How the dead can seem so alive, she had pondered as she moved from room to room and conversation to conversation. Eventually, she had stopped moving. For days on end. The dark of her eyelids transforming into the darkness outside her window. That is when they had come—her friends—and pulled her out of the mud that seemed to be drowning her. The mud that was sucking her under as her arms sat helpless at her side. How easily the body can be swayed by the soul.Read More
Like any writer, I spend a lot of time procrastinating the things I need to say because ultimately, writing requires vulnerability. There is also the balance of writing things that can be monetized versus the things you want to talk about. The collection of essays here represents the latter to its truest form. It is my hope that as you read them, you will allow yourself to be as vulnerable as I permit myself.
Do leave me a comment if something particularly strikes you. Happy reading!
So you want to seduce her, you tell me? And you know that for a girl like her, flowers just won’t do. At least no ordinary dozen of roses, or those stargazer lilies mama used to love so much we’d have to pick them up on our way home from church every Sunday. No. A girl like her likes flowers like her; broody, awkward, strange.Read More
When they had laid in bed that first morning, the light catching them both with nothing to hide, Jamal had marveled at the smooth skin that hugged her breasts and curved her belly, unwinding itself in the limbs she wrapped around him. He had written the song then and though he varied its tune, the lyrics always remained the same.Read More