Still on the #WhenWritersWrite Project. My friend Jerry’s Coal City Stories is about a town and, well, love. (Don’t we all write about love?) It’s been one of those days. Yeah, that kind of day when I’m left feeling undervalued, undermined, feeling that I deserve better than what I’m getting from these tyrants who call…… Continue reading Coal City Stories by Jerry Chiemeke – #WhenWritersWrite,
He thought of Paul mostly at night. Usually, he’d be lying in bed, earphones blocking his ears, Nina Simone’s Love Me or Leave Me calming him into almost-sleep. Usually, the night would be cold, although it could easily be hot too, and if he took out his earphones, through the window from the bush just…… Continue reading #RandomPost
I recently wrote a letter to a friend. While I was writing, I thought it might be apt to share it here. It says quite a bit about me. I like to think it comes from my heart – whatever that means.
So I dive
ripples spread across the surface
Nina Simone is crooning Please Don’t Let Me be Misunderstood
and there’s power in her voice
in a moment we’ll try to match her rhythm
but for now we stay still
she’s the river and I’m the swimmer
testing the boundaries of the familiar
Hi. So, here’s what: I asked a few friends to write on certain topics, ranging from sex to art to love to religion. The project is called #WhenWritersWrite. I’ll be posting one piece every week, so watch this page. The first piece is a poem on the nature of God by my good friend Tunde-Awe…… Continue reading An Existential Crisis by Tunde-Awe II |#WhenWritersWrite
I wrote this a few months ago because someone I know, a fellow writer, had been kidnapped (for writing!). It came in one made rush, even though I’m very reluctant to write poetry. (I so need that shit right now, lol.) The word is a soft rock rolling across the sky rolling rolling rolling rolls…… Continue reading The Word
When she left she broke me. I remember writing to her, You were my confidence. Now, you’re gone. I’ll never be brave again. And I believed it then. The whole world became bland and absurd, daunting even, and I lost interest in everything. If I’d been brave, I would have tried to end my life; but I was not brave. Most morning, I curled up in bed and wished I didn’t have to face the day.