Gworl

Girl! GWORL. Gorl. Guhl. Gurl. Grrrrrlll. / ‘Mommy, why is it that every time you’re on the phone or with your friends it’s always girl, girl, girl, girl?’ my son asked me two years ago as I was tucking him into bed for the night.

“And you say you a vegan,” Nikki says. “I knew you been dreamin’ about yolk this whole time, gworl. Come back on this side.”

To say I didn’t idealise these bodies would be a lie. Gworl! I was addicted to Dr Mami’s Snapchat stories.

for starters, this is a poem for the material gworls—the darlings who need a little more than coffee to feel armed and fierce enough to face the day. it takes fashion.

I want to thank my chosen family, the gworls whose friendship isn’t counted in phone calls or messages but in unconditional love, support and laughs: Tiff, Linda, Belle, Agyeiwaa, Yvette, Izzy, and the boy dem who have no idea how meaningful our music and wine therapy sessions are: Temple, Ben and Kwaku.

Every chosen family has its ups and downs, and I’m so lucky to have a group of gworls to experience this chaotic dance we call life with.

Another notification hit her phone. This time, it was a DM on IG. / GWORL! YOU HEARD ABOUT DROPWORT DROPPING DEAD?????