It ain’t right that you write poems
about stars and stars,
only ever seen on screens
and night skies,
but not me,
your ever present.

It ain’t a fight
but you fly on painful ache,
with words like broken glass and bare feet
where you dance
How you love to flirt
with the edges of despair.

It ain’t night
but the candles burn bright
through the darkness trapped inside
by thick curtains.
And sombre music looms about, restless.

Until you say
“Hello pain, its me again,
hoping for the 78th time
that this will be our last date.”
And he responds
“This was on short notice,
but am here for you.
Always have, always will.”

Edge Of Despair.

Painting By Martha

Praying for weakness in my knees
as I descend into the sea.
Not the one before me,
the one brushing on my toes
with waves and crystals of blue sand.


But the one raging with a violent tide
in my mind.
It calls me.
Invites me to the wonder of my existence,
reminds me that the world is vast,
and if I drown, no one would ever know
or dare to call my phone number.


So I may as well just sleep,
though I didn’t lay it
in this ocean bed of cold anger.
5 toes in front of the others,
I walk.
I hold my mouth together
as teeth chatter
and tighten the grip on my despair.
Deep breaths
Deep breaths
—No one care.


But together
The sea and I
We form a wind and anger
that could cause a hurricane.
Only if I will feel no more fear
but be the fear that fills others
So we could invite and watch them dance on the edge of despair.

Salty Years And Soiled Tears.

You left me hanging
You Left abruptly
I stayed hurting
Trying to understand things.

You left me crying
Hoped you were coming
I kept on waiting
You never returned.

You had me begging
My world was ending
Besides you,
nothing was all that I had.

Silence got louder
pain was in order,
What I had become
Was nothing close to sober.

Like the pieces of a puzzle
little ray’s began raining
on my decapitated soul,
green leaves began sprouting.

Healing is what you need
to bring your soul home.
Forgiveness is what you do
to bring healing to your heart.

So I wrote you a letter,
Trusting that you will read it,
now or later.
Its the last you take from me.

I forgive you for hurting me, I forgive me for letting you.
I take back my dignity,
This time I will let you go.

I forgive you for ghosting me, I forgive my self for pursuing you, to a point that I was ready to lose my self.
“I am choosing to find myself”

I forgive you for abusing me, I forgive my self for thinking you would change heart, or that I would change you.
“People don’t change people”

I forgive you for leaving me in this broken state,
for not answering when I called, for not replying my long texts.

I don’t regret falling in love with you,
but I forgive my self for choosing you, and now,
I chose me.

Thank You For Reading.


I wrote this poem from real pain by a loved one who left without communication. The same person recently emailed me asking to meet up. We did, but nothing fruitful came out of that meeting, except more hurting. And now after 4 years, it feels like am back in this place. But I am strong. And yeah I wrote this poem 3 years ago.

Thank you again🤗

(Did any of you notice what I did with the title?)


I am
the reflection
in the mirror,
and a stranger
on the other side stares- deconstructing my face,
touching my nose,
brushing my brows
with a stroke
of his third finger.
“Do I know you?”

I am the shadow
being followed
by a body
being modeled,
if I run, if I fly
will you ever keep up?
I have often wondered
why you never look for me
how you never look at me
but I am always here,
ready to hear your deepest secrets
And We Won’t Tell.

Until Unfolded.

Wrote this a while back, excited to share. ❤

I have become the side effect
of the words I used to create,
may be the shadow
of my own drawings
howling in the corners,
stuck in the lobby
with drunkards.

Myself, intoxicated.
Might say, in folded pages
of forgotten notebooks
is where I still find my reality
and my reality it seems,
still hides from me
experiencing things momentarily.

Like empty bullets from a smoking gun,
the evidence of a crime
and reality of pain
as existence becomes invisible,
even the ashes become a fire,
burning unto nothing,
all for a cause untraceable.

Trapped in between the lines
of my own words,
hanging on the edges
of my own drawings
I still hold onto this pen and paper,
hoping that these ashes
will start a fire.
And I will survive,
walking out
like the hero
I paint my self
to be.

Poems posted on this blogger are my own creation. Thank you for reading, liking and commenting. Am so happy to share my work with you.

Another Lockdown has been imposed in my country, and that means I will be posting more here. I can’t wait to share my work with you and if you have any ideas please share in the comment section. Thank you.

Puzzled at Crossroads.

I intend to be a man
whose freedom needs no defence
with intentions aligned and justified,
but I have to first unlearn and unbecome the prisoner I’ve grown to be.
In an ocean bed of light
and a sky of terror
I am here,
caught in between the wars
of sky and sea.

The change as I preach it
Is easy to speak and hard to be,
the rouns of my darkened past
are deeply woven in my black skin
and together form the me that you see.
So when I yearn for freedom
but justify the injustice,
please understand…
I descend from the slaves.

So I keep coming back
hoping to break the shackles
that impende me.
Being honest, I also come back
to visit the old me
the one liked by my past
the minimizer,
the pretender,
the down playing slacker!
How audacious, and weak.

I’m in between
A dark sky and shining sea
where there is no bridge
here I abandon my fears,
my cravings for being wanted
by a society that has never known what it wanted.
across the waters, I cross
as I mourn the need to prove my self
and embrace my truest self.
And Selah! justice beings.


The secret is in our blood
Descendant’s of a bloody past
the remnants that hold the sun
and never burn as we shine.

I descend from a clan
whose history is unmatched
and future is untamed.
We are not humble, but fearless
care less about races,
running on our pace
with peace and strength
as we hold each others hand,
and shine together in all colours
giving home to the rainbow.

Africa, home beyond home.
fortress to the warrior
palace for the queen,
Jungle for the king.
We are everything we are,
and even when they left nothing
with us,
Stole our gold,
broke our backs,
ruined our history
running off with ours and us.
We survived.

So you can count the stars,
and read the numbers
but you will never define who are are.
We’re still alive and revived
running wild and free
still we stand and here we are
Unchanged, Untamed, Unmatched.
The secret is in our blood
Descendant’s of a bloody past
the remnants that hold the sun
and never burn as we shine.

Through Eyes of Grey

This Poem is different in formatting, and content. I am trying diverse expressions because I believe art is simply freedom to be. I hope you like it, but I’ll still be fine if you don’t.

starts to
never knew.
It will be
the simple things
like a cup
of green tea,
or a smile
of a grandchild
that will hold
you up together,
soul and spirit.
As everyone sees you
amused by the sunrise,
and infused
in the sunset.
It is only because,
You see your self
In everything.

Hard Things

Painting by Cynthia Ruffin

You know, life is like jail when you get to think about it.
See, we are birthed here to do our time and then exit to where ever we existed before we actually existed.
What ever the sentence, and how much time one will do is mysterious,
how some do 100 years and others 10 seconds on earth is based on facts unknown to man, at least to those of us who still are alive.
Everything we know; we know it because we live in this medium now,
whatever happened before we existed in this medium has been formated from our brains and what ever will happen in the next medium can only be hypothesized.
I apologize for being dubious but understand,
I am plunged into an existential crisis every time one of my own descends into oneness with our ancestors.
And it’s not about not having the answers, because I do have the learnt answers.
But the answers provided by religion, and history, and theories, and science and all forms of belief systems don’t mean you stop having questions, the fear, the doubts, the dread, the plight.
They still exist, even as the priest stands on the pulpit and says “he has gone to be with the Lord” or “she is in a better place of no sorrow and pain.”
Yahhh, it sounds right and all, but it doesn’t feel right in here, my folded heart doesn’t instantly unfold to that truth, or hypothesis.

The little boy in me hides
in a dark little corner,
hoping to be unseen
so that he can see him self
as a whole existent being
with a purpose.

And so when I say
fewer words to everyone
around me,
am having deeper conversations
with everything inside me,
telling the little boy
that he is safe, and loved.

Telling him that loss
is part of life,
and even though we’ve evolved as a species,
we still fumble
like our stone age ancestors did, in the face of life loss.

“And religion, and science, and history, and belief systems all provide answers for our brain, because that’s what the brain wants, To Know!”

But no one
provides answers for our hearts,
and no one can,
because the heart looks for
nothing like answers.
It looks for truth,
and the truth is that,-

“you just lost somebody you love, and that makes you feel sad, and afraid, and alone.”

So the heart says,
let’s feel sad,
and alone,
and afraid, together.
It’s okay, I promise
we will be fine,
but it doesn’t have to be now.
We can feel hard things too.
And the heart never lies.