If y'all want to read a great story, check out my new short story THE SAMARITAN: "When a nurse intern stumbles on a brutal hate crime, she knows she has to intervene. But the only way to save the victims is to gain the perpetrators’ trust and participate. The farther she goes, the more she incriminates herself. Can she save the victims without becoming a perpetrator herself?"
LINK IN THE BIO!
I don’t remember how the conversation began but once my grandmother said on the tail-end of a scoff that only comes from women that have lived the word 1,000 times over “I deserve more.” I feel grateful to be surrounded by the women in my life that refuse to settle // on their time their worth their dues // And to be honest that’s the energy I’m working with to reach the next and the next and the next tomorrow //
that light beam // is all my unrelenting // crackin through the skin // or the light of my wick // my body a patient flame // your hand look like a frightened match // don’t worry// I only burn for myself and the ones that say my name right // snap my fingers and I make ash // with a furious kinda grace.
23 1,51413 March, 2019
Whenever someone asks me what I want to do in life, I always stammer.
I stammer so much because I have two answers depending on whether I’m being brave or not.
If I’m being practical, I’d say I want to become a brand consultant because that’s what makes sense.
If I’m being brave and if this world were any different or if I didn’t know better, I would say I want to become a writer in a heartbeat.
It’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted.
Even when everyone around me was doing FLAMES at the back of their notebooks, I was writing poems with 10000 grammatical errors because I wanted to.
Every time people around me were playing Killer detective in between long mandatory seminars at school, I was scribbling my first quote at the back of a tissue paper with a pencil.
My most treasured memory from my childhood isn’t some badge of honour because I lost that, but my file of grammatically incorrect poetry.
I’ve stayed up memorising the figures of speech in my first year instead of attending that 8 AM business class just because I’ve always wanted to include those in my poems.
Every time I’ve watched a movie, I’ve imagined what it would feel like to write one, see someone create life out of my words on a paper.
I love writing. I love creating nothing out of thin air.
I love it the most.
There’s no better feeling than when someone tells me I’m a good writer. I feel like I’m on the top of this world.
But then, I do know better. I want to be a writer. I also want to be accomplished. I want to make people proud and I don’t have a lot of patience. I have fear that the world around me won’t respect me. I live in fear that this is not what’s going to pay the bills.
I don’t know how to tell my parents I want to be a writer when they’ve never even read a single piece or poetry I’ve written.
I’m not brave. Not brave at all.
I feel like this is a fictional world, one where I would be reading my first book over wine and cheese.
Where people would come up to me and tell me how my book changed their life.
I want to be that, but it seems far fetched.
Do I have the courage to say that I want to become a writer?
But I’m working on it. #stillnolak