We are home-made

  Picture gotten from- Pinterest When we were born, we weren’t told of sisters. We had cracked lips that were dried by the christmas’ harmattans. If asked about fear we pointed at masquerades, sometimes, at our parents but never ourselves. We were used to being indoors, settling our inner fights with communion. You’d barely hear us…

Rivalry- a poem of taste

Picture gotten from- Pinterest Have you consoled your embroidery? your interwoven sleeves carved from healing smites? Mother of souls. Mother of colds with cursed sores. You remind me of moon tales, skipping bad omens for good fortune.   Oh buttercup! Save these little fingers for one itch. Bring men that think like goldsmiths, black and beaten,…

Frightening the challenges that come with tomorrow

For Millennials-   Picture gotten from-Camilleabrown We will all grow to a point where we learn not to lie against ourselves, where we will all outgrow our humble beginnings. We will reach a point of satiety in our lives one way or the other, where we fear less about what we used to hesitate to…

Sedative sentiments

Picture gotten from-Jannaleadams Let’s awaken the grieve of Joy, the little laughs with babies, foe and your toy. We can be generous with words, writing with rhymes against all odds.   Here’s my token of wealth, here’s love, happiness and my skin the way it’s felt. Could I wander in your tones of delight? your…

As a black girl, living in Brighton, England

Picture gotten from-Proud Brighton A lot of black people I’ve been privileged to converse with are skeptical about having to move to or study in Brighton. The popular buzz of Brighton being known as a major gay city also tends to affirm their dislike for this beautiful town. I moved to Brighton September 2014 with…

For millennials: 21

  Journaling There is no warmth in waiting for the right time. The patience will sting harder than the truth you believe about holding on. Misery becomes more appealing. “may you be defined by your boldness in running through dry and dark cracks.” I’d get into the bus sometimes, most times with my headphones banging…

“Sour chills”

I don’t remember the first time I fell in love. The solace it took to bring me to this troubled place. I don’t recall heartbeats I’ve felt from time to time belonging to strangers and men I once kissed. I don’t remember how to unlearn this silent attitude, the one that brews spite from those…

Outgrowing the wild

I was about cooking Jollof rice when I looked out the kitchen window to see the spectrum of bloom the weather left the sky. It reminded me of evenings in Aba (my home town in Nigeria). It reminded me of the way the weather back home tells us how much it would pour rain down….

Self-betrayal for my art

05:09am Picture painted by Abasido I’ve held grudges for mid-nights that refused to give me the right words, for ecstatic memories I needed to feel at times like this. Here’s how people who applaud the cracks and loopholes in my craft talk to me. Did you hear them? Did you see what I wrote about them?…

Nwoke’m

Do you ever listen to your own repetitive connections at 03:00 am too? Picture gotten from-Pininterest I’m starting to think imaginations are art. I’m starting to love the entangling emotions built from it. How strangely I could be fluid and solid like an umelted candle at the same time. I’m starting to feel all the…

Happy women’s Day

Picture gotten from-Figurative art To be here, to join hands and to murmur what it’s like to feel this way. To feel like a woman that I didn’t choose to be but of the nature that chose me. Here is to all the days and all the nights I stay with me, with womanhood thinking…