...

Because someone has looked into my eyes and has found the stars.
And it is a terribly exotic, exhilarating and frightening feeling.

Train Station

She sat at the train station, watching people and trains go by.

It is because you are this mirror of loss and laughter and fear.

That is why it is so difficult to function.

It is because you are a battle.

Inside you is a battle.
Between fear and grace.

And it will not let you function.

And it makes you wonder what the fight is for.

Why you will not let yourself sink.

Why you will not let yourself feel.

It makes you wonder.
And it makes you cry. And it makes you confused.

You make me want to run.
Thoughts of you, make me want to run.
To no where.
You make me want to run into nothingness.

But not really.
Because there is so much to be experienced.
So much to laugh about.
So much to overcome.

It is such a confusing emotion to feel.
To not know how you feel.

She sat at the train station, watching people and trains go by.
And in that moment, her mind was not her own.


This blog is becoming a confusing diary lol.

To Love.

To love. Is to give yourself away.

To trust is to invest in the unknown.

To love is to trust.

To trust is to walk on the streets of love.


We all carry burdens. But we know not how to share. 

So we walk with hunched backs around masked streets.

We all carry burdens.

But we know not how to share.

And so those few moments in which we realize we do not have to hold our mouths.

We take off our clothes.

And stare at our naked bodies.

Negotiating our scars.

But we know not how to heal.

So we wear our clothes and go back to the masks of our homes.


To love is to depend.

To love is find a mind reader.


To trust is to let you take off my clothes.

To love. Is to stand naked.

To love is wear your clothes home.

Happy Early Valentine's. x

(Clothes somewhat refers to masks/burdens)

Melting Candles

I like the smell of liquor on your skin.

The playfulness of inebriation on our tired minds.

It was one of those days our hands felt like sweet-scenting melting candles

Our lips like cigarettes and sweet liquor.

Our love was this plethora of emotions.

A sickening mix of brown eyed blushes and ruffled short skirts.

Impromptu kisses over textbooks and blushing actions under tables.

Our love was grey feet from running in the euphoria of unspoken kind words.

We were drunk on nostalgia.

My heart hadn't beat so fast before.

With this longing glistening in your eyes.

We crashed.

Like two unwilling robots.

Programmed to run in the other direction.

We crashed.

My lips meeting yours first.

 Holding on to your breath like a source of life.

We crashed.

Your hand pulling on my skirt.

This sweet uncontrollable desire.

Like liquor and melting candles.

I like the taste of liquor on your lips.

The playfulness of inebriation on our tired minds.

Liquor.

Normally I'll have a story or some sort of inspiration behind my writing. But there really isn't a story behind this one. I was literally just sitting down minutes ago, channeling my random thoughts and this came about. I'm not sure what it's about myself.
I have a feeling this will be happening pretty often from now, seeing as my mind is to busy to settle down and let me write as soon as I think of something.
I hope you all have a great weekend! :)

We sat in the shells of our former selves.

Listening to the heartbeat of burdened souls.

These cracked selves we have created.

What we did to us...

 

Our lights were the taste of liquor.

Our hearts  the inebriation of cigarettes.

We melted,

Slowly..

Like snow.. on a cold sunny morning.

 

Our love...

My love.

Was a fade of itself.

A present memory.

 

We lived in the nostalgia of our imaginations.

Look what we did to us.

Look at the scars on the edge of our smiles.

See how we don’t find our eyes as we speak.

 

This is what we did to us.

This is how we tore ourselves apart.

Looked after the pieces of our decay.

 

I hope we find this laughter we search for in the dark corners.

I pray our feet lead us to the Promised Land.

And I hope we relive these days of youth.

These days we have let melt away...

Like wax burned in slow lustful heat.

What Is Home?

Hey darlings, long time no see right? I've been having writers block or maybe I've just been too busy to settle down and come up with something. Anyways, I was listening to Vulindlela by Brenda Fassie the other day. My dad played this song on many Sunday afternoons on the way home from church or to and from a Chinese restaurant after church so the song made me miss home. After listening to the song over and over again, I realized how amazing it is that so many facets of my childhood takes me back home at random times. So I decided to ask my friends what home was to them. They weren’t expecting the question of course so I got many “what?”s then I explained to them what I meant. When you think about home, what comes to mind? What is something you love to do that makes you feel like you are at home again? Then they understood my question and for some of people I could see a glimpse of nostalgia in their eyes. I have attached a video at the end of this of their answers to my question. But of course I would tell you guys my answer the question first.

Right now, if you asked me what comes to mind when I think of home. My answer would be something like this;

Home is… bread and mayonnaise.
Home is the smell of my mum’s ogbono soup.
Home is my sister’s too loud laughter.
Home is my dad’s smile that wrinkles the sides of his eyes.

Home is my mum’s too high gospel music that woke me up on random mornings.
Home is the smell of rain on the sandy soil in Kano.
Home is the sound of the rain on the roof.
Home is my mum and aunt speaking Esan in loud tones. Standing to demonstrate the gist perfectly and me trying to decipher what they were talking about.
Home is those nights my mum would come back from work with suya.
Home is sleepovers with my childhood best friend.
Home is my sisters and I staying up until dawn gisting about God knows what.
Home is peppery indomie and ribena on cold rainy days.
Home is my mum’s pancakes on Sunday mornings.
Home is my dad helping me “prepare” my pancakes by putting honey on them and slicing them.
Home is the expression on my mum’s face as she sings and dances to her old school music while looking at herself in the mirror.
Home is the family house in Kano.

Home is family.

Home is always family.

:)

Hope you enjoy video! (sorry the quality isn't great, still working on my editing skills.) Please leave your comments letting me know what home is to you.

Background Music: Home by Phillip Phillips. Thanks Fritz, Devina, Malik, Grace, Sarah, Fareedah, Amos, Tapiwa, Samantha, Lenora and Cyril for being in my video :)

Thoughts of a sleepy teenager.

Hey awesome people. I have been extremely busy with school work(Finally started college!!! Might actually put up pictures later) hence my not being active over the past weeks, but I'm back, at least for now. It's past 2am and I have a class really early tomorrow, well today. But my hands were itching to put something down after not writing in so long, so I just wrote this. It was inspired by a conversation my friend and I had yesterday. Enjoy, and share your thoughts.




"I want to play in the rain!" Fade said. His eyes welled with screaming eagerness.
'No Fade, you will get a cold and fall sick afterwards!'


I wish we knew how to play in the rain. Without worries of how and why and when and what and what if.
How would we play in the rain? Why? What if we get a cold?
I wish we could still taste the doodles of childish abandon at the back of tongues.
I wish we knew how to laugh. the kind of laughter that cleanses the soul.
I wish we knew how to save, knew the power that lies in the opening of our mouths.
I wish we knew how to be happy, the kind of happiness that didn't run out.
I wish we knew where the end of the tunnel lay. Where we stop and say I think 'I have done enough now' and not look back and give into temptation to run again.
I wish we could see the finish line at the end of the race we run. Maybe it would be motivation to run faster.
I wish we had the key to the maze we lock ourselves in.
I wish we still sang the kind of songs that weren't heavy with age and experience.
I wish we remembered the aimlessness of sugary youth.
I wish our hands could fix the broken.
I wish our words were kind and humble.
I wish our world was kind and humble, and happiness came before success.
I wish we would try to understand what success is and maybe realize it cannot be tied to one thing.
I wish our wings were let to spread broader, discovering our limits or finding out we were limitless as we flew.
I wish our paths weren't drawn.
I wish we didn't lie to ourselves so often, we forget the truth.
I wish we could be thought the things we actually needed to know how to achieve.
But these things we really need to know, sometimes cannot be taught.
So I wish we at least knew how to dance in the rain and bask in the joy of the moment. Sink in this fountain of playful grace.
Until our minds are shut down or are reset to be what they used to be.