A Little Bit of Sunshine

In the late afternoons we meet, under the avocado tree Enshrouded in the fragrant canopy of leaves...  We draw circles in the sand with our feet every now and again, a fruit tumbles down for us to eat. And oh  how we eat...  You chew on my thoughts like decadent pastry I sip on your words, tangy yet refreshing. We paint the air with our hands  And carve our names with our teeth,  marking this place for eternity  As the sun dips low in the sky We  stammer and trip over simple words,  suddenly shy  It is time to say goodbye.  You have your obligations and I...  I'll be just fine you'll see. Until we meet again, next week Under the avocado tree 

When you look in the mirror, what do you see? Tree or seed?  See? Now was that so bad?  Why won't he get out of my head?  Why are you so afraid of everything?  Surely there's honor in trying, no? Answers : I've been avoiding mirrors of late.  Actually it was, I've just grown stronger for it. It was difficult for what I knew difficultly to be. Never belittle a challenge conquered.  Is it love, or you just wanna feel enough? I think fear can be a good thing. It pushes me, corners me in a dark alley. It is quite exhilarating, coming out alive. Being tossed into the fire and coming out refined. I am acquiring a taste for it.  No less than there is in dying, I suppose. 

07:00 am I awake in a tangle of  limbs.  The previous night's questions lingered on my skin.  Who will I be? Where will I go?   07:05 am ... A quick shower washes all  uncertainty away...  Head held high, I start my day My mission, always, is to keep it that way.  08:00 am I eat sweetened fantasy for breakfast (freshly baked last night)  and wash it down  with a steaming cup of excitement.  10:00 am I've missed it, the hustle and bustle of working on my feet The poetry and politics of it all The exhilarating rush of fear, that any moment now the pressure will crush me 12:00 am It never does.  And though I kick and make a fuss..  I enjoy it very much.  14:00 am The hours pass listlessly Slowly my head starts to droop to my shoulders  By the time I return home, I am but a puddle on the floor.

I heard it whispered in the corn fields  Greying women with aching backs Who, at the mention of the news,  lift the corners of their mouths a crack All at once they begin to clap.  A shift in the breeze,  says one A humming in the forest trees ,  chimes another  A fragrance of something to come,  chanting at once A voice carried in the Southern wind,  cries one A wink of light over the horizon,  sighs another  The tremble of giant footsteps,  shouting altogether No one could agree on what they had seen But they were certain of one thing.  A change was coming.  A call to order A cosmic gathering  These women, our great grandmothers mothers stood amongst the flowers Envisioning the life that would someday be ours A culmination of their prayers and wildest dreams Answered in you and me We are the blossoming of a 1000 year old seed the slaying of an ancient foe...  The fusion of target and arrow  A harvest fully...

Soft Spoken : A theme song My words are in the habit of walking down my tongue like a red carpet, requiring hours of pampering and powdering before they're ready to leave. Other times they'll hide down deep, extracted only by rescue team. Artist featured:  kiyanochka Quote : by me

You never used duct tape to make me quiet The words " shut up " went unspoken.  You didn't need an iron grip to keep me still But you've always liked me better when I was silent Found me prettier with my mouth closed Any words I spoke shrank you like a stone You became so cold A distant place, no longer home. That's how you keep me under your control ...speak over me in attempt to smother my voice  And pretend it is my choice. You nod in approval when I am tight lipped You tell me the world is easier to swallow with my mouth zipped You treat my opinions like weapons My honesty it threatens, your calm facade My 2 cents land like hand grenades My breath sharpens like knives The echoes of my mind, slice through the air like a blade I've learned to scream without making a sound Sometimes I can't sleep at night because the quiet is so loud. PS. : I often wonder, should I have a child...if I will smother her cries in the night, and is doing so for my benefit or ...

"I hadn't  even known  it was lost,  until I discovered  it again..." The steady flow of creativity is still a mystery to me. Sometimes a tsunami wave washing over me, other days but a small sip in a paper cup. Still the words, they come. They always come. I'm never comfortable until they do, always certain that I've just been lucky all along. It may take a day or two, it may stretch a few weeks but they come to me. I realized they're always there, waiting for me (and they always will be). What a precious thing! It was never lost, I was. That bleak year of 2019 in which I couldn't write. Of course I could, maybe in ways I didn't recognize. But we're here now, somewhat wise. Wiser? Here are my most significant writings  : (of the year) 1.  To Whom it May Concern  - June 24th I consider this piece the trajectory that started it all (again)...because isn't that it? A cycle of planting and reaping and planting anew. I learned no longer to crave the...

It's the second day of the year and already I've managed to gain a regret. I had an uncomfortable conversation this morning. Words were exchanged. And no matter how much I tried to lighten mine, they landed quite badly. My first instinct was to wish I hadn't spoken at all.  I've done nothing wrong, says a quiet voice. I communicated how I felt, the best I knew how. I can no longer put blame on the listener, the delivery or my thoughts for existing at all.  My cowardice is my own. Tip-toeing around the truth, swallowing my feelings won't make them go away. The truth must be spoken no matter the taste. I'll take being understood over a false sense of piece ( *peace, this was an actual typo and I'll take it as a sign, how I can't even spell it)  Conclusion : My main worry was that I've possibly ruined/stained the new year, which confirms that I believe conflict is "messy" and appearances matter to me more than actual peace.  I'm nervous a...

Obligatory morning selfie... A Final Word I've nothing cheesy or deep to offer. I have less insight than ever before. I've been going on faith alone, and it's scary and stripping.  What I Learnt There's no final-boss mode or ultimate glow up to reach in order to be truly happy. There's just who I am today, and the choices I'll make. Sometimes I'll choose right, sometimes I'll misstep. Sometimes I'm on my way and don't know it yet.  Best Bits - My first forray into the working world  - Falling in love with my natural hair  - Dreaming again and rediscovering my passion  - Knowing God and myself even more firmly  - Being able to support my family where I can What I'd Like More Of 1. More scary experiences - I discovered I like to be pushed. Being tested to my limits and coming out triumphant.  2. Constant creativity - I'm at my best when creating. Even at my worst, I find solace in the words.  3. Connection  - To connect deeply to another hu...

On a dreary December night, just like this There stood a man Calm and unassuming. He walked too gently for my liking There wasn't a dent where his feet went He made no ripples in the sand But it’s no matter,  This is a legend about his hands Where his feet crept,  his hands leapt Dancing across pages,  painting entire  worlds  Or just one little girl, head full of curls  They sang too, coaxing imperfect melody  too shy to become song But still we hummed along He held no magic ...although in some lights he almost seemed to shine It's not that kind of legend You could’ve passed him on the street Hey! I think you just did No need to go after him, I know his secret  He told me once,  on a dreary December night just like this: He never created beauty  It was always there, hiding  in ordinary things That was his power, leaving the world  A little prettier than he found it.  And so it began, the legend of The Man Who Walked With ...

As the year draws to a dramatic close, I find it worthy to note: That I am still here, standing Somehow undefeated.  It is something of a wonder,  a little too short for miracle perhaps too quiet for breakthrough much too modest for victory...  It is to look out of the window  and realize you slept through the snow.  It is to voyage after a storm and count yourself among the unshaken.  To remain, to be of that which did not wash away... It parts the sea of my tears It feeds my soul five thousand loaves It resurrects my dreams from their tomb Oh it is too sombre for celebration,  but I bow my head a moment In reverence, in deep gratitude  And whisper Thank You. 

Come with me, there is much to see.   Chapter 1 A troubled letter scribbled to a friend one stormy December night...  Read it here : A Midnight Note Chapter 2 A strange case of mistaken identity... solve it with me...  Read it here : Sorely Mistaken Chapter 3 Some choice words delivered to an unknown target, in a rather unpleasant tone.  Read it here : In Spite

I watch you from the corner of my eye Your silhouette engraved in my mind You are beautiful A swift and ferocious grace, you cover behind that timid face Ah but your hands, your hands give you away Lethal, precise and sure You draw your sword, point your arrow Your aim certain and true, a warrior's armour befits you You stand like one of noble birth Like a diamond in the dirt,  you try so hard to hide your worth And I try to pretend I don't see you in such a light But these feelings I tuck away for another day, another life, in which I might tell you these things.

"I'm not a writer because I write. I write because I'm a writer."   I forgot for a moment, that this is what I love to do. Not for praise, nor for accolade. Not to save the world one rhyme at a time, not to relate to anyone. These words are first and foremost mine, dripping from my lips, ready at my fingertips. For others it is bow and string, paint and canvas, others glide and twirl or sing like birds.  I am good with words. It is achingly simple, unexceptional in its complexity.  I don't have much, but I get this. To keep. To cherish and to wield. Moments where I say the exact right thing someone needs to hear, at the exact right moment. Moments where that someone is me. And something like a key slides in place, a hidden door opened.  What traces I leave behind you are welcome to keep...but this one, this one's for me.