Another day to be a writer

I will write about kindness.

I will write about love

I will write about death

I will write about the sun

And the moon

I might write about every individual star

I will write about pain

I will drag knives over your lungs just hard enough to scrape them.

I will take the air from you

I will take your tear- streaked cheeks and tell you

Absolute truths

The ones that have been kept from you

I will write about failure

And what it means to try again. Selfishly.

I will write about the things you forgot

Things that brought you joy

Do you remember joy?

The real kind

I will write about cold fingers

Yours and his

I will write about silk and satin and

how your skin

wasn’t placed on your body

to please anyone on this earth.

I will write about regret

How bitter it tastes at the back of your throat

I will write about the lies you told

The excuses you made

The promises you broke without blinking

I will write about nature

And how we’re are being lied to:

nature is unnatural

I will write about lips

The kinds of kisses you should be receiving

I will write about anger

Steel wool on the ends of your lashes

Scratchy eyes

Red vision

Burning skin

I will write about calamity

And how we know nothing of it at all.

I will write about consistency

I will write about persistency

I will write about specificity

I will make you uncomfortable



I will write about tranquility

And how to achieve it

I will write about being enough being happy being secure

being unapologetic in those things






I could care less.

It’s been my experience, that one of the worst feelings in the world is disappointing the people you love. I’ve never been the kind of person that says “fuck this” or “fuck you” or “I don’t give a fuck” Instead I’ve always been the kind of person that carries their fucks around in their purse and collects more of them as the day wears on.

You ever meet those people that are just instantaneously likeable? They’ve got a pure energy about them. they’re relentlessly optimistic and kind. I’ve spent most of my life trying to be that person. Maybe kindness isn’t a cool thing to aspire to. Maybe friendliness isn’t a quality that everyone loves. Maybe I could care less about the space I occupy in this world and the people I associate myself with. I’m not a very suspicious person. Instead I give everyone the benefit of the doubt. I like that about me. The people that love me hate this about me.

I’m not careful enough. 

I’m too trusting. 

Not everyone has the same heart as I do.

It’s not like I go all over town by myself and accept candy from strangers, for goodness sake.

I’ve come to understand though, that 90% of the time, the people that love you, ultimately want the best for you. More often than not, these people have more wisdom than you do and it would be wise of you (me) to take heed of their warnings.

I guess I could care less.

character sketches



I love how, when you meet someone, they’re just an outline.

a stick-man sketch of a person.

a vacant space to be filled with details.

I love how, when you’re getting to know someone, they’re just an acquaintance.

a vague piece of person that you know by name and face.

unidentifiable except by their recognition of you and how you met.

I love how those holes fill themselves to the brim with characteristics specific to that person. I love the plain, unbidden human reaction to simple information. The days sew themselves together until the days are counted in stitches and the hours are stretched but they don’t last long enough and the only way you kept track of time is by how many times they made you laugh.

I love how you start noticing other, intimate things, like the small smile they give-to you and only you- like the way their hair curls when they’re sweating.

I love how you fall in love with the way they say your name, and the sound of their laugh. and you don’t know why but you need to hear it again or the earth might shatter into a million tiny pieces.



A Tiny Heavy Feeling 

There isn’t much I wouldn’t do for a hazelnut vanilla latte right now. I love being a tea and coffee person. Some coconut & vanilla tea would also –  My god how do I manage to digress in the beginning of the post??? 


I like to think that all my bad thoughts and negative feelings arrive in the form of tiny furry monsters. Long nails. Sharp teeth. They gnaw pieces of grey matter in your sleep. 

Currently I’m hosting three of those tiny gluttonous creatures in my head. They’re running circles around my brain and making it hard to think of anything else.

There’s the ominous murky future that I feel simultaneously excited & anxious about. Then there’s the state of myself, as in my soul, body & mind. And the world. I know that sounds really broad but I’m hoping that everyone reading this knows I’m referring to the atrocities that keep hitting country after county, family after family. 

I’m terrified.  

The edges of the night are frayed, torn by whispered confessions.

I didn’t see this coming. 

There’s this lyric. 

From this band, Arctic Monkeys, that I adore. 

And I feel like its relevance lies in the fact that, mere hours ago, I experienced it. Saying things I never thought I’d say out loud to a person I never thought I’d say them to. 

There are certain moments in your life, that will fit together like a stained glass. The cold, cloudy morning might be a full grey, capturing your reluctance to get out of bed. And then there are moments, unanticipated & indescribable. (I love how writers say that, LIKE THEIR ENTIRE PURPOSE IS NOT TO DESCRIBE THINGS AND MAKE YOU FEEL THINGS) that might be a stormy lilac. (Because of its unprecedented nature)  

(If I were to caption this I would say something like let me breathe in your galaxy OR  she held the universe on the tip of her tongue


It’s difficult. This “life” thing. And I don’t want to feel like it’s difficult because I also have this idea that we complicate matters  for ourselves (90% of the time in my case) 

So when you come across an individual that might somehow, make it easier. You can see how you might get a little excited. 

And yes it’s completely normal to talk to your friends about your issues. (Although bear in mind that I converse with this particular friend less than 10 times a year- Probs)  Thats not the pinnacle of this discussion. It’s the hour. (2am) it’s the cover of darkness that makes you feel less vulnerable when revealing your inner most fears and secrets and thoughts. 

It was dark & warm and there were my problems, lining the walls of the shadows. And there were her problems, coming through the speaker on my phone. 
And there was our collective pain. And it was ohkay. (Yes. I spell it the way I say it: ohkay. Creative license. It’s a real thing.) more than ohkay it was. 


Walking into a room full of eyes.

I remember that every decision felt like pin prick in the back of my skull. I remember the way that people would say a name, with a certain amount of acid. Their saccharine smiles and their plastic concern. THE ENTIRE SOCIAL SPECTRUM SEEMED TO HAVE ALREADY FIGURED ME OUT. Which, to me, was fascinating. Since seeing I had yet to figure myself out. I remember thinking that people make snap judgements as quickly as a camera, and that that picture was etched into their mind and that’s why they say that first impressions last. 

I’ll probably use this platform to focus on my writing. Lord knows I’ve been wanting to start a blog since forever. And every time i start (maybe it’s just me) my mind is suddenly stunningly blank. Empty of words. Empty of experiences to share. And in hindsight, perhaps this indecent hour is not the ideal time to begin, but I’m feeling quite good about it. Maybe I’ll finally get around to showing the internet my crappy poetry. Or start a column of advice to hijabis (first piece of advice: layers.) maybe I’ll take minimalistic pictures on my phone and use a black and white filter and caption it with one liners that will keep you awake at night. (Not a bad idea). possibilities are endless, to be honest with you. 

Enjoy xxx