Dear whoever, I read a book – an awful mistake, because now I have lost touch with myself. I think perhaps I shouldn’t have read it, but, if I’m really frank, there’s no way of being certain that I wasn’t just heading here all along. Maybe in the end it doesn’t really matter that I…… Continue reading I Read a Book
Ladi, Those who say our kind of love is wrong have not met you and me. It happened quickly, a long night and twenty-four hours to seal our fates. They don’t know how I break; how the inflection in your voice is the only rhythm my heart understands. They’ve not even heard your voice! How…… Continue reading Our Kind of Love | Poetry
Maami, Love is hard to find When you love girls and boys. From the girl you get disgust, A shudder: ‘where has that thing been? I don’t even want to think about it.’ You’re not quite what the boy expects He won’t trust you: ‘She’ll always be better.’ And you’ll never be able to convince…… Continue reading When You Love Girls and Boys
I wasn’t expecting the message: Hi, I can write children’s stories. We started talking. I’m Ohakwe, he said, Ohax for short, and I thought I had absolutely no interest in calling him Ohax; Ohakwe was the most beautiful name I’d ever heard. It means unity, he said, in a nutshell. He flattered me, asked me…… Continue reading Remembering Ohakwe, Ohax for short.
(for Ileri) like floating at three a.m. your head is not in the right place the wind drops its jaw and forgets to blow there are butterflies tiny, colourful, spiralling about inside you trap them. free them your head should work but its not in the right place strange and you’re floating. sinking. and you’re…… Continue reading This is How Love Feels Like |Poetry
I read this book around April, I think, and it undoubtedly is the best book I have read this year. It was my first Oates, so I wasn’t quite sure what to expect. But I very quickly discovered that I had nothing to worry about. It is essentially the story of an American family in…… Continue reading We Were the Mulvaneys by Joyce Carol Oates | IjapaReviews
I am like a ball of wool in the furtive hands of a curious child. With every sixty seconds, I come undone a bit more. I am more defined by the questions-why? what (have I become)? where (did the time go)? how?-than answers.