I think you are beneath me.

From your large callused hands to your mismatched shoes, think you are too low, in the hierarchy of things i would like, things i like

I like, dark skin, on white sheets, soft lips scented with whisky, i like tall guys with cute lashes i like goofy ass people who make me laugh, i like sarcasm and yet you,

You with yout mismatched shoes and belt got my attention and now am not really enthralled but more captivated than i have been in a while, you, see me say i have wrapped my principles soo thickly around me am in a cocoon you who thinks am too boujee, too intelligent yet.. Yet i know

You are not the one am looking for, you are just not it

Daily post:deny



There are some elements of lie in every truth, if ever truths are spoken. How do you tell a truth from a lie, actions speak louder but then there is Hollywood. Oh well

Here is a truth. I cant lie when asked a question.

Its like the intonation of the sentence is a trigger to my brain to totally do away with the “they arent supposed to know that ” filter. The end result is i have true pieces of me left stuck in someone’s memory as a not so seriously ment tirade to a not so seriously asked question, then the same person has the gall to say i hold so much of me inside.

If the universe ever decides to map my life my joys my pains my labored struggles in this mass of heaving earth , i hope it places a star on ever smile i caused, a sun on every love i bore, a leaf, for every pain i caused and wind on every truth i told. I hope, though i bare my soul to so many un deserving nitwits with the desperate need to meet, connect to something real, because surely surely there has to be someone deserving of this awesomeness, that i shall not pass on to my next life with al these truths in solitary confinement.

Daily prompt solitary


You liked my song you said, the way the notes would curl out of my throat, whisper through you and beg the goosebumps to rise on your skin send whispers down your spine, making you whimper with suppressed need for me, for my touch on your soul and the burn of my love in your heart

You hurt me

So much and that was suprising because the hurt was the first tell tale sign that i had fallen, where i thought my pride was holding my spine up nose up am too cold hearted to feel the warmth you seem to radiate when we are together. I seem addicted to your touch and now that we are are not touching anymore the only symphony i hear in my head is the cracking of my cold heart.

Daily prompt:symphony

Paper cuts

I have these little numb sores on my soul that only hurt when i remember, or fixate so much on the hurt that once was, or try to peel back the layers and see underneath the pain trying to find some sort of carthasis on penning my thoughts here or mostly when am scrolling down my timeline and a happy photo of you makes me sad because really? How can you be so ok with not having me there.

I swear to myself that i have forgotten, in all honesty i have forgotten thoughts of you dont haunt my day, shadows of your laugh dont stalk my nights i am totally ok with us not talking, or you not calling or whatever, i am fine really, and not in that way that i say fine yet mean i want to murder every single pain and humiliation you ever caused me, am still stuck here in wondering why i let you warm my heart which beats in frozen paces how could i walk right into what was obviously going nowhere .

How did you leave paper cuts on me and i didnt even see me bleeding

Daily post paper


See how her feet leave prints on the sand,  how her lipstick leaves an imprint of her lips on a wine glass,  how when she dips her hands in paint she can make impressions of her fingers,  how she has an imprint of your lips on every surface of her skin they touched,  how if she concentrates hard enough, she can feel the warmth of your skin,  the lingering musk of you so close,  so close..

You should know then,  what marks,  impression  you leave behind, how she has mastered your breathing patterns,  how she knows when  you are angry or tired or loved,  how she knows what every scowl  means,  every grunt every smile.

How she wishes she could heal you,  even though she knows she cant.

Daily prompt: impression  

LA LA LA land

Here goes my unadulterated  opinion of the greatest musical in the history of all musicals.

Love is a farce,  and all that you think love should be,  it isn’t.  Love is patient,  love is kind love is slowly loosing your mind,  love is death.  Because without death there can’t be love.

Love is open windows on rainy nights to let the thunder in,  love is pillow fights and burnt food and broken music records.  Love is all your beliefs brought  low because  beliefs never become reality.

Love is a musical you loved that didn’t end how you expected.

Word prints for Daily prompt: -farce

I love, I dance

What do you see when you look at me? Forget my eyes or the color of my skin or my tiny nose, what so you see? Do you see this facade that I have created or can you see a bit more? Can you see my soul reflected in the depth of my eyes, can you see my scars, can you see my tears?can you see my pride, my strength, or are you like the rest, satisfied with the superficial. What do you see, what can you see? Do my secret smiles entice you? Do you wonder when you look at me why I am as I am, or do you see the stubborn woman that everyone else sees,.

How can you not question the a thousand galaxies in my head how can you see me clothe and jewelry and hair and be satisfied, how could you not want to know about my dreams and what keeps me up, about what makes me cry because I assure you its preety much everything. Why can’t you ask, about my roots? Arent you even in the least bit curious?

I love and I dance and I sing, whether in the shower or the streets or in my head, I laugh and I cry and I care to the depths of the ocean and the width of infinite galaxies am more than the labels you peg on me, daughter, girlfriend, sister, workmate, friend, I learn, and I hurt and I hurt other people am human and angel and broken but not too much because despite your perception of me I still love and I still dance.


I hate the way I talk to myself, the way every morning I have to call myself stupid for some imagined slight from the past, I hate the way I tell myself my tummy is too big, my face too round my butt too small. I hate the way I exercise and do squats, not because I want to keep fit and be healthy but because I want to look good, to look better to others. I hate how another’s opinion of me matters to me more than my own, how I try hard to please my Ex because his opinion of me still matters to me. His opinion of the 19yr old girl he knew, not the 23 year old woman that I am now. 

God I abhor this,how these negative thoughts of me churn and turn  in my head how when I catch my self thinking ,I want to pull ou my mind and stomp on it in anguish, I want to kill this hollowness in my heart when I think of all the things I haven’t achieved yet, I want to erase all memories of me from me, all mistakes all transgressions. I want to go to that place of pure silence of pure bliss. I want everyone who I have ever met, who I have gone the extra mile for and they still let me down to forget me, to forget I existed.  I crave silence, a new beginning I crave my own heaven

I crave that place of acceptance that can only be found inside me.I want to stop thinking of myself as a failure, to stop  hurting myself with my own spikes. To teach myself how to love myself without another’s approval.

To make everyday my own heaven.


Because nothing else matters besides thee,  because if the skies were to open now,  and time cry out for the last time and the earth swallow all the love and life,  and this dust i posses that you breathed life into finally crumble beaneath all the weight of my sins, and though i die a thousand deaths,  i wallow in pain and eternal misery… Your love is sufficient,  Lord,  and i know your mercies will save me 

Though am not deserving,  though all i do with my life is ruminate my un worthy existance,  though i say am sorry but turn right round and do it again,  though  i curse you and blight you and say how i did not deserve the pain how i deserve only happiness,  and joy and every of my whim catered to,  how.. Dear God,  how am above it all,  and how many times do i forget to thank you,  

But here i am God,  and i thank you,  for the air i breath,  and sunlight on my face,  for the music i can hear and the bed for my rest,  for the food i eat,  and words i write,  and everything,  everything.