They had lunch at one of those fish places at Arat Kilo, the ones whose business’ bloom during the fasting season; where people conflicted about religion come to indulge themselves in some good ol’ protein, a break from their usual vegan diet. Fishes are animals, no matter how much you convince yourself they are not. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know that, she thought.

They asked her about school first and she couldn’t master the courage to tell them that she quit.

“Its fine” she said, her mind drifting to when she decided to drop out. It was supposed to be a regular day; she had a Criminal Law class in the morning and psychology and forensics science in the afternoon. She would have had lunch at the usual place a few walks from the campus and would have went back to her dorm to rest till it was time for the next class in late afternoon like she has done for the past year and a half.

But she woke up with this feeling she, still to this day, cannot name that morning. Usually she had an argument with herself in the mornings, trying to decide whether she should keep sleeping or reluctantly drag herself out of bed. She would weigh the pros and cons of staying in bed or going to class, more often than not the weight tilting in favor of the later. But that day was different, she didn’t need to have an argument, no convincing, no pros and cons to mentally list down, she just knew.
So she stayed in bed the whole day, only getting up to drink the beso her aunt insisted she take with her when she went back home during semester break. She stayed in bed not because she was depressed, but because she was free, free to catch up on the sleep that she’s missed out on for almost two years. She slept till it was tiring to do so. The world was continuing around her and for once she did not try to catch up.

“Are you gonna eat that?” her sister asked pointing to the crispy fish tail on her plate and snapping her back to the present. The crispy tail used to be her favorite, the crunchy sound echoing in her ear as she chewed on it. But now, seating in the over crowded restaurant with the smell of fish in the air so much so you could probably smell it on your cloth days after, all she can think of is how much she wanted to get out of the place.

University was supposed to be the place she was supposed to “discover” herself, and instead she found herself drifting into a shell she never knew she had. She’s never been away from her parents and completely on her own before. She was thrilled at the freedom that came with going away from home so the first semester went by like a breeze. She was too drunk off of freedom that she didn’t care that she had to drag buckets of water from the tap to her the bathroom on the 4th floor to take a shower nor did she mind the long walks in the scorching sun to get to the restaurant outside campus. She was finally doing things on her own, away from the prying eyes of her parents.

But like all drunken nights, a hangover soon followed. The endless bickering of her dorm mates, the tiring trips up and down the dorm block, the hot days and cold nights, the virtual in existence of the concept of personal space hit her with crystal clear clarity. And she hated it. She hated every moment of it.

Law school was worse; it was filled with self-important kids and unimaginative teachers. There was a clear divide between the City kids, the ones from the other parts of the country and the locals. When she was a senior in high school, some people (mostly relatives that always wanted to jam their opinions down her throat) told her that she should study business or accounting because there are so many banks that hire college grads, others told her to study a 3 year course and get married or become a hostess, “you’re pretty enough” they used to say, while her parents firmly believed if she was stuck in the social science stream, she might as well study something prestigious like law, as prestigious law can get for a celebrated engineer and a physicist. All choices that put into consideration what they wanted for her rather than what she herself wanted: whatever that is.  Her parents decided for her that she was going to study law and that was that. Like every single thing in her life, she accepted their choices without batting an eye, and if she did, nobody noticed.

Her grades were fine. They weren’t great but they were fine. She occasionally went to the library, and made a point of not staying there a lot. Some of the guys with their laptops that always sat on the library steps at all hours using wi-fi always took it upon themselves to make inappropriate comments about her hair, her body parts and anything and everything. She was used to it, and with the help of her dear friends “earphones”, she avoided hearing their nasty catcalls.

“… so this lawyer friend of a friend of mine, you remember Aster right? Well, her friend has a law firm and I am going to talk to her about giving you an internship this summer. you will have something to do during the break. I think I can find you a spot at the AU for your externship in your senior year as well and your father talked to Dr. Brook and he said he will review your senior thesis for you. I know you still have three years but still it’s good that you pick your topic now”, said her over achieving mother, always thinking months and years ahead.

“I quit!”
“I withdrew from college and I am not going back”

And at that moment the crowded restaurant went quite, a you-can-hear-a-pin-drop silence engulfed the room as if time was frozen. And the only thing you can hear was the crunchy sound of the crispy fish tail as her sister chewed on it.


Tainted love

Posted: May 25, 2017 in Poetry
Tags: , ,

Previously tittled: I didn’t like the tittle of this poem so I changed it to this

Which was previously tittled: i hate you (IN CAPITAL LETTERS)

Which was previously tittled: dude, make up your mind

Because this poem was originally called

ANGER, bubbling emotions and burning hate

It’s sad when you try to extend a leaf to people 

to something you though was beautiful


all you get is thornes

all you end up with are bloody fingers

a broken heart


I loved you, at one point or another. I loved all of you.

Now, now the thought of you makes me want to write a poem to stop myself from thinking about the way I think of you.

So I am writing this poem to make myself stop from thinking about the way I think of you

and none of it is good.

and none of it is helping. 
Tell me

If you love with your heart 

and you hate something from the bottom of your heart

will that be considered love?

But then again, hate is a strong word. Hate takes effort.

Why hate something, someone when you can think of vampires eating vampires, 

the refugee crisis,

and squirrels!

You know, more important things than…well, you. 

I loved all of you, at one point or another

but not anymore.

You are tainted. Spoiled. 

All the memories of you, all three of you

have a dark cloud hanging over them now

casting a shadow on an image that has never been clear

and that has never been clearer

than now.

My bitten nails are clawing out the memories of you and there’s nothing I can do about that

they move with their own volition and you have made sure of that. 

You’ve inflicted a cut but boo, I have more scars than you would think is possible. 

You can count the marks on my skin,

the wounds on my flesh, 

the tear in my heart

and never make it till the end

you don’t know who you’re dealing with

So I write this poem for me

for the broken down me

for the still standing me

for the forever will continue standing me.

And I thank you

Through my words; the only blessing I can bestow on you than you deserve

Through this poem. 

I say I loved you

This is the last time you’ll hear those words.
And I hate you for making me feel so hateful

For making me bleed my emotions on to this poem

For making me write this poem. 

You’ve hurt me today

but you’re not gonna hurt me tomorrow

YOU have made sure of that!


you are tainted

you are tainted….love.

And if this was a film, I would point my fingers

dig you through the crowd 

and look you in the eye as I slowly walk away from the podium to my seat

but this is not a movie

So I just walk away from the podium to my seat

squeez through my closest friends


Untittled Poem #?

Posted: March 20, 2017 in Poetry
Tags: , ,

​Pain is a language.

I am fluent in.


were a good



Posted: March 8, 2017 in Poetry
Tags: , , , , , , ,

I have been reading Nayyirah Waheed’s beautiful poems and recently finished her book of poems Salt. I’ve never bookmarked a book like this ever before with every page making me shake my head, ‘aww’ and ‘Oh My God’, the last book I can remember that made me feel this way is another poem book, Questions for Ada, which now that I think of it is very similar with salt, adressing smilar issues. 

I know it was relesed a while back and I can’t believe I haven’t heard if her before this weekend but I am glad I do now. I was very very very, can’t stress that enough, inspired by her short but deep poems adressing issues of race, love, heartbreak, Pan-Africanism, womanhood… 

Anyways, here is a poem clearly inspired by Nayyirah Waheed’s poetry. 


Water dropped on my face

it tasted like salt.

Water dropped down my cheek 

it moved like the strong currents of 

the sea

that took you away from me.

like the sea between you and me. 


Posted: March 6, 2017 in Poetry
Tags: ,

Be yourself

cause ain’t nobody got time

to be you

for you

About A Boy

Posted: February 21, 2017 in Life
Tags: ,

I knew a boy.

I knew a boy when I was a little boy.

I knew a boy when I was a little boy that knew another little

I knew a boy when I was a little boy that knew another little
boy, whom I also knew.

So the boy I knew, the other little boy and I became best
friends. We were inseparable…partners in crime…two peas
in a tripod, only there were three of us.

We would meet in the mornings, after our parents have went to
work, and set out on our mission for the day. We lived in the
outskirts of the city srounded by trees. Before the trees
were cleared out for the construction of the high way and
houses that just seemed to pop out of nowhere, you could take
a walk from my house, or the house of the boy i knew, and a
few minutes later you’d find your way inside the forrest. But
not from the house of the other little boy cause his was a
block away so if you walked from the other little boys house,
you’d find yourself inside the forrest in a few more minutes
than it would take you from mine or the house of the boy I
knew. Point is, we lived close to the forrest, all three of

We would spend our days sliding down mud slides, swimming, or trying to, at the nearby pounds or climbing trees (which I was very good at btw). We’d go to this place called koda; a place where a leather factory would dump its remains  waste, and practice a back flip or two, or any other gymnastic stuff for that matter. For the waste was dumped on this long acres of land way behind the factory and it usually cushioned your falls after those backflips or two and the other gymnastics stuff that you did. That was precisely why everybody went there actually, cause the remaining materials from the factory, the waste, cushioned your falls….you know, after those backflips or whatnot.

Point is, we were best friends. Key word being were. I can go on listing the amazing things that we did together, the boy I knew, the other little boy and I, and boy were they amazing. But I won’t and instead I’ll get right to the point that I’m
trying to make.

Fast forward a few years and we had traded sliding down mud-slides, swimming in pounds to watching others do them in movies and doing back flips or two to doing them in games…with no need for falls to be cushioned. But we still did these things together…most of the times. 

The older we got, the lesser we saw of each other. We all went to different schools and somehow that seemed to matter when it never did all along. We did things alone more. I read a book alone, as that seems to be something that one does by themselves. The boy I knew spent more time with his computer
than humans and the other little boy got into sports, something one does with other people that are interested in
the same thing. I wasn’t, neither was the boy I knew. So we spent less and less time together.  

Fast forward a few double digit years and the three of us haven’t been in the same place at the same time in I don’t even remember. Our lives have went in three completely different direction that I doubt we’d ever even run into each other on the streets. And the one or two times a year we do run into each other, you could slice the awkwardness between us and feed it to a dozen hungry construction workers after a long day work and you’d still have leftovers. 

I knew a boy. I knew a boy when….

…but did I really?


Posted: February 18, 2017 in Uncategorized
Tags: , , ,

​I just stumbled upon a blog post under the ‘other related posts’ section of WordPress about this challenge a blogger did. She told her colleagues who are poets to write a poem about ‘words’  to see what they’ll come up with. And although the theme was the same, each poem was different than the other. It was interesting to see their diffrent interpretations of the same thing. 

I felt inspired by the post so I just wrote these short poems about ‘Words’.


It’s funny, isn’t it?

how sticks and stones really hurt

But it’s words that make the deeper cut.


He was always taught 

to think twice before he spoke

to swallow words

                               to chock on them