more than just words

she was once so sure of who she was and where she was headed of what she could accept and what she would not treasure of the gift that was her life designed for her alone but once he unwrapped her he took away control and she became the passenger in her own car she developed new burns on wounds that had not yet scarred or healed she became a reflection in the mirror of a girl who once stood with rigour rooted in her values and identity lost to insecurity

with you the grey skies become vibrant and the air feels clear of the burdens we share in a world designed for us to survive and not live a blurred vision with hope and possibilities beyond the happiness of temporarily being with you and i need this to feel something to feel alive to want to breathe and exercise my right to exist but when the feeling is gone and i am all alone when you have withdrawn from what we once were i am cold i am incomplete i am no longer free

sometimes the equator begins to feel like a red carpet premiere  the mountains and oceans a supporting cast in a film about you a film that starts and ends with your eyes a world where nothing out of your periphery lies but you’re an extra in the world a member of the audience in its screening another name on the rolling set list that nobody stays seated for you have no responsibility to perform no expectations to be anybody but who you want to be and there’s a beauty in insignificance

Genre: Romance /Coming of Age /Drama Reading age: 18+ Rating: 7/10 You’ll like this if you’ve watched or read End of the F***ing World, It’s Kind of a Funny Story or anything which blends love and mental health. One of my favourite booktokkers always raves about this book, and as it’s black history month, it felt wrong not to read a book by a black author… so I picked up Seven Days in June by Tia Williams. The first thing that must be mentioned is that this story should be plastered with trigger warnings - self harm, substance abuse, suicide, sexual abuse, physical harm, death. You name it, the book has it - which I wasn’t too keen on, I know real life can be shit but I do feel like the story could have been just as powerful without so many different types of traumatic experiences. It almost diminishes the individual experiences in isolation and makes it seem like they must have a culmination of trauma to be worthy of our empathy. That being said it was really well written, very poetic...

the pressure of the day ahead my mind is already filled with dread i am stuck in an open box easy to find but constantly lost and i can leave but i am scared of the commitment scared to die but struggling to live in a world where i am separated from the best scenario because optimists always fall and i would rather jump to my demise be in control of my own destruction at least it wont be a surprise that it did not work out and even if it would have i will never know because prevention is better than cure a life collaterally damaged by anxiety a life wondering why i have not achieved happiness

Genre: Romance, Coming of Age, Mystery Reading age: 11+ Rating: 6.5/10 You’ll like this if you’ve read: The Sun is Also A Star and any high school coming of age book ever! I didn’t have many expectations of this book, I just knew that I wanted to read a light hearted romance and support a black author, and to be fair, it gave what it needed to give. There’s not really much to unpack with this book. It’s largely about the intersectionality of class and race. The class element was interesting to me because I feel like the story shows that even through social mobility, you can’t run from your race… but more positively, you can always find comfort from people experiencing the same race struggles as you. You might hate this concept if you’re a passionate Marxist though! The story follows Quinn Jackson who is a compulsive list maker, like myself, that loses her journal full of lists. These lists contain very private information about herself but also bring her a lot of comfort… and without t...

every time you try to connect the signal fails you find something to agree on but reality tells you that you are too different a bond that should be effortless requiring more effort to maintain not enough water to aid its development a tug of war between nature and nurture a product of an environment where nature cannot thrive a flower grown in a dark room where time had to suffice an unfortunate predicament and they wonder why the harvest they produced was dry and limited the intention was there but the actions were not visible and although nature shows that you may be the same nurture proves that that similarities is not enough to sustain a signal that constantly fails you are just too different

Genre: Historical Fiction, Romance Reading age: 16+ Rating: 9.5/10 You’ll like this if you’ve read: Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid. I read this book shortly after watching the recent Elvis movie, which at the time didn’t feel very significant to me as I didn’t know what Daisy Jones & The Six was about, I just knew I wanted to read another Taylor Jenkins Reid book. And after reading this, I can truly say I have become mesmerised by the world of old school rock and roll. Jenkins Reid has this amazing way of writing historical fictions that feel so real, you almost don’t want to believe the characters never existed. I didn’t know much about 70’s rock but I feel like Jenkins Reid did it justice, for how well rounded the story was. You get an insight into the world from all angles, those steering, those spectating and those escaping. The good, the bad and the ugly, or in rock and roll terms - love, sex and drugs, although I’d add ‘fame’ as an honorary fourth adject...

they say trauma causes memory loss a way to cope with the pain the vision is fragmented yet the feeling remains but you do not remember why so you wear your heart on your sleeve covering the scars carved by a past clouded with rain  but the truth lies in her eyes  yet you just choose not see  you feel guilty that you love him  when hate should precede  she’s an extension of you  but so is he  and when he hurts her he hurts you  and he hurts himself too  so the memory fades  a way to cope with the shame  your vision is fragmented but her feelings remain and deep down yours do too  still you wear your heart on your sleeve  covering scars carved by a past filled with pain

  you are the flower in the field that is yet to bloom the one overflowing with colours concealed by trauma existing in a space you do not belong mingling with those who could not imagine the journey you took to overcome the obstacles denying you access to this field and they are performative allies actors reciting a script methods of their empathy does not resonate with your lived experience and you grew in a dark room so you struggle to bloom in the light you struggle to hide the scars that leaves you feeling like an outcast despite the years of existing within this field the years of dimming your exposure the years of drinking their water because you are not them they will never relate to you you can exist in their field  but you will always be the flower waiting to bloom

  it is hard to admit that you feel alone you are part of the crowd but isolated in a zone that is unreachable your mind is not there you struggle to be present in this gift of life that we share with 8 billion people you are a drop in the ocean a fish in the sea hoping not to be seen by your equals you are not afraid of the sharks and you want to be captured so they know who you are

you start in gear one immediately focusing on two things at once so the thoughts start to flow as you check for a car at the bottom of your road and your handbrake is down so there is no stopping now you begun to roll back you are out of control and the hazards everywhere 100 miles per hour yet they are not getting anywhere until they collide with your thoughts so crushed you can hardly find how to regain them so you just let them be another memory  of your introspective mind

  the sun rose at 8 today i did not see it  but that is fine because i hate the day time it is already dark and i barely ate there is nothing left to see the streets are empty  and so are we nobody  in the driving seat  passengers in this train of life  the paint is dry  and i am sick of watching it  destroy our lives starting with our minds our souls are next  and all we can do is text  to ask for help  or distract ourselves  from temporary insanity  until we escape reality  for the night and the morning too dream of things that we wish were true  and then it is 3pm yet i feel no pain  that i missed the whole day again 

  the anxiety of uncertainty  when staring darkness in the face at the back or in the lead unsure of your position in the race a passenger in your own life no sense of direction no control of the speed and no option to brake for a moment of peace time waits for no one and even in times of uncertainty  we endure the race  and try to chase the lead we plan with confidence  knowing we might not succeed and still we are hopeful in what we believe

build strong children and repair broken men invest in the youth but do not forget the men the men that were so young with their head against a gun never taught right from wrong and still dragged out of their slum broken by a life of crime or broken inside doing time watching it go by through the lines on their wrist dreaming of a world that does not exist a world they already hated no opportunities to make it a life that was negated from the moment they were created cursed by pigmentation the constant alienation a mother without occupation a father without qualification broken by their homes and broken by the system broken by dreams to just be to live like the free build strong children and repair broken men invest in the youth but do not forget the men do not forget the men because they will raise the youth and strong children can not be built by broken men

why do we as humans chase pain its better than not feeling anything at all its better to walk into a burning building and feel the heat  than drive past it in the cold our heartbeat increases as we walk through the centre which is better  than  the dullness of strolling on the pavement of the road and drowning in an ocean we cannot swim rather than wonder if the water feels like what we forebode why do we as humans chase pain to feel alive i suppose the greeks masked pain with love and turned it into a show Shakespeare  did the same   enticing us in Romeo poisoned us with thoughts  to scar our arms our minds our lives  and our hearts and we keep reading because we enjoy the pain we keep holding on because sun comes after rain we wear the same clothes over and over and over again despite the blood stain on the sleeves to remind ourselves that we are alive to feel something anything pain