I am not sorry anymore, world.
The internet you shoved down my throat
And the grotesque knowledge you dropped
Onto my stunting spine taught me that
To be a woman, my forte would be,
Not a sharp mind but a sharp tongue.
That I had to spit-
Lewd and rude from pretty lips with lipstick mounted on them.

It is you,
You who taught me that-
Woman was acronym for; War Over Males ANew!
That we had adopted new tactics against men.
The strength of womanhood placed on a weighing scale,
Would be measured by the kilogrammes of
How many pillows I had lain on
And how many men’s mattresses had dipped with the weight of my body.
That the coveted for trophy would be presented to me,
With the measure of how many drops of tears my cup of vanity had collected,
And how many hearts my overgrown fingernails had scoured.

Isn’t it you who taught me-
To scrub the melanin off my skin?
For the fire in me would be revealed
Through the beauty of my newly acquired light skin.
Isn’t it you who whispered
That my femininity was evidenced by
The number of Instagram followers
Who unlike the disciples to Jesus, would hang onto the gospel…
Of the edges and curves of my body
And the wit of a sexually induced mind?

How dare you change your mind then?
And tell me that the price of femininity had changed…
That I had to grow the branches of a discerning mind and heart…
That ladies like Maya Angelou and Malala Yousafzai…
Had taken the mantra from the hands of women
Whose nudity and sexuality was weightlessly carried through
The air for all to see….
How dare you turn your back on me
Seeking to un-teach all the things;
That you had buttressed into my being?   


(c)  Kakinda Maria Birungi [UGANDA]

– Shortlisted for the Babishai Niwe Poetry Award 2016

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About Author

I am a writer. I was not blessed with much, but I was given this ardent love for writing that I just can't shake off. And anyone who tries to make me do that deserves a bruise on his/her neck. I write for a living, yes. But I also write to live.

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