And one day when you look in the mirror,
all the demons you contained will stare back at you.

This, your moment of making peace
with the you you never accepted,

when you get to it,
I hope you say, welcome, my love

I have been waiting for you.
Do not join the world in crucifying yourself.


The God They Tell me about


the God,

the God they tell me about, he is a sadist
who derives his power from my pain
and occasionally, uses it for my happiness

the God,

the God they tell me about,  he is heartless
he sits back and watches while I break into a thousand pieces
and steps in to save the day when I am healing

the God,

the God they tell me about, he is powerless
they say life is not fair but he is,
what kind of almighty sense does that make?

the God,

the God they tell me about, he does not read poems
especially angry badly written poems.
he likes futuristic prose of lions and lambs side by side
he does not like to be questioned when he, disappoints those he said he wouldn’t,
nope, it is time to sing a soulful song and get our hearts back on track

the God,

you cannot be angry at the God they tell me about,
he likes happy people.

12:40pm on a Sunday afternoon


I slept through a bad dream last night, but the weather is good. Let’s enjoy that for now.

It was too cold and I had to wear socks, colourful socks, but the weather is good. Let’s enjoy that for now.

It was 2am and I was still up, as I usually am, loving every page of Sputnik Sweetheart yet the house was empty and I was scared, but the weather is good. Let’s enjoy that for now.

The family went away for the weekend, to officially allow the man to have the sister. I should have been there, but they got him because she’s 30 this year and it makes me sick, but the weather is good. Let’s enjoy that for now.

It was a good weekend anyway. I spent it in bed with Haruki Murakami, sipping on cold coffee and listening to the rain and Asa and Lorde. It was almost perfect. Almost. His shadow hovered over my thought space, but the weather is good. Let’s enjoy that for now.

I abandoned my workout weeks ago. In the mirror, my body looked like those in the ads. Well, not defined and all but enviable. Oh, it’s been a long time coming, but hey if it’s looking great then maybe we can afford the manic episodes after all, huh? But the weather is good. Let’s enjoy that for now.

I hate the smell of fresh paint. It makes me sneeze but the house looks great. It’s like there’s new life, except walls don’t breathe. Or talk(But they have ears, I have heard).  Same old ghosts with new clothes, but the weather is good. Let’s enjoy that for now.

I haven’t journaled in a week. I lost myself in the maelstrom called life. I forgive myself.

The weather? It is singing Ditmas and wearing nothing, it is toes meeting the cold floor making a sandwich at 2am, it is Laika on a spaceship, it is solitude.

The weather? It is a dream weaver, it is owning revolutions and taking part in them, it is love on a Sunday morning, it is finding it’s voice.

The weather is good. Let’s enjoy that for now.

“Where do you go when you’re by yourself?…” ~Moving On, Asa

so you want to be a writer?: Charles Bukowski


if it doesn’t come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don’t do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don’t do it.
if you have to sit for hours
staring at your computer screen
or hunched over your
searching for words,
don’t do it.
if you’re doing it for money or
don’t do it.
if you’re doing it because you want
women in your bed,
don’t do it.
if you have to sit there and
rewrite it again and again,
don’t do it.
if it’s hard work just thinking about doing it,
don’t do it.
if you’re trying to write like somebody
forget about it.
if you have to wait for it to roar out of
then wait patiently.
if it never does roar out of you,
do something else.

if you first have to read it to your wife
or your girlfriend or your boyfriend
or your parents or to anybody at all,
you’re not ready.

don’t be like so many writers,
don’t be like so many thousands of
people who call themselves writers,
don’t be dull and boring and
pretentious, don’t be consumed with self-
the libraries of the world have
yawned themselves to
over your kind.
don’t add to that.
don’t do it.
unless it comes out of
your soul like a rocket,
unless being still would
drive you to madness or
suicide or murder,
don’t do it.
unless the sun inside you is
burning your gut,
don’t do it.

when it is truly time,
and if you have been chosen,
it will do it by
itself and it will keep on doing it
until you die or it dies in you.

there is no other way.

and there never was.

I’m attracted to all the ‘wrong’ things, Bukowski for example. I’m in a love-hate relationship with Bukowski, I think everyone who has read his novels and poetry collections is, right? Riiight? I just finished ‘Love is a Dog from Hell’ and I am reading ‘Women’.

If you are a sane person, I do not recommend Bukowski. If you are crazy in love with Lowell or Yeats, I do not recommend Bukowski. If you like poetry that needs explanation to the ‘ordinary mind’, I do not recommend Bukowski. Also, if you feel like quitting your job, Bukowski is a good catalyst. And here’s some of the bad advice I got from him;

“The worst thing for a writer is to know another writer, and worse than that, to know a number of other writers. Like flies on the same turd.” -Women

“Never get out of bed before noon.”(I cosign this 😉

“If you want to know who your friends are, get yourself a jail sentence.” -Notes of a Dirty Old Man

“Any damn fool can beg up some kind of job; it takes a wise man to make it without working.” -Post Office

“If I’m an ass, I should say so. If I don’t, somebody else will. If I say it first, that disarms them.”



it’s complicated


Okay, here’s the thing;

There’s three letters in the waste basket
and one badly written poem,
not that this is any better
but the metaphors, they made it scary deep.

Here’s the thing;

You’ll find a missed call on your phone
and a blank message,
you’ll call me back and I probably won’t pick
it’s a question of courage.

So here’s the thing;

I intended, as you might have noticed,
to find some courage in this poem
to tell you that I sorta kinda like you
and I have failed miserably.

This is what you’ll do;

You’ll see this poem
and pretend it isn’t about you, okay?
You’ll laugh at me and continue to make fun of my toe nails,
and if I show it to you say, “Girl, you have some imagination going for you” and then you’ll toss it aside and roll your eyes like you do with the rest of my poetry.
And you’ll tell me about Leicester and I’ll roll my eyes too.
We’ll laugh and talk about Tolkien.

And that is the thing;

There’s some strange way 
my stomach has been turning at the thought of you,
I was told it’s the kind of feeling
that complicates friendship.



Some of this music doesn’t heal. But well, who said it was meant to? It’s absurd that on a day like this you’re listening to Daughtry and reading The Pleasures of the Damned. Did they not tell you that’s suicidal? Do you feel suicidal?

You will come away bruised
but this will give you poetry

The bruising will shatter
The bruising will shatter into
black diamond
No-one will sit beside you in class.
Maybe your life will work
Maybe it won’t at first
but that 
will give you poetry

-Yrsa Daley-Ward

Does that make you feel better? Somehow? No? A couple of hundred words won’t cut it? So it’s not about what you want to hear, is it? It’s lunch break now. Why don’t you take a walk down the street and grab a little sunshine? No, it’s not going to bloom flowers in your heart and you won’t come back smiling petals. Or maybe you will, I can’t be sure. You’re quite mercurial I can never tell. But go, it is good for you. Yes, it has a lot to do with you being here alone drowning in your thoughts and that music. Good God, here. Have my iPod. No, there’s not much music your style. A lot of Zambian and Kenyan music I don’t understand either but it’s good for your dancing soul. Here, take a walk down the street. Oh, and for God’s sake don’t read Bukowski when you’re feeling suicidal. I’ll borrow the book. Pick it when you’re back.

Book Review: Questions For Ada


Questions-for-ada-KindleI have been listening to ‘Fire N Gold‘ by Bea Miller on loop. Actually the whole album, Not An Apology, is very much like this book Questions for Ada by Ijeoma Umebinyuo. There’s so much vulnerability and yet undeniable strength in this poetry collection. It’s hard for me to keep quiet about something I love. I go on and on about it and I have not kept quiet from the minute I started reading this book. I have talked about it to anyone who cared to listen(God bless them.)

The truth is, I am not done with the book. Oh, I did finish reading all the poems, do not cry fraud just yet but it’s that kind of Literature you go back to, to find yourself; the song you’ll have on loop all day because of the meaning it carries, because of how deeply it connects to your soul. This book is that song. And when you come to the end of it, you don’t expect it. It’s like this song, you’re just starting to get the hang of it and poof! it has ended, so you play it again, you re-read the words and every other time they make more sense than the last. It is poetry that is powerful and if you ever doubted if words can change a life, you just might have to change your mind. It heals. It has the audacity to call out your weaknesses and  make them an apparel of strength.

Poem No.5

Healing comes in waves
and maybe today
the wave hits the rocks
and that’s okay,
that’s okay, darling
you are still healing
you are still healing.

Yes, they have a sophisticated simplicity to them and expressly written with raw candor. You know, like Hozier music. It draws you in and leaves little but heavy truths you will never forget. Questions for Ada is a book every woman should read. Why, you ask. Ada is an Igbo name for “daughter” and you will find that the poems reflect on womanhood, sisterhood, love, and go the extra mile to empower. Yes, they do.


A woman’s body
the language of her soul
with no apology
is a feared entity.

I shared my favorite poem last week, even though that might have changed as I delved further into the masterpiece but I’ll try to look decisive and say Phoenix is it! The truth, though, is that there’s no choosing when it comes to Ijeoma. You want all of her, and it’s a little unfair that they should expect you to have a favorite song, don’t you think? Can’t you just like many songs, each differently but with the same love?

I loved reading this book really, it must be quite evident. It was hard to finish because I kept going back, not wanting it to end. I’m not getting over it anytime soon, feel free to surprise me with a hard copy of it 😉 If I were to rate it, I’d give it 5 stars. Yes, it is that good. I’m not sure though, there is a song I would give 5 stars. It’s so easy to fall out of love with a song but I have loved Maya since I could remember. Yes, I have enjoyed throwing music into this <3.

Questions for Ada

Ada are you in love? Yes.
Is being in a relationship hard work? Yes.
Do you write love poems to your lover?
Every day.
Does your lover believe in you?
Yes, but sometimes I fear my lover does not
comprehend her light.
What do you do on those days?
I bathe her, I play her some jazz,
I fed her, I weep for her.
Describe her in a sentence.
Her eyes carry strength,
her words scratch, she speaks love.
Ada, are you in love? Yes.
Is being in a relationship hard work? Yes.
Who is your lover? Myself.