He had to die in that perfect way, with a perfect number of stabs–all around his chest– and died close to the stream that was across the veld near our home.
You are writing this letter to your younger self, hoping that he could have been less stubborn. You thought your stubbornness was the best quality about yourself. How you must … Continue reading On Love, Grief, Poverty and Pain, Or a Letter to My Younger Self
I am certain that the kind of love that I want, wants me. The kind of love that stays knows I will write poetry about my past pain but that is not their reference book on how to love me better.
maybe you don’t call it depression maybe you don’t know its symptoms— maybe you blame the devil. it must be the devil, or the boy that left. … Continue reading I Tried Calling it Depression.
You need no one’s permission to want to stop living. Even for a small second. You’re allowed to let go.
what if i am the one in need of healing? what if i love you, so much, that i still love him what kind of hell will that be … Continue reading this greed. this misery. what if?
and the night you have a lump on your throat when the air becomes too thick to breath, and your chest too heavy to carry you, or your heart … Continue reading autumn. you nearly died, for him.
The first time I loved a boy more than he loved me, I remembered my father. I remembered how my mother loved him more that he did her. I … Continue reading The Things I Know About Love
Cry, my beloved country For your children have forsaken you. They have placed themselves above freedom Turned their children to serpents, Cry, my beloved country, For your children weep with … Continue reading Cry, my beloved country (a poem)
I want your dreams to know the scent of my skin, To call me by name when I am not around. I want them to know the bumps on my … Continue reading Lovelessly Loving You
“My hobbies include having conversations with myself– Like how I could approach a boy today, Without scaring him or sounding too dumb, Without outsmarting him, because that would be too … Continue reading I love a boy, and he left me– a poem