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Category Archives: Inspiring

There’s just something about somebody
who just
shows up
unannounced, no calls
no signals

just appears

He just shows up
from around the corner

gives you that look
that you can’t look

away from

Britta B.

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…a little bit about an event Britta B. performed on June 30th, 2012 at Ngoma Lounge in Toronto, Canada.

Last week I had a conversation with a friend
and without meaning to inspire me he reminded me,
“The whole point of language is to be understood”

I wrote that down on a piece of paper in hopes of saving it for later,
“The whole point of language is to be understood”…

It’s funny ’cause just a few weeks ago
this friend of mine was a stranger
And years before that, the English language was even stranger

For instance, I remember when I was a baby; I had my own
ways of communicating:

Cry if I’m hungry
Cry if I’m sick or scared
Laugh if I fall down
Or cry again if someone’s watching just to have them
pick me up and hug me

Since then, I’ve learned so many words to help others understand what I want
but sometimes the things we say
can turn into ghosts that haunt
the backyards and playgrounds
of our hearts
Maybe that’s why making new friends can be so hard

I get shy just giving people my name sometimes
because I’ve come to realize
I’m not so easily defined…

First of all,
I consider myself lucky. I have scars to remind me
there’s a survivor underneath all this skin

This skin, is a smooth rocky-road brown
bordered with train tracks reminding me of where I’ve been
and how I got here
This skin, holds me close
like it knows it’s got something good inside,
something too good to let go

I’ve got skin to keep me together when I feel
like my world’s falling apart

Hey, look- so do you

But just because yours ain’t the same as mine
don’t mean you should treat me any different

What I do with my hands is far more important
than the colour of skin they are wrapped up in
That’s like if I gave you a present and you spent more time
criticizing me for the way I gift-wrapped it
than noticing what I put inside

Take a look at what’s inside!

Don’t let all this skin I’m dressed up in fool you
I am human too

It is so cliché
to talk about how cliché it is to it is to say
to “Never judge a book by its cover”
But I bet the world be a much better place if we just opened up
and gave each other a chance to get to know one another

I have a story, I bet you do too

Britta B.

feels like

cold showers with hot water

the weight of responsibility, devoid of forgiveness

laughter disturbing the peace

homelessness
loneliness, homelessness

loneliness feels like the blinders they strap to racehorses’ heads;
curbed peripheral vision…

too often we find ourselves alone when we are indeed
surrounded by the rest of the world.

Britta B.

With two little pats on the back of midnight,
I roll over onto the hardest parts of a beach and drain my headaches
into the sand. While meditating, I call to mind, “The darkest hour
is just before the dawn.”

The moon grins,
asking me to dance.

Without deciding, the silk of my white blouse stops breathing
I unbutton it from the neck down, slowly. (You can’t regret something you take your time to do)
The moon watches me slip into something a little more comfortable
My skin, it’s the only thing that keeps me together
It’s the only thing that keeps me from spilling into the lake like a jar of marbles along the concrete
We dance
I tease the sand with my silhouette
Tilt my head back and stroke the sky with the paintbrush of my womb
My arms droop
and lift and push
and pull
Lovely. I feel lovely.
Whoever watches, whoever hears the music, whoever is in this experience must feel lovely too
We take off and float without seatbelts…

Until the universe has its way of blowing harder the closer we get 
to our destination –I hate this part (and hate will take up more space in your
head than love do in your heart)

Music, too loud. Too intense like a strobe light flashing sound.
The moon drags its knuckles down my spine, bending and breaking open without permission
Corroded teeth gnawing at hip bones, shrivelled tongues
crawling around the caves of mouths uninvited
There’s no other direction to run if you’re trapped in an open space. (Especially if
you’re running in the dark)
The darkest hour shoulders me with its breath like it’s in a hurry to get somewhere
To my knees, I fall
and get back up

The wind takes me with it into the lake

To my knees, I fall
but can’t get up, not this time
I shake my fist at the moon, I cry
I clutch my chest and scream into my hand
My hand, my, my –
My skin, I remember my skin and pinch it 

I have not spilled into the water!
To my knees, I rise. Slowly. And get back up.

Good Morning.

Britta B.