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
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.
There’s a sound I will always remember. The sound of a body bag and a mortuary crane. Oh, how the yellow zips clipped and crackled my chest, Closing off things … Continue reading Some day, you will meet your home–
The garden of Eden Was the first funeral We brought flowers to. We bring flowers to funerals Not as a gesture of love, Or sympathy But to feed … Continue reading Lilies, Roses and Tulips
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
When I was a little boy, when I still dreamt of being a lawyer like many of my peers at that age, my inquisitiveness bothered my mother. “Mama,” I … Continue reading The Purposes of Writing from a Lonely Place
Gay, skinny, big headed and undignified Zulu boy are some of the adjectives that are often attached to my identity. I always knew I would question my identity, but I … Continue reading I will never be Zulu or Man Enough
From a very tender age, I have always been a churchgoer. I was never able to make a distinction between Christianity and being a churchgoer. Even then, I knew that … Continue reading The Gospel I Know: The Commodification of “Prosperity” Churches
A journey through the toughest challenge of my life.
Depression & Anxiety Rehabilitation Guide
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I cried soul deep, looked into the mirror with eyes that had pretense peeled away from them; I saw myself. I saw myself in the purest form I could and I loved me. I wanted to be me. So, let me journey to a place of utmost and complete authenticity through vulnerability. I write conversations in my heart, debates in my mind and noises in my soul. Bear with me while I bear myself naked before you.
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Musings on poetry, language, perception, numbers, food, and anything else that slips through the cracks.
"Diving into a writers soul is discovering the broken treasure and beautiful mysteries that make you gasp for air."
