I’m omni invisible

I have super powers which make me turn invisible.  I'm omni invisible,  the person who lays down her kidney to save the life of an ingrate and yet won't get invited to the thank you dinner.

I'm the one who will work behind the scenes to make sure my friend's wedding runs flawlessly  with guests served and everyone merry but will be the only one who doesn't receive a thank you card.

I'm the one whose close people will get married and I'll only know about it one week to the wedding. Trains run on parallel tracks. The people around me only recognize one side. I'm the side that never gets noticed.

Entebbe, Photo credit/Beverley Nambozo Nsengiyunva

Someone told my husband not to tell me when a person very dear to me died.  She said that I'd most likely tell everyone on social media about it because... well,  omni invisible people don't have empathy or common sense.

And then there's the group of friends who you thought were family. You invited them home,  led them into the forbidden,  confusing and remarkable maze of your life,  until one day  you discovered they often had outings and dinners without you. Don't complain!  Invisible people don't eat.

How about when you shared a life-changing novelty with an  partner and they scrambled up a flimsy proposal,  a few months later,  making headlines with your brilliant idea.

I'm going to shed off my past in the same way a rattlesnake sheds off its skin. My past will shrivel on the ground.

I’m omni invisible

I’m the secret revealed in Sylvia Plath

The memory in the legs

Of a man who used to walk.

I’m the final laughter before death

The irresistible urge to fly.

I vaporize in cold

And shiver in the heat

I’m omni invisible.

I shed off my past

 In the same way a rattlesnake

Sheds its skin

Leaving it shriveled on the ground.

Photo credit/Beverley Nambozo Nsengiyunva

National Museum Pretoria, 

A poem by Beverley Nambozo Nsengiyunva

Dress me in Disobedience

Wait for me as I unscrew my nipples

And like a tap, watch the milk of submission

As it pours down a drain.

Dress me in disobedience.

Untie the knots on my belt,

Which are roadblocks to my sensuality.

My body is a car

And I won’t stop driving

Until I reach a sign

That points towards my own space and erotica.

Where I can use words like vagina

Without people like you

Responding with  mssccchew!

Dress me in disobedience

Where vaginas join their lips

In conversation

Where broken children

Find the right kind of laughter

To bring broken hearts

And damaged parts.

Wait for me as I unscrew my nipples

And like a tap, watch the milk of submission

As it pours down a drain.

Lake Victoria Entebbe/Photo credit/Beverley Nambozo Nsengiyunva

This poem appears in my collection, Dress me in Disobedience.

A poem by Beverley Nambozo Nsengiyunva