I had turned my music all the way up, partially to block out thoughts of you. It’s an estranged existence learning to cope with a world...

This was a personal essay i had written for a program I was going to apply for but I never ended up sending it in! Thought I would share her

A story I'm working on

Writing is hard.

Who the hell am I?

Reflecting in the start of a new year and decade!

Zaa-neh-leh. Zanele. My name is a burden, a hunk of identity, packed heavily onto my shoulders. My knees buckle under the weight, my mind...

You shrunk towards the entrance of the train station under the dusk of 5. Fall was fading quickly as winter approached, and so were you....

Sometimes she would just sit there inside herself, peeling away at crisp edges in search for the root. Most nights were spent watching...

Burning flesh, crying babies, dead fathers, and missing sisters. Videotapes, and videophones, and media outlets, and and gun laws, and...

I’ve seamed the flesh of my daughter with ancestors’ cotton. Through her will be the rebirth of grandmother. And of her mother,...

In times of joy I look for her face in the crowd yet I see only bleak visions of woman surrounded by a world of unwanted infatuation and...

I remember meeting you in the fall. Time seemed to pass a little slower when we’d hold hands And when we’d talk it’d be hard to stop or...

The prickly goosebumps tethered to the surface of my skin foreshadowed misery long before we could. And now death seemed to be the only...

sink me deep into foreign collisions. Craved the carbon of Her. I, assess the elements of my casket. Her silence Consent to my dissolve...

She was the mountain in a world of ash. Her hands trembled softly over the currents of my body, Shifting tides into tsunamis colliding...

You know that feeling right before the train hits...where time seems to move a lil slower and for just like a split second you know that...

Inside this home lives memories that exist...but don't belong...not to me at least, not to me or father. It has been that way for a long...

Slow steeping hills Always running Away from the people beyond 96th St In the heat rising up from concrete tires grinding into lost souls...

I don't think I want to be like my parents anymore. I mean, I’ve went through my entire life just sort of mocking their existence,...