Quote

I think in Somali, I cuss in Somali, when I'm afraid I reach for somali and this language is very rich, very filling. It's an unflinching language the crudest most terrible things sound perfectly normal in Somali.

Warsan Shire

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Warsan Shire
Age: 36
Born: 1988
Born: January 1
Poet
Writer
Republic of Kenya
Things
Perfectly
Think
Reach
Thinking
Normal
Afraid
Crudest
Terrible
Somali
Rich
Cuss
Sound
Unflinching
Language
Filling

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My favourite people, biggest inspirations and closest friends are all women. Not a coincidence.
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My name is indigenous to my country, it is not easy to pronounce, it takes effort to say correctly and I am absolutely in love with the sound of it and its meaning. Also, it's not the kind of name you baby, slip into sweet talk mid sentence, late night phone conversation, whisper into the receiver kind of name, so, of that I am glad.
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The ego hurts you like this: you become obsessed with the one person who does not love you. blind to the rest who do.
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I know a few things to be true. I do not know where I am going, where I have come from is disappearing, I am unwelcome and my beauty is not beauty here. My body is burning with the shame of not belonging, my body is longing.
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My alone feels so good, I'll only have you if you're sweeter than my solitude.
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There is no intimacy like that between two women who have chosen to be sisters.
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I tore up and ate my own passport in an airport hotel once. I'm bloated with language I can’t afford to forget.
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I have my mother’s mouth and my father’s eyes on my face they are still together.
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I want to love, but my hair smells of war and running and running.
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My heart is a flower blossoming out of my mouth.
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Perhaps, the problem is not the intensity of your love, but the quality of the people you are loving.
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You can't make homes out of human beings.
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Later that night, I held an atlas on my lap, ran my fingers across the whole world, and whispered, ‘where does it hurt?’ It answered, everywhere, everywhere, everywhere.
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With you, intimacy colors my voice. Even 'hello' sounds like 'come here'.
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At the end of the day, it isn’t where I came from. Maybe home is somewhere I’m going and never have been before.
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How far have you walked for men who've never held your feet in their laps?
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I won't glorify or romanticise heartbreak, for me it was a kind of death and I was forced to keep living.
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We took such care of tomorrow, but died on the way there.
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I am a lover without a lover. I am lovely and lonely and I belong deeply to myself.
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Sad people have the gift of time, while the world dizzies everyone else they remain stagnant, their bodies refusing to follow pace with the universe. With these kind of people everything aches for too long, everything moves without rush, wounds are always wet.
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