Last calls before home

The last seven years of my dear life I’ve spent moving, from home to an old city then to a reformed city and now waiting to run back to where it all began, home. I’ve moved from gain to gain, from love to pain to more love in all. It all seems like there is…

The way I touch my body

…and most books I had picked from that gallery described women as sexual beings as nothing else but idols. I insulted my thoughts for buying into the idea that it could be, I withdrew from reading such naive praises. Let me teach you the ways I arouse myself. The ways I’m locked in, soaking my…

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…

The perfect kind of lie

Picture gotten from- AJGIEL It’s not the same old. It’s not the differences in passing time either. It’s the new ways I’ve learned to listen, hold hands, rejoice and share. I’m a bit swollen from it all. My head yearns for more. The drive pushes me every morning to be productive, to not call it a…

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…

“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….

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…

On ageing

In my thoughts, in my head, in my journal. Here.   Win your battle before you come home to mine. Don’t remind me the trails of footsteps I face everyday. It’s not enough to live young, wild and free because I know of places that don’t bring me such experiences. Hold onto the existence, let…

Dear woman, dear man..

There are ruthless ways your own words may have been translated. There are places you sing songs of war and some you whisper courage. Twice you may have been beaten down by fear, ignorance and love with hopes to come to terms with ever flowing chills. You may have seen you without the others, those…