I write letters to myself every year when my birthday comes around. Of course none of them see the light of stage unlike most of my pieces😀 I chew them up after reading.

So today I decided to read/write this one out loud.

Dear me, how are you doing? It sure feels good to be turning a year older, doesn’t it?

First of all, congratulations for making it this far🦋

You have done well so far, and I hope you are ready for the beautiful life that lies ahead of you.

A few things to remember though. Your whole life has been a race, and I’m glad you’ve stopped running. I’m glad you’ve stopped moving past life’s most intimate and important moments with an air of nonchalance. I’m glad you’ve slowed down, you’re starting to breathe, you’re starting to actually live life.

Remember, happiness is a choice you’ll have to keep choosing, every morning.

Remember, you owe no one an organised life. In the chaos, find your peace; that is all that will matter.

Remember, open your eyes and look, really look around you. Enjoy this moment because in a year, things will be different.

Remember, you are you. Be you. Everyone else is taken. Be the happiest and most free version of yourself.

Remember, the weight of anyone’s expectation is not worth carrying.

Remember, you will always have people who love you and care for you. Kindly, reciprocate.

Finally, I love you more than anything in this world.

Happy birthday buddy❤️



There is a section of my world that almost always seems to be stuck in a two dimension picture. It is always a sunny afternoon with a gentle, almost unnoticeable breeze.

There is a large green field that stretches out till it kisses the horizons. White and yellow flowers that bloom decorate the otherwise spotless green carpet.

There is a road. It is red- brown. Occasionally, dust rises and dances to the lazy drones of passing tractor engines. This road divides the field into two, equal, large portions.

My mind sums up this picture and whispers a single word to my nerves…calm.

Calm is good. Calm is stable.

And this picture, this place, this single moment, is the thing I miss most amidst these chaos.


A breath of fresh air…

A breath of fresh air…

a pleasant break

For my nostrils.

It must be my reward

For wrestling the strong grip of


And escaping it’s

Cold hands.

A breath of fresh air…


To my reborn soul;

A pleasant break from

The stale atmosphere

That encompasses dingy darkness.

A breath of fresh air…

My reward

For choosing light.

I Feel Like…

I feel like I’m losing my patience.

I feel like I’m straining to hack this.

I feel like it’s hard being female.

I feel like it’s even harder being female amidst resounding street anthems that undress my being.

I feel like an item on display

Dusted, polished long enough just to keep

Buyers and bidders interested.

I feel your eyes staring, examining me as if I were a huge chunk of beef on display at the butcher’s.

I feel every inch of your gaze as your eyes peel away.

I feel like lust just beat chivalry in this race.

I feel like I’m fighting,

But here,

There are no victors,

Just victims.

I feel like flirting and friendship

Never broke their coerced embrace;

Blurred lines…

I feel like I’m tired of standing up for what’s rightfully mine

I feel like you choose to ignore me

I feel like gigs and YouTube views borne from you describing the awful things you would do to me,

Without my permission…

I feel like that,

That matters more to you than what an entire gender feels.

I feel like a sell out to some of my sisters.

The ones who sing along to your lusty lyrics.

Lyrics that linger at my doors

Long after they’ve been tuned out

Lyrics that just won’t give up

I feel like a sell out to my bros

For mostly, they just expect the welcome sound of my pin drop silence and lowered gaze,

Each time their gaze lingers a little longer

I feel like they feel like I need to bite my words.

Bite me.

Why would you recklessly forget your ethics

Is it that worth it?

Why would you want to shrink all that my womanhood entails into a single small box labelled

Sex object?

Why sell out an entire sisterhood

Is that stipend even worth it?

So Stop.

Stop staring at me with eyes that seem to scream,

I want to!

Don’t get me wrong,

It’s not that I don’t want to.

I want to.

But I want to when I am ready and sure that I want to.

So don’t.

Don’t shuffle behind me in the street,

Attempting to rub your front against my backside,

I know.

I know that once in a while

As you stretch your hand to open the bus window

You deliberately brush that elbow against my bust…

I know.

I know that that hand didn’t just bump into my bum…

I’m tired of feeling caged.

Of explaining boundaries over and over and over

To unheeding ears.

I feel like I’m losing my patience

I feel like I’m straining to hack this

I feel like I’m starting to hate this.

I feel like…

I feel like…


human hands illustrations
Photo by Matheus Viana on Pexels.com

I am the embodiment of dreams immersed and stained by greasy puddles of reality.
I am the deep orange sunset’s reflection in a mirage on mounds of desert sands.
I am fury wrapped in whirling winds in hurricanes.
I am pain and its unforgettably searing jab.
I am laughter and the vivid vibration of its mirth.
I am tears, salty and runny in spite of the cheek’s terrain.
I am blankness, an empty canvas stripped of color and image and sketch
I am in awe of the new owner of this canvas.
I am impatient to see what she will paint on this canvas.
I am so many things
I am scanty but I mean the world to

Three times…

Three times

I stretch my finger

To touch your hand,

Three times

I linger.


I lift my head to look straight into your eyes,


I hesitate;

Freeze like ice.

Third time,

My face lifts.

In your gaze I drift…

and your scent;

strawberries that send swift ascending chills

From my heel

To my head…

And head over heels,

I fall.

I fall,

I try grasping onto my walls,

But I fall.

My hands hold you

In my mind’s eye

And I fall….

I try to flee but

I feel.

I feel.

I feel different.

A serene feeling with no

Nostalgic ring to it.

… and three times

I stretch my finger

To touch your hand

But each time,

I linger.