He met Rose on the first day 

Pretty with frills and pink lipstick to go

Her laughter brought out his

He plucked a flower and tucked it under her ear

It just felt right.
Catherine surprised him

Intrigued him, caught him offguard.

She had the ease of the river

the depth of an ocean

And the wit of a goddess 
Pessimistic Ann was his least favourite

She always had her brows crooked

Almost in the same way she viewed the world

He wasn’t sure she really liked him.
The day he met her 

Her name captivated him

She was gasoline to her own fire

He felt like ice; melting in her presence

But also like a candle; finding the lighter he so desperately needed.

Life and Chess

I’ve been playing a lot of chess lately and though I’m not so good at it I’ve learned a lot of lessons from it. Yes dear reader, this is a motivational post.

So the average game of chess has 32 pieces with 16 pawn pieces. And generally, pawns are just that, pawns. They are used to trap a more valuable piece (Queen, bishop, rook or Knight). They are considered indispensable.

Pawns do get promoted to Queen. Bishop, rook or knight if one plays their cards right and makes right moves. My point is in life we all get assigned different roles, we all get defined differently, we all get different ‘starting points’. But that shouldn’t bother us, that shouldn’t matter, because just like a pawn piece we may get promoted to something bigger and better if we try, if we work hard and if we don’t give up. 

So basically don’t give up. Life is a game of chess, think of your moves before you make them.

For further clarification, this is my dictionary’s definition of pawn:

(colloquial) Someone who is being manipulated or used to some end, usually not the end that individual would prefer

Bookshelf inside my head

My head is full of stories 

Stories I pretend I made up
Because that’s the only way I can live in this lifetime.

Like that night when I was 8 

When you came to my room and told me it would hurt

But I shouldn’t tell because that’s what family does

I died with every push that night.
Or the Day my Mom died

I prayed day and night for her to be healed

I was only six and I believed our prayers got answered

My faith in God changed that day.
Remember Aunt Mary

She was sick for the longest

The day you went to the stores

She told me to bring her a glass of water.

I saw her take her meds. Or so I thought

When you came she was no more.
Did I tell you about my 14th year 

And how I cried myself to sleep every night

And my arms knew the razor blade too well

Looking back I don’t know why I was so sad.

Maybe it was the divorce and having to pick sides.

Maybe it was the whispers that Daddy wasn’t my father

Maybe I was just overwhelmed.

Latent Rapists

​Latent Rapist…for colored girls who have ever considered suicide (a must read excerpt)

Latent Rapists by Ntozake Shange

a friend is hard to press charges against

if you know him you must have wanted it

a misunderstanding

you know these things happen

are you sure you didnt suggest

had you been drinkin

a rapist is always to be a stranger to be legitimate someone you never saw a man with obvious problems

pin-ups attached to the insides of his lapels

ticket stubs from porno flicks in his pocket

a little dick

or a strong mother

or just a brutal virgin

but if you’ve been seen in public with him, danced one dance, kissed him good-bye lightly

with a closed mouth

pressing charges will be as hard as keepin your legs closed while five fools try to run a train on you

these men, friends of ours who smile nice stay employed and take us out to dinner

lock the door behind you

with fist in your face to fuck

who make elaborate mediterranean dinners & let the art ensemble carry all ethical burdens while they invite a couple of friends over to have you are suffering from latent rapist bravado & we are left with the scars

being betrayed by men who know us

& expect like the stranger we always thought was coming

that we will submit

we must have known

women relinquish all personal rights the presence of a man who apparently could be considered a rapist

Especially if he has been considered a friend

he is no less worthy of being beat within an inch of his life. being publicly ridiculed having two fists shoved up his ass

man the stranger he always thought it would be

who never showed up

As it turns out the nature of rape has changed

we can now meet them in circles we frequent for companionship

we see them at the coffeehouse

with someone else we know

we can even have them over for dinner & get raped in our own houses by invitation, a friend

I Hate Love…

I hate love poems

But I want to write you one.

I hate love poems 

But you are the muse behind mine.

I hate love knots

But with these gifts I hope you forget me not.

I hate love notes

But here’s one. 

I hate love letters

But this one is about you.

I hate love bites

But please cover my body with yours.

I hate love handles

But I hope mine help you find  your balance

I hate love songs

But they make sense when I’m with you.

I hate love stories 

but you are my favourite.

I hate love at first sight stories

But you prove me wrong.

I hate love

But I love you.

See my confusion.

It Can’t Happen to Me

Guess what? It can. And it probably will. Sorry to burst your bubble.

Recently, four days ago type of recent, I’ve had something I never thought would happen to me happen to me. I 100% thought “yeah, it happens. But to them. Not people like me”. Get this you and I, we are the them.

I have been (am) young and wild and reckless. Most (young) people are. We make decisions either fully aware of the consequences if it turns out bad or not aware of the consequences at all. We call ourselves risk takers, we call ourselves young wild and free, we call it living life in the moment because tomorrow isn’t guaranteed right? Well right. But everything has a limit. Freedom is only free so much until it imprisons you. Wildness is only so wild until it tames you. Living life in the moment is only fun until tomorrow comes. Recklessness is only so thrilling until you crash. And 99.99999999999% of the time crash you will. 

I’ve crashed. I am burning. I’ve finally fully comprehended just how selfish, self-centred and reckless my actions were. I’ve hurt and disappointed people I love. People who mean so much I just want to make them proud and keep the smile on their face. I’ve learned that your life is not your own, you have people counting on you, rooting for you praying for you, cheering you on. And your failure is their failure. Your recklessness is their hurt and disappointment.

I am kinda glad I’ve crashed. This is the wake up call I so desperately needed. I don’t know how I will mend the relationships I’ve broken or earn back that trust but I am determined to be careful in my decisions and hope God helps me work this out.


Life is one big canvas.

Most of us know this, but few of us fully understand this. 

I just got an epiphany on this Life is a canvas phrase and felt I should share it.

A canvas is one big blank sheet of paper (usually white) and artists express themselves with different colours of paint on it, painting beautiful masterpieces like Picasso. 

Life is the same. We get a big blank sheet of paper and all these colours of paint, which I realised are decisions. The decisions we make get painted on the canvas, both the good and the bad. After a decision is made we (the ones who bother with introspection) take a step back and look at the follow up consequences, the painting so far. We may not like the consequences and wish to start over, get a new canvas, paint a new picture but alas (dramatic I know but I couldn’t find a better word). We only get one canvas, one life. So maybe we take out the white paint and paint over the bright bad paint that ruined the picture but alas (again refer above) hues*. You can still see the bright paint under the white if you look closely. But then again, maybe you don’t have white paint on the selection of paints. Maybe there is no starting over. Our decisions are paint after all not pencils. We don’t get the eraser.

So,in living life, I’ve decided to think more of the bigger picture I am trying to paint. I am not going to choose paints recklessly and end up with an ugly messy canvas. Rather I will choose the right colours and maybe seek help from more experienced artists (the old and gray who now know better) because life is one big canvas not an art exhibition with paintings showing the phases of our life.