From where I stand, I have learned that life’s nature is never permanent, just slowly changes; having everything is to have nothing.

I have learned that I am not a victim of things that shape me, Stillness doesn’t equal weakness, and I tire of explanations.

From where I stand, I Am trying to be free. No! World… I cannot play my music any quieter. At 26, only cowardice haunts me.

Oh, how I long for the days I looked for myself in the people I knew! It

From where I stand, Loving Him was taking all the love I could never give myself and putting it to good use. All I needed was someone who understood me completely.

He will never wonder if I ever loved him; it was the way he stole my pain away. I have learned there are people on this earth that will break from something as simple as a sigh.

We always give everything to those who rarely deserve us; why are Colors seasonal?

From where I stand, if you want to tickle ignorance, come to Africa better yet, come home (my home). I know now why the pencil has an eraser!

From my tattoo, I know permanent doesn’t mean forever; it’s always.

It’s the darkest shades that paint the best portraits. It’s the strangeness we try so hard to see.

From where I stand, I will always succumb to the gravity of my truth.

I only see HIM.


As above, so below,

From the Dusty Earth, she has sprouted.

Soon she will grow tight buds, they will crack open to reveal the soft-pea green of new papery luscious variegated leaves;

Which with the morning dew are like thousands of stars in the sky, as the sun faintly catches the drops, allowing them to sparkle.

Each leaf is so tiny, and from down here even more so; yet together they obscure the sun’s rays.

Her Branches grow in different directions,

casting Shadows designing a collection of yellow fragrant flowers

Roots are firm in gravel, stems cracked from stormy nights,

when her branches hang low whilst protecting weeds at her base,

Now Sap drools down her bruised bark as she sways imperceptibly.

I see you judging her as you sprawl on last season’s leaf litter, so golden. Yet so noisy.

As you take a breath in-between your fit of laughter,

remember her Inexhaustible life is the equivalent of immortality.

With noble roots, she strengthens her hold on the ground.

Wangala Ayiii Sabasajja Ayii Bbeene. Obuganda bugumile.


Crammed in a stuffy saloon, I can barely make out my reflection in the stained mirror

Hairdressers hovering around me, inattentively weaving extension through my hair.
They smell of a late night. Beer breathe!

Diamond Platinum blares out of the only cassette radio in the room. Has it been 4 hours already? What was I thinking, dreadlocks! this late in the year

A mango hawker stumbles in, the musky scent of mango fills the air.

I crave you.

And for a moment, We are 25 in your hostel room, you just stepped out of the shower, towel hugging your waist, it can barely contain you. Dripping the light-reflecting the beads of water on your ebony skin

You pull me close, a slice of mango between your teeth. Your breath feels like a humid sea breeze brushing through my sandy skin.

The juice of the mango jumps to my tongue’s most sensitive parts, as your thin lips part to cradle mine. Groaning shouts escape me, violently soft like the beginning of Once Again.

I breathe you in; you taste of mango.

A sharp pain!! The braiders’ roughness drags me back to reality.

Let’s ruin our friendship. How Soon Is Now?