The ground beneath her feet. 

Her genesis is that of toes kissing dust, shoes

decomposed as rust.

As a soloist , feeding her infants is a must. Faith

in a male figure twisted her trust, wetening her

Ruth loyal eyes. Is hope that eroded from the

past? Her strength purified stubborn draught with

eternal rain, its funny how even from the ones

she idolised a stone was cast.

She either fabricated a special cloth for scars

or can take the cut. Considering how she took

the needle and thread , mended her heart

proving she can do what other woman


Her homestead mannerism remain still,

hoping  her other half has something

to fill. Slowly picking up the beans

he spilled , consecutively crying

herself to sleep.

Poverty flooding her rooftop-provoking her silent scream.

She recovers from un-climbable peaks

buying her a resolute dream-

that in every orga lives a beautiful

fairy, that even sour

milk can give the richest


Leaving the ground beneath her feet

believing weeping is for the weak.

Now all that remain is blood stains

and cracked amour of motherhood’s


A glimpse of her holy mind that led

to a successful yet impossible

exosism and acceptance of being

a life sentenced jail bird in Eve’s

descendants prison.

For Adams of these times abandon

their responsibilities for the

leisure of living.

The entire moral of the

journey- how gifted they

can be at deceiving but at

their expense.

Its women’s strength to

manage the ground beneath

their feet that God finds




A friend of mine Percy Thomas-  an amazing poet- and I merged minds and bonded through writing this piece.

Thank you for the ink Perc:)!

Sbahle Mali 

​I have found her.

She that owns her smile
She who values her love and knows her worth.

She walks with courage and grace
 He crown stays neatly in place.

She loves and is loved with the most precious effortless love.

She hasn’t always known this  place of tranquillity she dwells in but has made it her own.

The sound of her laughter fills my lungs with purple butterflies.
She walks hand in hand with he who shines the path not for her but with her.

Together they are one,together they are love.
They breathe love.
She knows love and perfect happiness through him and he lives it with her.

I found her.
For some years she was a stranger but he held up the light high enough for me to see her
In a dark alley he stood next to her
Through him I found her.

He loved her and stood by her even when she didn’t know the love she deserved
The love she had
The love they shared

He -the one that she falls inlove with every single second of every single day- always knew she was a gem.

Through letting him in and trusting him I found her.

If it wasn’t  for you Mr Mali the beautiful and strong Sbahle Mali would have never been revealed to me.

Who knew that behind that troubled mind there was a strong woman waiting to be freed.

I wish you many forevers in pure bliss and love….❤

-With lots of love

Parts of me 

I have ugly parts that are governed by dirt.

Dirty parts that feel ugly all day everyday.

There are parts of me I only feel when they beg to be torn apart from the rest of me.

Most parts of my life are blurred by the burning tears of hopelessness.

A heavyness that breaks the poorly mended me.

But a huge part of me is loved effortlessly and graciously.

Letter to My Khaliah 

​When I was 18 I had severe abdominal and back pain.
After a few tests,the doctor I had consulted told me that I might have fertility problems later in life.

Until that day I didn’t know or atleast had not decided if I wanted to have kids or not.

As the years went by the anxiety of not having kids of my own really got to me.
It hit hard and all I have ever wanted was to have 2-4 kids.

Store them up and love them forever.

I made up a list of baby names for my babies and that helps me feel them.

I haven’t started trying for a baby and that can be overwhelming the “what if it doesn’t happen” but having names helps calm my anxiety.

I can talk to them and the guilt doesn’t eat at me that much.
Here is a letter to my daughter,the one I dream of mothering one day.

Dear Khaliah

I can imagine the struggle of pronouncing your name right,it took me a year to get it right.

It will be a bit unfair to your daddy because I am not about to add another name to your name or change it. I love it as much as I love you my baby.

I stay up late at night,sobbering and smiling to myself. I know you’ll be the best gift ever. Your tiny hands are already wrapped around my entire existence. 

I write stories on a daily to share with you and your siblings later in life.

I am bettering myself so you can have the best parts of me. That includes getting rid of some ugly habits and learning new good ones .

Sitting here and thinking about you fills my aching heart with warmth,how I wish to hold you someday soon.

I love you so much my darling Khaliah . My beautiful pride and joy . 
Warm love 

Mommy ❤

Losing Oluwabusayomi- It hurts me too! 

Coping with coping.

I wanted to know how it felt like,how he was feeling and what he was thinking.

I kept throwing questions at him and he tried to answer as best as he could.

I wondered if all my questions made him feel overwhelmed and hindered with the healing process.

I am not coping with this lose,I have been secretly  mentally planning outings with Buyaso from the day I knew he was coming.

Losing Oluwabusayomi for me is like,a piece of our happiness has been snatched away from us.

I miss him, I miss being excited about him and fantasising about how he will look like and if he will enjoy baking and all the fun moments I had planned for us.

I miss his dad’s smile evey time I asked about him.

Busayo was a level 10 pain for his dad,how I wish I could take that away.

But I think letting him feel the pain will allow him to connect with him and I know the man he was before the lose will never come back,I pray and hope it doesn’t kill his esscence.

Losing Oluwabusayomi-A father’s grieving tale. 

“God has added to my joy”

I can imagine the bliss that was going through his mind when he choose this name for his most precious gift.

As friends and siblings we say “your pain is my pain,I am feeling with you.”

We genuinely feel with our brothers and sisters,grief is individual but no individual griefs alone.

A good friend of mine recently lost his unborn  son.

As part of his grieving and healing he wrote about it.

I am going to share parts of his story for this entire week on my blog to try to encourage him to talk more about it and heal through it.

This is the first blow,how he felt a day after the loss:

Stillbirth / miscarriage
You can’t understand the trauma, agony and tragedy still births or miscarriages has done to a family.

Here is my story.

 At first I was scared of being a dad, but when the reality dawned  on me, I took up the challenge and accepted all the responsibilities that comes  with being a dad.

Fast forward 20weeks and some days  Just when I gave him a name “Oluwabusayomi” that God has added to my Joy. I kissed the tummy carrying my son Tuesday to be precise, 2 days later the mom called me she’s on her way to the clinic, I asked as a curious dad to be if it’s the ante-natal day,unknown to me the baby last kicked on Tuesday.
Getting to the clinic, she was referred to emergency ward of the hospital, I got the news lost concentration of all I was doing, my heart was racing back and forth.
Series of test was carried out and  we heard the sad news, my son strangled himself with the unbiblical cord.
I couldn’t hold back my tears. The joy and hope of being a father disappeared.
Busayo is gone, I was not opportune to hold the tiny fingers of my son.

I do tell people that it will be fine whenever I offered a shoulder for them to cry on. I now understand what it meant to be in such state, no amount of consolation can make up for the loss.

Only God can console.
Thanks to God the giver of everything.

NaNoWriMo.-Braving on an exciting challenge .(My first attempt to Novel Writing) 

​I usually don’t do things that require me to stick to time frames and deadlines but when I read about #NaNoWriMo a few days ago I knew it’s something I had to give a go. 
I signed up about 8d ays ago and the pressure of actually writing and finishing a novel of 50 000 words in 22days really threw me off.

But who am I kidding
I can’t help but not write.
So I am battling yes but enjoying I don’t know what I am doing , I keep getting lost but I want to share what I have so far.
I am determined to finish this novel even if I don’t make it to the end of November I’m still going to finish.

It goes something like this:

I am a princess in a glass in a fictional bubble that seems to be a reality to everyone but me.

Standing in front of the mirror in my foreign feeling room, it’s a bit cracked but even through the cracks I can still see her. Starring at me with her cold eyes.
Every cell in my body wants me to gather the strength that’s inside of it and just charge towards her; demand answers.
My eyes fill up with tears that make me feel sick and mad yet very afraid as I stand there remembering the last conversation I had with her.

That night I woke up from a chilling dream, and on my way to have a drink of water I saw her. She stood in the middle of my room laughing, mocking me with her careless laugh; I got mad, screamed at her, threw the container of pills that where on the table next to the mirror at her – causing it to crack.
She just stood there.
“I hate you” I was now standing directly in front of her,” Stop hiding behind that mirror, you coward”
My body gave up on me ,fell to the ground and quickly shut my eyes tightly closed.
I felt my breathe getting thinner and I knew that she was about to speak.
“I’m not the coward” Her voice has this way of getting into my head and just crippling my being. As she continued “It’s exhausting loving you, look at you. Stand up!”
I crawled towards the bottle of pills I used as my weapon earlier.
Felt a bit of my strength come back and pulled myself up.
I sat up facing her, slowly opened them.
“What are you doing?” She suddenly didn’t sound so confident.
I ignored her and started counting the pills as I got them out one by one.
“one, two, three, four- even you won’t be able to stomach fifteen” 

The end before I left.

​The last thing I needed was to get my already broken heart broken

It happened.
I guess it has a way of always just happening. 

Lead me right here .

Feeling all the emptiness and wishing it away.

It’s dark,not just out but in here too.
I can hardly recognise my own voice.
My tears have dried up and I wish they hadn’t.
Sleep has gone and I pray it never comes back.
The memories haunt me in my dreams and I’d rather be up in wonder than constantly dying in my sleep.

The last thing I needed was to sit here writing sad goodbye’s.

This has to be the last goodbye.


Crucial conversation 

​Dear Boitumelo Sole
I need you to love yourself one more time,one last time.

I know you’ve been trying to do this all these years but you won’t have to be you anymore soon.

I promise I’ll wipe out all the pain, I just need you to channel all what’s left of your energy into loving yourself one more time.

Your head is full of all the words I keep throwing at you late at night when I’m sick of your tears and bloody hands
“It’s exhausting -loving you-
I always have to beg
Beg for sanity
Plea for your affection.”

But you are worth every ounce of love.
Yes, sometimes I don’t believe it but I damn know it’s true .

I’m setting things right for you.

Hold onto the beautiful pieces of your world as I’m trying to build you a new one filled with love,hope and a concrete support structure.

I’ll never leave you no matter how much you beg me to.

With love

-your stronger self. 

The wall

Meet the ideal character of me

She has been created because that’s easier than admitting that I have a problem.

I am afraid of the world;all the questions and judgemental eyes. 
I had to build a wall.
She -is that perfectly fitting  wall that let’s the pain within me float around and eat me up without the distraction of the world.

In black and white my life is perfect,I have a wonderful family ,friends and my academics are extremely good too. My body is the envy of most girls,my size zero jeans make me the girl to talk to.

That painted smile on my face is what connects them to me.
A lie I’ve mastered.

If I’ve got it all why do I need a fake wall that demands so much energy to keep up?

Because the pain is inside
I don’t wear it pinned to my chest and flared on my face
It is not a one day felt emotion that I can just splurge out and hope not to catch again.
No, it does not come and go like a diease 
I have succumbed to its flames
It does not feed off me anymore
I have become it .

This wall is for them,my family and friends… the rest of the world.
  If I can’t understand my sadness,can’t calm the voices in my head and firgure out how I’m always so sad without a problem at hand they won’t  understand the tear marks on my pillow,the bloody wrists I dream of.
They won’t be able to make out the foamy words of my slugged speech-
Pills never seem to work.

The real me comes out late at night ,
Between the cries and the dark thoughts,  Mornings are left for last minute break downs as I prepare my wall for another “reality”

I am sad and weakened by it,
My sadness is pain
I am this pain
My heart beats a morbid tune.

My wall is built high and strong
My wall is beautiful
An enchanting lie-my gift to the world.