Posts Tagged ‘Poetry’

Photography by: Anatoli

Sometimes my poems don’t make sense.




Othertimes, they are the only thing in the whole wide world





Posted: February 23, 2018 in Poetry
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Artwork by: Andreea Cioran

Sometimes you don’t need anyone to feel special, sometimes you don’t need other peoples company.

Sometimes you just need to be alone…

You, Yourself and Alcohol.

Artwork by: Lola beltran

These days when people ask me what I do, my first response is that I am a student. I understand that I am not just one thing but also a whole of other things but the ‘student’ tittle is the one that comes to me naturally. Just as easy the ‘student’ moniker rolls out of my tounge, I find it harder and harder to identify as a writer. There is a pause, a stutter of some sort, in between the question of what I do and my subsquent response.

Can I really call myself a writer when I barely even write anymore?

The follow up questions are always “What kind of writing do you do?” or something along the lines. I say “I write poetry” as it seems to be the only form of writing that is inconsistently consistent , or that I write “short short stories” which I havent written in a while.

The moment the words come out of my mouth I feel like a fraud. Like someone who is taking credit for something I had no hand in, to something that I am not.

What is a writer, really? Someone who creates a completley new world from nothing? Someone who is able to transform the person reading the texts to a completley diffrent emotional state? Someone who’s published?

Does self-identification as one suffice to be worthy to hold that tittle?

So many questions that lead to a whole lot of other questions, questions I can barely even begin to answer.

So what happens, what’s next? Will I even publish this post? Or is it going to end up like the other millions and millions of unfinished writings that bite the dust or sit in my archives collecting dust?

So what is the RIGHT answer to this question of being or not being a WRITER?

No Titles

Posted: February 17, 2018 in Poetry
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Art Work: Johan Deckmann


I think of you when I read a poem

I think of you when I write one.

You have invaded my poetry

Weren’t my thoughts enough?


I will keep writing poems about you,

poems for you

so one day I have written enough poems about you that

I don’t anymore.

A couple of month back one of my friends and I were approched to be part of an exhibition focusing on East African Arts. The exhibition is called Future Trends, a look into a utopian future where reimagined fashions, design, and architecture combine with emerging forms of technology to establish new desires. The Exhibition showcases work from emerging urban cultures using fashion, styles and architecture from East Africa. A future image of society is presented by playing with gender, sexuality and new forms of social exchange.


Tainted love

Posted: May 25, 2017 in Poetry
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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
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​Pain is a language.

I am fluent in.


were a good