When Ini and I spoke about our hair
We wanted it permed
As I write this post I laugh at myself. It is really so funny. I have created more than 80 posts on this website!
This space I created for rants, batter and all things chaos, has evolved into a creative platform. A space where writers can come to as a resource and encouragement, my personal online portfolio, the origin of a wonderful community.
Even when my soul was saturated with circumstances, chaos, love, menace, culture.
My whimsical journal still brought me to its edges. Flipped the pages at my curiosity and made me read my history.
So as I promised myself
I’m listening to what my heart wants me doing as a 20 year old,
My area description:
I place my one liter water bottle to my left, Bible to my right, phone to my thigh or table and laptop to my fingers.
Then I think, how do I enter this whirlwind?
The wind might be rusty or calm, but still I’m inside. Almost blinded by the rush of winds…
Hey guys! So I’ve been writing an Chapbook. Called Indigo girl. And there is this particular poem; decomposed. I’d love if you could read it and tell me how you feel about it. You can drop something kind in the comments section.
I’ve been warned several times about my thoughts, words and “claimed complexities”. My tenacity towards female empowerment, justice and never ending hatred for misogyny has also been judged by many.
I never knew many African authors. Aderemi and I would gosh over Wole Soyinka’s books and a few others (mostly older people), but I didn’t know the new creative spirit that had evolved.
Lace dresses are for inaugurations or formal events (says the voice inside my head), but mama’s going to wear it anyway! So, in other to get myself fully prepared for any form of atmosphere, I put on a short sleeve lace dress made by Tash Apparel, simple ballerina flats and a matching headband to vibe with all the positive energy I was already giving off. Nothing prepared me for what was going to come after…