Deadly alive.


life is waiting for me,

chores, duties and needs to be met.

Books are waiting to be read

and adult things beckon

but here I am, drinking oxygen from words of strangers.

Searching for life in letters and lines.

a tale so intricately woven, a word, careless sentence, a blogpost

poetry so raw, naked, unadulterated waiting to meet my soul,

leaving me vulnerable, gasping for a second, then deadly alive.

just air.



here I am, with the too much I have said

and the ocean of thoughts I keep locked in my throat.

Here I am with love in my heart and vile in the words I need to spew.


Still, here I am cutting, tailoring these words to hit like lightening.

strong, hard, burning but never enough to make to you hate the rain.


Here I am, on my knees

with my words  dancing on iced air

brain mocks heart,

tear clears  vision,

regret falls on lap.


here I am, lines crossed, feelings tossed, sleeves bare…


There you are: insouciant.


when 5am meets you outside,

the birds will sing songs foreign to your ears

the cold will be so wicked your fingers grow numb from pain

your skin will reek of  cheap life.



this is not the life your mother wept to the gods for.



I like the word random, how it doesn’t refer to anything in particular , just something random, like thoughts and random posts. how random. There is nothing particular about this post.

I wonder sometimes if the sun  tires from shining or if the moon kisses the stars wrongly some days so they get mad at each other and have a brawl over who comes out that night.

I wonder if God ever tires of  being God, cos truly watching us wallow in our cycle of sins  must get painfully exhausting. I also have questions about God, life and heaven but I think voicing them would be blasphemy so I never ask.

I wonder why humans suffer, why peace never comes and evil seems to be on an all time best roll.

I think of how ironic it is that best friends make the best enemies .If love is the greatest gift, how is it never enough sometimes? Nothing is ever sure. Today you could be served on a Gold platter but tomorrow you’ll be serving.

I think of mothers that never see their kids grow, children that never get to have parents, people who never feel love and how much hate we have in the world. Being mean is the new cool. using another seems to be the order of the day. caring too much is the fastest way to die young, being nice is a good way to build yourself a coffin.

Here we are millennials, grown babies,living fast. How is it that the wokest of all generations seems to be the most lonely? the darnest things hit the news everyday and for a second, just a second fear for the future grips me. In these moments, I seat down and I’m  be humbled by how drastic change can be. how a second can be the difference between life and death. how a post, a like, a tweet, a new slang can trigger a whole generation.

I think about time, how precious it is, how easy it is to waste, how vexing it is when another wastes yours. I think about the complexity of emotions, anger, sadness, happiness. how do we feel them? what exactly do we feel? learned behaviour?. I think about time again and how its 3:45am now, I should be asleep, but as a millennial you already know insomnia is only for cool kids.

I think about how random these thoughts are, how I might never get answers .wanderers mind.

3am rituals.






Dr evil.

I was a mother once,

but the heart was young,the mind was juvenile

and the times were unkind.


It would have been a beauty.



Something about poetry and 4am.

makes my veins come alive.

Devils cup.

keep your darkness in the pockets of your tee shirt.

tame your demons before they strangle you.

you must tuck your troubles in an envelope and seal it with a smile.

don’t you cry loud now, the others are dressing their tears.

come, dip your fears in cologne now my darling.

you must learn the art of soliloquy.

There is too much darkness for yours to be noticed, considered even.

nobody cares unless you’re pretty or dying.

Set your table, dine with the devil.

drink of his cup, heed not his words

darkness is here, be very afraid.

Take a chill, now the pill.


paper people.

the pretty one

Vintage Art Deco Mucha Spring Lady Art Nouveau

Honeyed legs in a skirt, watch her sway.

locs of peaceful yellow,

bosom filled with careless promises

the sun and rain at war for her sake.

The breeze grows a crush and flirts shamelessly.

oh! she makes the birds sing,

chases the fog away, makes a lads day.

misses grow green with envy.

Orchid, lavender, daisies

Flora and Adonis dance in unison

have you seen anything more beautiful?

eyes catch the mist,

noses cry at dawn in awe…


the pretty one….




Not a soul.

Mother, all is well.

the sun is not kind.

but,uncles wife is warm.


Mother, my heart is full.

uncle says I’m grown, I’m a strong boy now.

he will teach me to trade,

I will work hard.


Mother, I am scared.

‘Its our little secret’ he says

I must be a man now.


Mother, I cant tell a soul.

Cold blooded.


They say,

you are the spitting imagine of your father.

They ask,

why are you so cold?

mirror in hands still, they cant see…

carbon copies