Words By Thero M

''I decided to start life afresh this year. 50 percent of the decision was forced upon me by life, and the other 50 percent was a conscious decision I made so I could give myself a genuine chance to find my joy.''

What better way to take on the last-but-one month of the year than by breathing in these words of wisdom by ?

Click link below to read on how finding joy for one writer took away the angst of New Year Resolutions and the pressure to achieve them.

https://feminstyle.africa/lifestyle/thero/the-reconstruction-of-me/2022/11/

While breast cancer is one of the leading causes of death for women, we often fear the diagnosis and not the disease itself, which leads to a reluctance to get checked regularly.

The WHO data published in 2020 indicates that breast cancer deaths in Botswana reached 68 or 0.35% of total deaths. Placing it at number 170 in the world regarding deaths caused by breast cancer. And this is primarily because breast cancer in Botswana is often diagnosed late, with most patients presenting at advanced stages.

discusses her hesitation when it comes to having a mammogram or self-examination and how it links to a fear of death via the link below

https://feminstyle.africa/health/thero/an-anticipated-fear-breast-cancer-struggles/2022/10/

My poetry book is selling on Amazon on both eBook and paperback. Please get your copy and share as well. Thank you.

TO THE MOON AND BACK: A Collection of Poetic Emotions Shared via Kindle. Description: Poetry that takes your emotions through a journey of highs and lows. Its a book that challenges societal ills and questions morality by delving into controversial topics of gender, mental health, politics, love, family, and d...

Article by yours truly...

Feminism is strangely still a dirty word to many on social media, despite the growing injustices against women and people from the LGBTQIA+ community worldwide.

So what makes this concept of equality of the sexes so contentious? Well, took to social media to ask some questions and she’s here to tell us what she learned from engaging with anti-feminists. Read more via link in bio and where your thoughts.

By yours truly.... definetly worth a read if I may say so myself. 😍

“The truth about relationships is that even though society elevates monogamy as the righteous practice, the same patriarchal society defends, protects, and perpetuates concealed polygamy as long as the perpetrator is a man.”

Thero has a lot of questions about love, monogamy, cheating and how we can all end up in an open relationship we may not have signed up for.

We continue the Month Of Love by asking some of these hard questions. More via link below

https://bit.ly/3rZTeib

Dear Lover

I know love punched me hard that day we met
down by the horizon where the sun and moon
meet everyday to share a lovers passionate kiss
The pain of the punch only this morning I felt as
I woke up with my hand searching for your warmth,
but only the cold white sheet glared back at my face

I miss your touch, that fiery steam that caresses
and strokes me to ecstasy of galactic imaginations
I miss the volcanic eruptions, the lava that oozes
as our bodies into one impetuous being are fused
I miss the African drums, that rhythmic beat echoing
inside our ribs as sweat trickles down our brows
meandering down to meet by the corners of the
entrance of seduction town only to be insatiably
swept by the flick of the wandering tongue

I miss your succulent lips, the ones responsible for
my death and resurrection
I miss you, the You that pulsates at the slightest
dance and moan of my breath
The bed feels so cold but my body oh so hot as
memories of our hourly, daily rendezvous occupy
that crater where your heart dwells within my chest

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY

After a failed relationship, how do you rediscover yourself?

As women, we often identify ourselves with titles such as wife, girlfriend and 'Mrs' but once those have been taken away from us, we often struggle to find ourselves.

Read today's article written by @ and find out ways you can find yourself again and claim back your power.

https://feminstyle.africa/lifestyle/thero/how-do-i-redefine-my-identity-after-a-failed-relationship/2021/12/

Gift yourself or loved ones for only P200 a copy (Botswana only). Contact: 00267 77385845 for more details.

A few words from yours truly... go have a read guys 😘 link on bio

Let's have a read

❤❤

The journey just begun ❤❤❤ more updates to follow soon.

Finally here ❤❤❤ more updates to follow.

My Capitulation

I will no longer be armed with
aggression so uncontrollable,
marching against this oppression
so unfathomable
I will no longer be vocal nor spill
tears of sadness for the oppression
so colossal
My combativeness has dissipated
I am going to take a back seat view,
enjoy my coffee, and watch movies
just like you do when the world is
burning down

You see, the more time I spend in
the streets revolting against a system
of innate supremacy, the more that time
just passes by, and I never get to live
my life instead I just cry

The colonizers came to Africa, and
introduced a life of struggle alien
to the culture
Then the colonizers came back to
Africa, and took with them slaves
to toil their soils, living a life of
struggle foreign to their nature

Today we say that slavery is over,
that the war was won and freedom
regained, and that no masters are
on our hind, free from what I ask?

We are still—bound by the chains
In pairs, we march huddled with
shackles in our necks living our
perceived freedoms in the struggle
Torching the streets in disregard

Shouting and hollering we declare
to the deaf unperturbed ears, that
our lives too matter…when do we
get to live, and enjoy this life I ask?

You see, whilst we are fighting for
validation, for recognition as a
human species, the descendants of
our masters, just like their ancestors,
sit down, drink coffee, and watch a
movie of us toiling in the sun, killing
each other or getting killed by those
disguised in lawful regalia, in our
quest for freedom still

So no! I am no longer speaking out
and spilling my guts in a march for
freedom, a march against oppression
I also want to enjoy my life, watch
the butterflies flap their colorful wings
above my head, as I, on the green grass
lie, no care

I want to smell the roses, paint, and
play, and maybe dance a little bit more,
become a hippy with no care
I am going to allow my conceitedness
to take over this fair

Why should I care? My blood and the
tears that flow exponentially generation
to generation, bring no change to the game
They have failed to cleanse the dark souls of the deceased that linger in our mist
But only manage to harden the hearts
of the yet unborn
And so, for whom am I fighting for,
and to whom am I fighting against?

My people die before they are born,
and only their dark skin gets to see the
light of day, and gets to paint the sky
black with their misery
The enemy we fight is the worst in the
galaxy, he hides, protected by armory
in the darkness where we retreat, ready
to strike and kill us without a flinch

So—I am no longer going to a battle
against oppression, I am sipping my
coffee, and watching a movie, as
the world burns down in flames

Battle Of Life

I recently went to hell just to fight with a demon
He gripped me with his talons and flung me into a furnace
Tried to incinerate my bones but only managed to scotch his claws
My flesh remained intact, and my soul stayed afloat
It infuriated him, and so the battle began

The pitch-black darkness became saturated with my sadness
I was hollering, screaming—my fingers clutched tightly
to an infant I did not know
The spirit of the child was recognizable,
but his body was covered entirely in soot
The white ashes falling from the sky,
his emaciated frame they outlined,
whilst also strewing some ashy-white-dotted-flakes on
his crusted skin like a disease
It looked like the aftermath of a volcanic eruption

The ground beneath my feet was spinning like a merry-go-round
With each spin, the guts of the child in my hands created
a sea of vomit on the incinerating abyss
Hisses of steam escaping could be heard from a distance
like the boom of Hiroshima as his soul came in contact with hell
He was puking his life out, and with his pupils dilated,
he squirted blood from every single pore in his skin

But I, afraid that the demon would grab him from my clutches,
held tightly to the body that now looked like an empty box of juice
Its contents all squeezed out through the tiny hole of the striped straw
Within seconds, I was drowning in an ocean of vomit
The infant still crying, dying, but safe in my arms

And then he changed tactics, the demon
Flung dead bodies at my person…
Pieces of raw human flesh came at me from all directions
He, wanted me to attempt to dodge the flying objects
so that I could lose my foot and fall
into the pit of incinerating heat
But I stood my ground…
Allowed me to be covered in the blood
of spirits I did not know
Assumed they were my ancestors; that their blood was
familiar to mine—no rejection

My eyes slowly parted, and when I came to,
I was lying in a puddle—not of blood, but of sweat
I was dripping of the salty liquid, from head to toe
The furnace in hell had failed for I was shivering
with a coldness of hypothermia induced death
My lungs were suffocating, experiencing a slow death
as they, in turn, drowned in my own mucus
The sea of blankets stacked on top of my shriveling
body like a pile of burning wood on a cold wintery day,
were unsuccessful in their quest to warm my tiny frosted toes

It was at that moment, that I recognized
that I had just escaped from hell
I had been to battle with a demon…
Danced toe to toe with death…
I do not know who won the war,
but I just know I made it alive