…
butterflies - Tapiwa Mugabe,

I fell in love with wearing black
as if I was mourning
Did away with the need to make my dressing a metaphor
Has my skin not been turned into a symbol for solidarity?
This skin black oil
My inherited legacy
Mother tattooed me from head to feet with assegai’s and pyramids
Before i discovered the engenuity of weaver bird nests in my mouth
My heart was as hard as guava seed
Discovered and lost god in whisky bottles
Budding iconoclast with a heart full of leniency
A Uhuru child
Stone house son
My war of reformation
A rebirthing of my ancestors in my mind

stone house son - Tapiwa Mugabe,

(via tapiwamugabe)
watching my mother weep in pastel tones, stretch her hair and her heart for men and God who , it would seem, placed far too much glory on appearance and sacrifice.
Te’ V. Smith Permission To Speak (via tevsmith)

(via tevsmith)

and what about belonging?
I have not yet found a place to be..
…so i am here
the evidence of a lifetime spent longing.
be(longing) - Tapiwa Mugabe,
According to you,
people like me
shouldn’t go into places like this or
be around people like these.
but you don’t know the half of it.
The brightest of stars, frankly
are just a load of hot air and
diamonds, sadly,
were just formed from dust and rock
and the butterfly, remember,
used to crawl on its belly
and tiny legs
through the dirt.
from Yrsa Daley-Ward. You Dont Know the Half Of It. (via thiswillnotlast)
There was a season
when my pockets were full of lint
and not tempting African treasuretroves.
I was made from charcoal
and left over rain trapped in the edges of sky,
An avalanche of kindness,
with tenderness over spilling from my eyes.
But I chose instead to be blinded by a plight
to wear purple and rose colours -
how I forgot how to see beyond my rags.
Instead I gained vision to see
what I had never cared for.
I stopped looking for the lessons in everything
I became stuck…
Until I heard my birth song
It came to my ears, flooding a new avenue
towards my heart
Reminding me, ndiri nyeredzi
nyeredzi - Tapiwa Mugabe,