...the hour. It is a cold Sunday afternoon. We are several minutes past one according to my watch. My cold feet are thankful that the laundry basket is still full but my disoriented mind is freaking out.

This hour bears the weight of every choice I have ever made and I feel like pointing a cold finger at myself for the last few months or years maybe. I keep getting distracted. The stench of regrets sings

The owl believes that the night is king but morning birds lay in wait. Before the dawn breaks, the dark must conquer and bury us. Crickets chant as those who thrive under the cover of the shadows make

I have been struggling to contribute to this community but because the admin always knows how to fish for a healing response, here I am. I am banking on the universe choosing this exact minute for me to

...logs in. Good morning human. It is another weekend in the realm of men and as you are still alive, ingrained instinct will/must wake your skin suit to participate in this fresh cycle of twelve or more

My back is softly cursing the consuming need to wash a load of laundry that had accumulated for two weeks earlier today but my inner perfectionist is smiling at the almost empty basket. The mind is clinging

It is past midday and my mind is still trying to dig itself out of an unexplainable grey space. The routine expectations I had for my shell are weighing a lil heavier on these bones and so the waiting

...breath. Before you throw in the towel, breathe. Let the abundance of air find your lungs. Everything is tied to the now. Drag every demon from the shadows and let the countless versions of yourself

I want to write a poem to my raging inner teen But she doesn't like me I have seen the hate she holds in her eyes For my choosing to sacrifice Everything she held dear To survive. Her bleeding hands reach

It is almost sunrise and after a long night -I am in my sleeping around 7 pm and then waking up at 1 am because I think better at night era- of obsessing over balcony garden ideas, cement vases DYIs while

When a community you are a part of asks you to share how you let go of anything or anyone you have been attached to one way or the other, my initial thought was/is the admin asking me to dry my dirty linen

Greetings from a cold East. A dull atmosphere holds the scapes of where I call home as it has been holding my ink captive. I have felt the need not to ask anything of my uneasiness but your constant check-ins

I am a black woman. One who is different from any other here only because of my geographical location. I am a fraction of the evolved Bantu woman who must have sprouted from the earth itself somewhere

The universe listens. It has heard. The losses of yesterday are yours to pin on the walls of your tomorrow. Breath child. There is nothing your persistent soul can't reach for. Your dreams are a constant

Dear Diary... The day is 23rd February at 23:33 as my fingers have decided to dance to the raced beat of my mind. Slow Swahili ballads are soothing my tired soul and I am choosing to spew what is being

Before silence falls on my writing voice and my ink-pot goes dry, I feel aligned with everything I am. And being an empath who relies on her emotions to write, I always succumb to drawing from the intensity

...dear diary, time has stitched seconds to bring the living to the beginning of the end of a dying year and her fading days are carrying every question that men usually have for their inner beings when

To the child of a long night, worry not. Dawn always shows up even when the hour hand drags itself across the face of your watch. You are a light. One that carries the weight of a dying star. You should

...dear diary, the echo of caged words is trying to drag me from the shadows of my inkpots and I can't help but smile at the stitching phrases rushing from my depths to your screen. ...in a secret battle,

After a week of dealing with a myriad of emotions, the universe has decided to send me a more positive note to break the silence here. In the last seven days, I have turned 39 and met a light I intend