I’m freaking, it’s sinking
it doesn’t sync well, I can’t put a finger touch
the distance between my palm and your face just inches away, but baby it looks like miles. I’m frowning in this oblivion, the need and desire, the fire, sired.
I’m drowning in the cold of the breath and mist, in the midst of this, I detest the haste I’m pasting on your canvas, but baby…
I’m suffocating in this air, I want but I can’t, so i beat me.
set me on fire, hot seat of judgement.
guilty as charged, hands bound, chained and chaired
I’m dying, flashing my humanity into hades kingdom.
I can’t see life in your eyes anymore
I can’t see myself on your mind anymore, my scent is fading from your skin.
baby please look at me, why can’t you? no, wait! I’m sorry I asked.
please don’t walk away, please stay!
I will go, but you don’t want me to leave
I don’t want me to go
baby please let me hold your hand, will you.
shall we lie here, here where our memories sing the song of our love tuned to the auto tunes of our vocalized strings. it stings, as the door swings on hinges of memory, you fringe, I cower.
baby please, listen
I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry I said that.
sorry I did that,
listen, I can… I can’t
just look into my heart, my eyes are blurry from storms withstood. look into my soul honey, see the hole.
baby please walk with me
the the night is dark, the weather is mystic and mythic, the path is haunted, these strokes are acidic.
baby how about music, no? it’s sick
but this was your favorite part, can we sing along?
honey I’m sorry, I can tattoo it on my skin
I can Braille it on my heart
I can sing atop Everest…
baby please, the coffee will get cold
the bathtub is too large, the mornings runs are lonely
my bedside is too neat.
do you hear me
are you listening


When I was a teen

Love was selfish, cunning and greed
Love was too little too late, never enough
Love was like tiptoeing in still waters
Love was a boy with plenty of options, cancelled plans, one sided effort.
Love was chase the winds until it’s calm
Seek shelter till storms are no more
It was a fill in space of “Now that I have nothing important, I can commit to you.”
Those were the teen years

When I hit twenty, love grew wings and became spontaneous like the swirl of monsoon winds, labeled with urgency
A need of beating odds by two people.
Love was tough and recklessness
It was slow but with wild motion of the notion of turbulence
Hiding in the midnight streetss for the fathomable
Love was missing someone but can’t find the time for them
It was believing in happily ever after but not willing to fight
It was claiming someone when you’re miles away
Love had no time, love had no home, no space
Love was on the move
Love, was always busy


my ripe years
I just got introduced to love
It wasn’t wild and wretched
It is appreciative of storms and the sunlight
Love embraces the dark and white
Love laughs, a lot, cries sometimes
Love apologises for the scars of sadness caused by others
But teaches you to appreciate the lesson
It transformed from midnight regrets to mornings spent laughing like you mean it. It turned from missing someone as you remain busy, to crossing borders and oceans for them.Love became“I want to give you everything you deserve; I want to show you just how much someone can adore you.”
Love was born bountiful and beautiful, not from shades of pain. And certainly, love became ruthless in declarations.


one day
when I have broken all my bones
folded all my dreams
and dried my skin in the sun’s heat

one day
when I have emptied the ocean in my eyes
and exhausted the salt in my tears

one day
when I have filled my ears with sand
and drained my veins
when my soul remembers no peace
and my mind forgets not the days of pain
of agony and sorrow
of horror and borrowed thrills

one day
when depression has found a permanent dwelling place between my rib cages
a time when I’ll look outside and see showers of victimization, fucking bloody showers

one day
when I can’t forget to remember to cry
when my scars are deep and red and fresh in flesh

that one day
when I’ll be sitting by the window
tearing away pages of memory
as the smiles of sunrise for once in forever greets my face…
you will remember me

that one day,
you will crave me
my voice, my sound, my scent

You will desire to see just a glimpse of me in your dreams,
but the only place reserved for you in the world
will be that tiny place between the ceiling and the roof
and my sunrise will be your sunset
one day…


it’s the toxic waters we’re diving into
it’s the addictive drug we’re clicking glasses to
it’s fathomless habits we’re delving into
on the space between our skin
is my addictive seductive sin
I don’t need but I want to
I shouldn’t, but I can’t stop

so, I don’t want to
go, come back, I love you
this is not right, but it’s okay
again and again
tattooing reach others skin
filling the jars of our own shredded hearts

see, I have been a good girl
see, I have walked on flowers
see, I have kissed lips in the street lights
scratched skin in the moonlight
but it didn’t make me feel so alive

this is not right
but it feels like life
I’m walking on the razors edge
your hands are bloody with a trigger finger in motion
and I’m captivated in that notion
but the communion of our bodies knows no boundaries

this is not right
but why can’t I walk away from it
if you still chase a soul like me, you must be the wrong kind of right
I’m drowning deep into you
don’t let me breath

I don’t want to stay, dear lover
but I’d love to know how your coffee tastes like in the morning
I’d love to hear your gasps of 2 in the AM

soaking in sweet sweat
smoking the sour
I’m not going home tonight


you sit in the corner
think of ways to save her
you walk on eggshells
trail on skull littered paths

He’s nice
he always wants to make things nice
to him is always nice or otherwise
nice, no dice thrown

but she feels blown from the surface of the universe
drowning in the unseen waters
trapped in dirtied gutters
among clutters, suffocating in litters
she feels the mess catching up
trapped on the same side of the mesh with trash

her mind is blocked
as she feels the rocky path pushing her to the rock bottom
there, she can’t block the weight of the heavy Yorks on her shoulders

she gets crushed against the gnashing air
she allows it
but he wants to save her
so she pushes him away
she doesn’t want to be saved

roll up the windows,

whiskey deep in solo cup
draw down the curtains
bake these feels
feel the lace beneath the soles
let her caress her naked soul

he can’t save her,
if he doesn’t know what’s like to be in her world


you never miss the bliss of reminiscing

on wonders of yonder not

but caved and curved

in the distance
far and new

In the between of our skins

bodies in sync

to the beat of our hearts

patience escaping our senses

as we melted in the canopies

of the interlocked limbs

and escalating desires

you never miss to think of

the close brink with no blink

that i got you

mind in ponder,

thoughts a sander

Reason yonder

as you bathed and soaked

on words picked from your mind



pricked and poked

smeared and written on your skin

you miss the bliss

Admit it

I’m addicted to miss

its a nice verb and I’m two months in it


I pry in my head, and I cry till my eyes run dry
I look at my shook self and hook up with books of depression in my nook
May be if I scratch and patch myself up he’ll watch my dimming torch and feel to re-attach
But my damned self is just a framed priceless mosaic painting in his basement
May be, may be if I gnawed on my low cornered hiccups he’ll notice my torment.
Instead, he uses the drained sounds to make stained and strained beats to keep away intruders. Music to his ears
May be if I cry a river, he’ll drown with me, he’s never been a diver, but I groan in a frown as he builds himself a bridge
May be, on my last may be, may be I should just hold my breath, stand still, stop, stroll not, stoop that low, drop that low…
But then, he makes a perfect museum out of me, cobwebs in my armpits, dust under my feet, rust in my bones…
So I I beat myself, so I roast on his cold heat
I want it to feel good
I want it to be the craved mood, but rather
it’s just curved
This kind of love makes me sick, but I’ve never been so well, it makes me frail and pale so I ride this rollercoaster to hell
This kind of love makes me painted with porcelain faces as I harbor innate pain
Pain is seductive when it comes disguised as sacrifice you know
But I stay, I don’t pray, only Lucifer hears prayers in this part of town…

So I stay, I don’t know why I stay anyway


Bullets in my stomach
Abdomen full of ache
My sins in read on my thighs
My head spinning in highs
Tears drenching my face
I sink in beyond trace
Devastations render me hopeless
Payback for my recklessness
There is no coming back from this hell
There’s no escaping these hails


Ours was a to die for kind of relationship,
we were like a lone ship in far away waters,
an island within unknown waters
we loved with the ice on our tongues and fire in our eyes,
we held onto each other with claws than ran deeper than the veins,
and when it stormed thunders were accustomed to our ears as wails were often louder.
Ours was a tough love,
though reckless we knew when it got rough,
I tell you those were the best of times.
Those were the times we destroyed each other into beautiful perfect imperfections,
turned each others skins into an expensive mosaic,
our hearts became a museum that harbored violence in dense,
possessiveness encouraged by unhealthy jealousies and I’ll fallacies.
Sired by the dire need to hold each other in our palms
We were a perfect match, then we forgot matches do burn,
like wood we turned to ashes and in that ashes we still craved each other.
Like impure fuel we burned impulsively into soot and hung clingingly on the roof of our hopes
We got tired of shooting for the stars so we footed for each other.
Perfectly imperfections

I’m wandering through the streets,
the city lights blinding me.
I feel like a foreigner
I stumble from bar to bar
drinking the pain away hoping they’ll drain away my nightmare as they say.
Alcohol burns, it burns the perfect scars
Makes you see the alignment of stars
But now, I’m lost
and I don’t know where to go.
So now I walk towards
the only place I know.
I found him, choking his lungs with smoke and loosing his looming mind in the claustrophobic roofing.
I want to tell him I’m sorry,
to burry the story,
but my slippery sweaty hands are no encouragement to the fury when we can all be merry and drop the worries.
He walks to me and I can feel the walls caving in in a perfect curve as rings of smoke brings me to the norm, home

Demons in my system are awake and fierce like the drake, im frugged through the wakefulness of their ceremonious hails, taking me to him raking my stray thoughts and desires in an explosion in a way that my body got an expulsion from my head

I feel drugged as I get dragged through the ragged thoughts and hots of decision
I’m turned on from the main switch
The hunch tells me he craves the same.
I inhale his exhale and its exhaustively fulfilling,
he grabs my skull with a careless skill and pushed me into the curve of his warm skunky neck digging into my scalp.
My nails are on his lower bare back walking on the scarred skin, skimming and sinking into the deep of the anatomy
We sink to the floor right there and then,
I don’t feel the large pebbles under my feet covered in red soil,
but as I coil in boiled feels I see things.
The lover on whose rib I lie
The four walls whose roof is infested with webs and earthly crabs under which we lie
The rust on the hinges of the door behind which we lie
The thick cloud of smoke in which we lie
The desirably thick carpet of dust on which we lie.
If this isn’t home, it is the closest I’ll ever get to heaven
And I don’t wanna go home now


My first love, which is the prettiest and most catchy phrases across all races and all cultures. It is pretty coming to think of all the first kiss, first date, first snuggle, the first personalized happy after. It is really takes a toll on every aspect when the narration begins and more often you want to dwell in the bulbous moments of the flower and forget about the blooming period leave alone the weathering and withering. But what if I told you first; love is more of a curse, that son of a fucking bitch that never leaves your senses to work in peace without a pop up here and there. What if I told you first love is more of an asshole that never seems to forget to rain tones of shit on every tiny chance of happiness and glitter moments. First love, is an agent of a mother fucker that never lets blessings to commune with you. Oh, where are my manners, my name is jael and this is my story of the pursuit of happiness.

Let’s sail, shall we?


I met him on my way to the second class of the day on an abnormally boring Wednesday when the sun was holding nothing back from frying the surface OF THE earth and everything that dwells on it, and me well, I wasn’t spared. I met him when my mind was on vacation and my body was on go slow save a few snaps of the finger and movement of the lashes as extracurricular.  I met him when I thought I needed to and he had no otherwise. He had the height of my secret lover and oval face with a square jaw and not to forget a very wide smile, I swear I could drown in it. That perfect dental arrangement fit perfectly to the smile that crowned a very sensuous and delicious body. I met him at a time of the day that no one else seemed to exist, and all of a sudden the world was between me and him and all the laws of nature seemed broken or nurtured by me,cause  boy, gravity had nothing on me.

At that very moment my whole body was starting to corporate and I had this thing going in my system that needed my attention. Let me tell you about the bad thing of being a creative writer, you see when such perfection of god’s creation presents itself in such an embodiment especially on this flamboyantly hot afternoon, the first thought is to feed your eyes, tell you what I was feeding my brain. I could produce countless articles with a single sweep of the eyes across the arena and this creature was making me drown in my creation.

At that very moment I didn’t know his name but I was about to find out how he liked his coffee in the morning. I didn’t know if he preferred fame or framed pictures but his body was already in my frame. That ladies and gentlemen is how I missed my criminology class.

I’ve always been a go for it kind of girl even when the society depicts otherwise setting standards that will otherwise render females of my caliber rebellious in a way and out of character. I call it a form of freedom of expression. See, I have a belief that if you really need something, then you should do whatever it take to pay for the price. You shouldn’t apologize for carrying your own spear, being your own warrior.

I met him again on my way to the library the following day having had enough of sun basking in the solar. He smiled from a few blocks away. I am a generous lass, having laid down the foundation of the good news, I let him preach the gospel. From the movement of the words on his tongue, I could tell the boy had the taste for the wine. And then…

‘jael right?’

I smiled back as an agreement. I would have punched his guts out had he gotten it wrong. No, I’m kidding, I’d probably just correct him and walk down the path that I will erase to ensure he doesn’t find it back. Yeah I know, I am an emotional badass lass.

So we walk to the entry point. Cues, chits, chats, pointers here and there and he takes a left. Mother of hades!  Fuck me, who doesn’t love a man in uniform, dear man of medicine. I smile, a wet smile as I jump into my arts wagon, third floor. My writing fanatics, brace yourself because it’s going to be a bumpy ride. Oh, at this point you deserve to know his name. Nathan is his name.


I have bumped into him several times now to earn us both a lunch together the following week. Followed by a next and then a next and then a regular and before I know it, I am bailing on classes and my other friends to be with this god of the hearts and an artist of the body. See, I was love sick and I needed a doctor, my man of medicine. My water is warming up and I’m freaking excited. My god looks at me as if I am a floating goddess of beauty and sexual rapture, I don’t shy away, I chin up and embrace the crown.

And then it hits me, what the hell. That’s the thing about first love, you want everything and nothing, you crave independence and possession, you desire the fierceness of fire yet you are sired to the chill of the ice. But nonetheless, you are hooked and there is no turning back. There is a fire inside of you hot and fierce like the volcanic eruptions and spreading so quickly like the wild fires but all you can show the world under the sky is a smile worth a few cents.

I had my first love kiss at the bus stop, that’s when the gates of paradise were opened. He asked me to be his girl at the end of semester party and I could swear there were fireworks right in that moment. I could swear that I was wearing glass slippers. My Nathan was perfectly perfect, countless times I have had to remind him that he was enough despite his urge to try and be more. Life was perfect, until the birth of new moon.

The lunch dates were frequent and became a wild norm. The movie nights became a habit. The scent of his skin found an acceptable home in my sheets. Our arms became a domicile for each other. We became accustomed to each other like we were enchanted. Our hearts were scarred with each other’s names and our lips sang the same song. It was a small cocoon full of good things, but then good things don’t last. Good things have an end, good things disappear suddenly, and good things have legs, good things end when you wake up. Good things have a tendency of taking onto their heels when you least expect it. The dawn was quickly approaching before it was even darkest.

Nathan failed to show up for our 11th month anniversary. May be we grew apart, may be it was part of the first love thing, and may be the flower was finally withering, may be it was about time. Or maybe I got there too early for once. I hate it when the bell rings, okay most of the times. It always means the end of something, the beginning of something less familiar. It mean goodbyes, I hate goodbyes, I’m better at hellos.

The thought of starting all over again is discouraging. The norm is comfortable like the perfect fit of the heel, it is doable, and it is like a ritual. It’s predictable.

He didn’t pick my call that evening. I sat into the wee hours of the night on my suddenly ocean-like bed thoughts spread all over it, scattered into things, tiny droplets  of nothingness. I held my heart clenched tightly in my fist as the nails dug deeply into the sole of my palms. I tucked gently with hostility the sting of my tears under my lashes as i  cornered my hiccups deep in my throat and screams in the echoes of my voice. I hid my anger, disappointments and breakages deep in my morphology and far from semantics of my everyday language.


And when it happened, all heaven and hell broke loose.



p.s its been super ling since i posted, but thank you for the continued support.