To prepare, to look the thing in the eye and make demands, to step through the fog into a clarity that is so bright you feel blind, to move a piece across the board and call it victory, flesh became reason.

I wrote this piece immediately after seeing the short film titled THE HOUSE IS BLACK by Forugh Farrokhzad, an Iranian Poet and film maker. The film reflected the suffering and sadness of people living

I dream of a surplice and plastic plants trapped inside curtains covered by electric lamps. There the room grows big with its ghosts and sleeps. Who will gently open the door into where i debone my fears

A lot of persons have expressed their bewilderment at my sudden decision to get married. No one is as surprised as I. Sometimes I sit back and wonder about how I moved from being against the idea of marriage

She's pretty but strange/smooth the skin/the veil/whittled down to smile/to mask the tide/the fever/ the haze/to move inside the flesh like something wrong/the wrong dress/mind/ all unreason/But listen

This is more of a meditation on Sunday, on today, on life. I wrote it on an app and for the life of me, I can't seem to be able to copy it. There are things that the beauty of a Sunday can't influence

Indeed you're so right, my friend @trucklife-family. I have recently discovered how music, surprisingly, classical music, which I didn't bother with before, moves me when combined with viewing either a

I love to rap music. I like the cadence, the rhythm, the word play, the way the words make the music bounce, the internal rhyme. I love it still but I recently times, I have begun to crave silent music,

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A long time ago, being ranked 70 on Hive was a big deal, at least for me. It meant one is an OG. While in those days, accounts with a reputation of 70 were often owned by whales, it was the feeling of

A poem

I know how morning wakes & makes supple its limbs again, how it rubs the worn down nubs of our sleep & enough static to make light enters our eyes & gently like a prehistoric piece of art,

Cold & lonely, the wind plays against my skin. It licks the damp foliage of my lips, It takes my breath away. Who dreams of a flower that has drunk beauty in the anguished bruise spilling all over

When the web of breath had settled into his body, finished and untangled from the air moving outside all things, I covered the sharp glint of his now shallow eyes with the wet napkin with which I had mopped

This is an initiative that aims to reward the best content creators on Hive picked by the community through decentralized Polls on Threads, while doing a coordinated effort to promote Hive on web2 social

Image by Joe from Pixabay The fog chewed land sits for the sea to lap its toes, immerse in surf. The sleepless trees walk out straight & tall, a long file cutting away at the horizon, into water, their

I dream of fireflies as I touch your skin. That you're breathing so close to my breath feels like my body is expanding out of its shell. This is the cosmos breaking it's boundaries to envelope us. I mean

She looks for the thirst through sky, blue written into skin deep cut— wilting last breath— petals slowly paling, her pores curl & harden. She bows at the stem & descent becomes a holy pigeon,

Good morning, For those who have loved my writing and stop by to read what I have to say, you may have noticed that I have recently been getting downvotes from a whale. According to investigations which

Time flies. This was all I heard yesterday. One year already? As if it was only yesterday we placed you in the slow grinding earth. One year already. Time does fly. Pixabay It warps memory in its flight