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








It happens quietly: 

The steps to fill the space between us, the 

simultaneous wrapping of arms 

and fingers around square shoulders, the 

gentle brush of lips across my forehead

eyelashes tickling my cheek – 

I’m home. 

Torn T-shirts & Long Skirts

Some things change, some things stay the same.


I haven’t been married long enough to write about how hard it is. It seems effortless and exciting and brilliant and he’s crazy and I’m crazy about him.  I’m sure I could have worded  that with a touch more eloquence. #soz  (dear future self when you see that hashtag, forgive me.)

Something I have noticed though, is that, I’ve changed. I’ve seen it in my eyes. In my reflection, in photos. I can hear it in my laugh.





in my interaction with people- my friends and family. It’s a subtle underlying ting beneath my conversation.  A week ago my aunt leaned in to me – in the way that old people do when they want to impart wisdom – and whispered that I look much more mature now. I wasn’t sure what to make of it. It’s one thing for me to feel different and a wholly other thing for people close to me to tell me I look, talk and act differently.  At first I wasn’t sure if I was comfortable with it. Did I change in a bad way or in a good way?

The epiphany I had: I had changed in an inevitable way. Everyone told me before I got married that things would change. They laughed and smiled that secret adult smile when they said

“Your husband becomes your best friend”

“You won’t be able to shit in the first week”

“Your whole life changes”

It seemed ludicrous at the time. It seemed a gross hyperbole. I mean my parents seemed pretty normal. Granted  I didn’t know them before as separate entities BUT STILL.

Now I can see it.

I’m growing, and changing. And that’s not a bad thing. It merely takes an adjustment period, I’m still trying to find a balance between being a wife, a sister, a daughter and a friend. I have to actively try to be a good person in all those aspects of my life now. I’ll never stop trying.

You know it would be easy to achieve self-actualisation in a month if I could eradicate laziness from my life?

TO LOVE – Verb:

After you say things aloud, you begin to feel those things harder than you did before.  I kissed his arm, and tried to explain to him the extent of my love. I tried to verbalise the way I could feel my heart expanding to contain all of it. I’m still not sure I could show him how much I appreciate him and care for him. He’s like this

this miracle.


one very good reason to get married is for the cuddles.


I absolutely have to include in this post that I am starting with Rushtush this month in order to get my rushtush tush. Here’s to the beginning of my fitness journey

*chews pasta*

*swallows coke*

*looks for dessert*

xo Effzed









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.




This is for that goodbye I didn’t say. 

This is for that one lie I told when I really should have told the truth. 

This is an apology, the one I should have delivered to you on a platter. 

This is the later than late attempt at closure. This is letting go of all the “maybes” and “what ifs” that’s been stuck in my throat all this time. 

This is my well wish. The one that should be on a postcard or billboard. 

This is for the whispered words that passed between us, the ones we buried. This is for the promises we broke. 

This is for you, and the part you played in who I am. And this, this is my goodbye. 

21 hours before the hurricane she wrote 

You’re this, 

enigmatic piece of art that sunk into my skin and hung itself along my veins. 

I can feel you taking pieces of me, inches of my heart and slices of my soul and dipping them in your sincerity. I’m drowning in your clarity. 
In your kiss I taste a galaxy of stars. I’m blinded by you. I’m overwhelmed by you. 
The edges of my skin remember your name your scent your voice your touch.


1. The sun rose austerely 
2. He picked his glasses up gingerly, thinking, maybe if he didn’t slide them on, he wouldn’t have to see the day without her.
3. His body was aching in an unfamiliar way, a pain that came from holding onto words he couldn’t say
4.  Those words imbedded themselves in the fabric of his mind 
5. Their tips were dipped in the toxic truth: he didn’t want to leave this behind 
6. The sun sunk unsmilingly 
7. She crawled into an empty space at the back of her head.
8. She released all thoughts of him, they plastered themselves against the walls 
9. Every nerve ending felt heavy, her hand itched for a pen: 
10. She was so full of words they spilled- 
11.  Out of her in fragments the days stretched on. 
12. The desolate moon cast shadows that mixed with his mood. 
13. No one ever told him that is was the intangible things that could hold you. 
14. On another night he might’ve found something poignant in that fact 
15. But he merely let abstract nouns grab at him until he was frayed. 
16. The moon’s craters caused her to crave his conversation. 
17. The stars were missing. 
18. Or she couldn’t see past the tension in herself. 
19. She whispered that she would’ve liked to put her insides on the shelf 
20. There was something to be said 
21. And it was, just not aloud.