Descriptive, Emotion, Late Night, Life, Love, Pain, PenPractice, Shorts, Sleepy time, Thoughts, writing


What I saw was the “could-be” version of her.

Not the “current”.

I fell for the demo version of her, because she was worried her reality would make me turn away.

I can’t blame her. Maybe I would have run. Maybe I would have stayed, and helped put back her broken frame, piece by piece, till she resembled the perfection that my Creator made her to be.

Either way.  I did stay.


In love with the reality in front of me.

Looking at her naked self, as she strives to preserve what little shell she has left, because her last companion left her with the damages and walked out of her life.

Either way.
I’m here.

So I roll my sleeves up, retrieving some glue and some sandpaper in hopes that I could assist in making her whole again.

But she doesn’t want me.

So I’m here.

And I don’t know what to do.

Anxiety, Descriptive, Emotion, Life, Pain, PenPractice, Poem, Prose, Shorts, Sleepy time, thoughts, writing


I have to remember to release my breath.

I don’t want to die, I just want to sleep.

But the grip around my heart just tightens, as my chest heaves up and down. My palms are sweaty, and I find myself staring down the ceiling.

The once-white ceiling, now transformed into an artistic piece of daily worries, superimposed upon my inner insecurities. Fear being the curator, I’m seated at the exhibition and treated to a nightmarish tour.

I have to remember to breathe.

I don’t want to die, I just want to sleep

Forget my today’s worries and rest within the bosom of nothingness for the few hours I have between today and ‘tomorrow’

I just have to remember to breathe

I just want to sleep

Emotion, Late Night, Love, Pain, PenPractice, Poem, Shorts, Sleepy time, thoughts, writing


3 hours in and my body forces me awake. Body heat fluctuating because it can’t understand how I can sleep while my mind’s in emotional disarray.

The light pierces through my eyelids, and having the flash of bright light, I find myself staring at the white ceiling.

Maybe I’m not as good in communication as I thought.

Coping System, Descriptive, Emotion, PenPractice, Prose, Shorts, Thoughts, thoughts, Uncategorized, writing

Anti-Climatic Whimsy 

I do this a lot.

I dress my worries, concerns and ‘sigh’ stories in a series of unnecessary literary complexities because it has become increasingly easier to over-simplify the thoughts that race through my mind than to call them for what they are.


The thoughts, not yet spoken, bouncing around like a soda can about to be opened, and yet when the metal seal breaks it’s metal skin, instead of the expected rush of carbonated oral explosion, all I am capable of in that moment, is the gradual hiss of the sounds needed to ease off the pressure off my mind.

Carbon dissipates as the mind regulates back to norm, the coke losing the taste of what attracted its consumer.

I spend so much time navigating the whimsical nature of my mental landscape, as I and I argue the philosophical nature of the world I’ve been born in, often lamenting at how long the discussions take, and how little they manifest in reality.

Dreams upon dreams of change that I remain unsure as to whether or not they’d manifest in my lifetime.

One minute lost in the lands of Horizon Zero Dawn, marveling at the sight that a room of 100+ developers had managed to create, and the next minute, I’m sorting out the plans for my future, my scope, size and possibilities, seasoning the plate with relationship and familiar plans.

The world grows ever colder as the fires of hate burns brighter than ever. The broken branches of alliances being used to stoke the cold flame. The west and the east remain locked in a quiet battle as governmental figures joust with their words, their citizens being used as bet or worse, bait.

The rich acquire more as the not rich bleed the remains of their monthly gain into the pocket of the tax collectors and insurers. The healthy condemn the health service, hoping for dismantling even as the sick look towards the service that reminds them that they too are human.

We are taught that we are different, even though the we bleed the same red elixir of life when we are cut.

Truth is dismissed, regarded as a tool the media utilizes to control, as the people mistake facts for opinions. Lies become the standard of honesty, on the account of being able to “trust them to lie, hence implying i can trust them notwithstanding

 Fragility is one of the traits that represent humanity, in its delicate definition allowing humans to break… And be put together again.

And with our fragile hearts in its protected frame, we toss, pass and shoot like a game of handball, hoping that our hearts never quite touch the floor, but instead, make it into the court of whom our attraction is pointed towards.

Emotional landmines litter the wall of life like a battlefield, waiting for victims to step on and watch their fragile hearts explode in pieces.

Then we spend the days/weeks/months/years carefully putting together what we saw break down. It’s frustrating, it’s hard, its delicate and tender, sore from its misuse. But we took, day in and day out at working to ensure we are protected for the next time, because we didn’t learn from the first time.

And still.

Even with all our hard work and sleepless, pillow wet nights, there always exists a missing piece to the full puzzle.

The eternal evidence that we will never really be whole again.

And that hurts.

I live in a world where my skin acts as the unwanted filter to whether or not i get particular  life choices. Like an RPG game, where I’m hindered from progression via a pathway simply because I’m of the wrong race. 

But we deal. 

We buckle down and adhere by the rules of the land. We assimilate and confirm because it’s easier. Or so we’d like to believe. 

It’s easier to listen.

It’s easier to not be eligible to buy a house because I’m not eligible for a loan of sorts.

It’s easier to work twice as hard for a position even though i already possess more qualifications than my counterparts. 

It’s easier to be shot dead simply because i appeared more threatening on account of my height and my skin colour. 

It’s easier to be profiled before speaking, then re-profiled for having a good grasp of the nation’s language, culture and art. 

And yet, I’m still hated on account of me being black. 

And then there’s you.

The average person trying to make ends meet, and better yet, achieve those childish dreams that made you colour books and play dress up.

I’m only a voice in the corner of the internet, having whimsical conversations with myself.

But you.

You can be great.

Heck, you ARE great.

Now i don’t know if anyone has told you lately, but take it from me… Me, the written calligraphic words on your screen.
I believe in you.

Go be Awesome.

Coping System, Emotion, Life, Prose, Shorts, Sleepy time, Thoughts


​The time is past sunset now, the dark blueish tint enveloping the night sky above.

It’s a Sunday. Stereotypically evident, by the lack of cars on the road, and the orange glow of lighting in everyone’s home. It’s the day to cut back. Society would have you believe that should be a Saturday but it’s a lie.

Sunday is when you rest. Sunday is when you reflect.

In a few short hours, the subsect of the world of which it remains night goes quiet as the mind relegates to it’s battery saver state, preparing for the morning wake and the subsequent actions that follow. Clockwork really, as the body gets set back into its routine of making money and pretending to look busier than they actually are in hopes of making more.

Typical stuff.

When I was younger, I used to fantasise that I’d be sitting at the edge of a building, or beachhead or balcony, watching the sunset in the horizon. This…dream would usually be populated by close friends and a girlfriend, conversing, laughing, socialising and eventually being comforted by the silence of being next to loved ones, as we gaze into the distance of where our deepest dreams lay accomplished. The sunset would usually be in its earliest position, the orange glow bathing us in that warm hug of loving goodness, just before it dips below the horizon.

The sunset is different now. My fantasy having being transformed by life experiences, the orange tint is absent. Now? It’s just me at the edge alone, sitting with my eyes closed.

It’s relevance in being open is useless here.

After all, what’s there to see but the dark purple mix of warm and cool, painting the sky in the uncertainty of what the future might hold. I had once believed that my path onwards would be one taken together with a group of like-minded people, walking hand in hand.

My naivety has been cruel to me. I once led myself to dream that we’d all congregate in years time, together on that edge but even I knew that to be a lie.

Maybe it’s time I get up from the view before me and return back to the house.

Late Night, Sleepy time, Thoughts, thoughts

Musings After Dark 1

It’s 3:21 AM.

Sometimes I wonder what would cause a man to stay up that late except for indulgence in nefarious purposes but currently, in my case… I’m trying to fix my PC. Of all the things in the world, it’s importance is little, but it remains a coping system, helping my mind to wander the dark recesses I leave untouched.

I’ve been meaning to pen my thoughts for a while now, but as you know… my mental debates rarely makes it on the white pages of my personal internet space. And man, have I talked. About random things too… From random debates on which [Bleach] character is the strongest to comments about the political, social and emotional aspects of the world.

Here I am, fretting about the working state of my computer while out there, somewhere in this cold and dreary Christmas weather, children are running with their parents, away from a life of blood and ashes. The internet remains awash with pictures of Kanye West and Kim Kardashian, supposedly in reports of a split. President-Elect Donald J. Trump continues his ill-advised Victory Tour as he relishes in the era of lies, fake news and demagoguery that he has created.

As someone born in the 90s, sometimes I find it weird to reconcile that fact that not only have I gone through a drastic and steep change in technology, I’m possibly present at what could be the turning point of the world.

Tension is high between governments. Citizens are concerned about employment and job prospects. Refugees are hoping for a chance to live again, and not survive day to day, hand to mouth. The division caused by the era of hatred that Adolf Hitler created is suddenly being re-enacted.

Splitting hairs really, aren’t I?

People used to be better when I was little. I’m not so naive to think that the world was perfect, but as a race, we cared. We loved. We welcomed with some form of open hands. Or at least, I believe so.

But as technology progressed, it would seem our capacity for more emotions has dwindled. If we can’t share it on Facebook, or Twitter, or Instagram, or Snapchat, our interest in the matter severely reduces, except the brave few who go out to do the things we’re too coward to do.

2016 is coming to an end, and everyone seems to buy into the expectation that 2017 would be much better than this plot-twist of a year.

I find myself doubtful however.

Nonetheless, all we can do is hold our heads up high and march on into 2017, determined and ready for whatever may come our way.

it’s 4 AM.

I should probably sleep.

Life, Pain, Thoughts, thoughts


These last couple days have been surreal to me.

I had hoped that eventually I bounce back to some version of normality that would allow me to cope and adjust to the injustice that the world I live in seem to revel in.

I was wrong.

The rhetoric has been said, directly or indirectly, by many. It has been repeated by many, shown in movies by different characters, written in stories, drawn in comes and the reality of it all still hits true.

“The world is broken.”

As of this morning, I woke to the news that 5 police officers had been killed by armed shooters in the middle of what was supposed to be a peaceful protest. I pictured it in my head as husbands/sons/fathers leaving their houses to assist in the protest of a movement, only for the reality of the job to set in as they lay bleeding in the dark because someone, somewhere found their organisation guilty of something and decided they’d pay the price. It’s been hours since then but we mourn.

In the space of three days, 3 black men have been killed under questionable circumstances which re-directed everyone back to the reality that out there, there are numerous people who are, by default, biased against us because of the colour of our skin. Like a phone reminder so we don’t forget that we are not generally liked by the world. As almost expected, we rose up in our droves and protested, social media, physically, at the sights that we had been forced to replay over and over again, burning the images of the men bleeding out into our brain. The deaths feel too close to home. SO we mourn.

Let’s not even forget the Nigerian kill in Italy for defending his wife against a racist. (<<It’s a link… Go on and click)

In just a week, the world watched as Baghdad streamed the atrocity committed at the end of their fast. Bodies strewn around like confetti as we had to realise, once again, that life is fleeting. Families torn apart at the whims of others because they want to get an ideal across that is contrary to what is current. So the hate spreads, deeply ingrained into the hearts of man as tears roll down the faces of the afflicted. The rhetoric that a specific religion was responsible for heinous crimes, proven once more to be untrue. Our hearts fall heavily, as we mourn.

These last couple days have been surreal, so to speak.

I had hoped that eventually I return back to some version of sanity that would allow me to cope and adjust to the injustice that the world I live in seem to revel in.

I was mistaken.

As the years went by, realisation struck me in the meanest of ways, opening my eyes to notice that we, as a species, are becoming more and more divided, pulling away from one another because we want to “take our stuff back”. Our “countries”. Our “lands”. Our “money”. Our this and that, so we fight to break off in a world where we should be drawing together to fight off the evils in the darkness.

The internet is rolling as I speak, mud-slinging and tearing at each-other’s throat as the blame game is played extensively. It is always someone’s fault at the end of the day.

United we stand. Divided we fall.

I guess we’re still falling.

Sleepy time, Thoughts


Happy New Year, Folks.

I began this year wonderfully. New plans and goals and everything. So it’s been a great start to the year. Hope it has been alright for you guys too.

Anyway, just wanted to do a quick post.

10 days after the new year, it would appear I’ve hit my first lull of the year, and while it wasn’t brought on by anything in particular, it did spurn the following piece.

It doesn’t make that much sense to me yet, but I’m gonna share it 🙂

Here it is:

Serenity sets in like a drop of liquid onto a still pond. The first touch, and then ripples, then stillness. 

There is rest. There is peace.

Till I hear my name called out by my Father, and the stillness gets interrupted. While accidental in his waking up of me, my body’s systems haven’t quite balanced out yet, so emotional landscape is in pieces.

I await the calm.

Nonetheless, my mind casts it’s net forth into the recesses of my thoughts for a distraction, a break from the current reality that had begun to seem mundane and came up short.

Too little a bait, or maybe too large a thought-pool.

I await the calm.

The raging thoughts of my mind continue on, spurned on my emotional lightning. Yet still, my face bears no trace of what I feel. I worry sometimes, that I can’t properly show what I feel, but then I get reminded how untrue that is.


I await the calm.