That night at the vigil, I saw him worship. With a voice like an angel, So powerful, that the choir ladies couldn’t help but gossip,
I lie awake tonight, Wishing for things I can change. I try to convince myself, But it’s all so strange. Is it me, Or is
I don’t go to sleep at night because you haunt my dreams, and waking up to find you’re not here is harder than it seems.
I know I promised, no more bruises, no more cuts, But I’m broken, just not the beautiful broken. I’m the pieces that we throw away,
by Bukola Oshinfowokan We are black We are seen as the serpent Cause they think we are deleterious Colour is yardstick to measure the rights
Hello ex- girlfriend,Hey! It’s me, Daniel,I request of your self to listen,Lend me your ears and mind,I need to take you aback a little. So,
with every grip only for it to breakwith every step forth only to slide backwith every effort only to slip and tumblewith silence except with
By Emmanuel Omondi Joubert Botha once said,” sometimes the people around you won’t understand your journey. They don’t need to. It’s not for them.” It
By Emmanuel Omondi Have you ever wondered what mental health is? There are two definitions of mental health, one, as the absence of a mental
The deadshot eyes yelled out one word, RUN! It was akin to staring into the pits of hellAnd seeing demons staring back, infinite sets of