not all broken houses need redemption
as much as not all broken hearts need lovers
perhaps those broken, rusty nails are all we need to be held up
maybe the fading faith is all it will take to mend us
unbelieving, tainted and leaking buckets of unworthiness as we are,
maybe some of us were fated for more cracks than refinement

Sometimes I sink more than I float
Carelessly exposing my bad habit of capitulation before the battle
Foolishly leaping before I crawl, drenched in premature judgements
Impulsive falling before acumen
Hence I have laboured more than I have dined
All is because I have sinned more than I have been saved


I don't know if you are any different
or if I'm the kind of different you like
but nonetheless you are
that kind of girl
on whose chest I want to lay
as I free my untold stories
in your cracked cage.

That girl whose book I will dare to open
As I page by page
feed unhurriedly from your soul
simmering in the depths of your womanhood
word for word
wanting to be one with you
at some point
for some time
for you are


there's something about the way you breathe
that makes me want to get to know you,
far beyond the door you’ve already left agape,
far beyond your good manners, eloquent vocabulary and silent struggles
it’s as if some truth is trying to crawl out beneath your tongue
almost as if clumsy words are trying to find their way out
far away from the confinement of your insecurities

I love you
and a few other things
including the way you hold me in your dreams
that I wake from mine

I chased the sun in you
'til I realized that even
darkness is light


I buried my soul
in the slums of your affection
what a mess we are


I slowly wither
into nothingness,
mind entombed in hollow slums of indecision,
catching more ache than ever before.
Perhaps I deserve it all,
Maybe this be the clearance of all my transgressions,
Save me


It is our duty to fight for our freedom. It is our duty to win. We must love and protect each other. We have nothing to lose but our chains.
Assata Shakur

talk to me
how long will you run from me
i wither at the absence of your voice

It matters not
Who you love
Where you love
Why you love
When you love
Or how you love
It matters only that you love.
John Lennon
I often talk to the sky.
I thanked the harvest moon for you.
I looked at each star,
and I visualized each scar;
healing you with grace,
I sank into a roses bloom for you

Melanie Monji
I must remind you that starving a child is violence. Suppressing a culture is violence. Neglecting school children is violence. Punishing a mother and her family is violence. Discrimination against a working man is violence. Ghetto housing is violence. Ignoring medical need is violence. Contempt for poverty is violence.” - Coretta Scott King

my tumblr account

do visit my other blog
The other GayKindaLove

I dare to tell of their secrets
that handbag full of mystical revelations
untold stories of our once confined forefathers
those concealed behind every door
buried in the pits of their left pockets
Snugly laying at the back of their throats
the greatest taboo of our time
forgotten at the tips of their tongues
I dare to make known their shady secrets
those leading to a black man’s enlightenment
skilfully disguised in those highly confidential textbooks
those never to be spoken of tales
unseen behind every banned revolution song
those enveloped in bruises
beneath every pillow
behind broken promises
beneath every breath
wrapped around silent voices
of unsung heroes