Creative Writing / 22/09/2020 A Walk on the Beach

The beach is my haven, where I can go to remember. I go when my home becomes too full of melancholy memories. Usually they build up slowly, but today the thoughts are unrelenting. Because they’re the impossible ones. The if-only’s, continually questioning me.    I stare at the rectangular box in my hand, the engagement photo...

Creative Writing / 22/09/2020 A Pier Outstretched into an Ocean

Reached through the ocean, ran through the reef – stopped where the waters turned dark, into the unknowable. We were just kids then: five-, ten-, twelve-year-olds; fingers grasped around the chilled silver railings in front. The wind brought clouds of tortuous form inwards, with full bellies and colours that cracked this spurious visage. We could...

Creative Writing / 04/08/2020 A modern house built on grey clouds

Old hoping thing Go gently now On those dark nights, Where rats huddle in the garden’s compost heap To hide with empty thoughts. Billowing across the street, a black hand demanding answers clutching on to the houses. Trying to rip the windows out of their frames, To leave them choking in a watery mess on...

Creative Writing, Venue / 04/08/2020 Hectic

Hectic. That’s the only word I have for today. Sure, it’s been in the works for months – I signed the agreement weeks ago – but nothing can prepare you for the moment the once empty, internet-trapped room becomes your castle.  Billy cried this morning. He – and I quote – wanted to know why...

Creative Writing, Venue / 04/08/2020 My Illness Has Teeth

  Debby asked me to keep a tally for the number of cups of coffee I drink per day. I keep the tally in my mind. Three so far today, I think. If decaf counts, then maybe four or five more. If strawberry infused green tea counts, then five or six. Maybe seven. Pushing eight...

#BLM, Creative Writing, Venue / 30/06/2020 Just Platonic?

There are relationships doomed to suffer, and relationships that make suffering. Like a cop who kisses his gun at night and lays it under his pillow. The only Black he dares to touch is the butt of his precinct-funded revolver; he tends her like a prized cow raised for slaughter, cocking his perverse killing machine....

Creative Writing

Creative Writing, OldVenue

Creative Writing: A Lack of Desire

Same people, same atmosphere, different party. But this time I’m here with him. We’ve been dating less than a month, just went public a week ago. People call us cute while pushing plastic cups of alcohol into our hands. The night goes by and suddenly he’s holding my hand and leading me into an empty…

Creative Writing, OldVenue

Creative Writing: My Orphan Year

We live in a time where you can type Zapruder into a computer and watch a president die right in front of your eyes. But you’re not watching that right now, you’re checking out the Brazzers made parody of The Wolf of Wall Street: it’s called The Whore of Wall Street. You move from the…

Creative Writing, OldVenue

Creative Writing: Blue Bruise

Just words, Jasmine in the breeze. We flirted with ease. Our sexuality became shayari. (1) That one night, we decided to let go- One flower of passion strung to another like a garland of fantasies. Dreams like clear crystal balls, we teased and played with our words till we saw the light of the day….


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