Window shopping
Her latest fling was trying to muster the nerve to say in plain English he wanted to be single-
But she had already read the signs in his body language, I guess he never knew she was bilingual-
Her hopes were cuffed on trial inside her chest,
Love had a public defender, but it never stood a fair test -
It took the plea deal, maybe that’s why she settled for less -
She put a freshly ironed smile on every day, even though she was still healing -
She wanted to dress modestly, so she covered up her feelings-
She never pulled her emotions out of the closet because it was too revealing-
She knew most of the men were just window shopping. They only deemed her physically appealing-
They wanted possession, not attachment, it was for access-
Love interest became like modern payments, contactless-
She fell for the speed of love at first sight
But shattered when she saw how fast fashion bites-
She was wife material, but the male gaze cut her down -
Like sleeves trimmed short to fit the fashion now
The old saying, hurt people hurt people was stuck in her head like a melody -
She is done with confusing a mutual connection for someone else's retail therapy -
She was done languishing on racks, with price tags that were attached to her-
No longer will she be imprisoned by labels, even if they were heralded like clothes from a designer -
Now, she is the only seamstress who could design her-
She walked out of the store with confidence, the security didn't even flinch-
Since no alarms went off because all her tags had been removed.-
May 22
May 22, 2026 at 3:22 AM UTC
Ghana
It’s funny I wrote this part last because I love Ghana,
And I don’t know how to write about love.
So no metaphors, no similes
I just love Ghana.
The motherland was still new terrain,
but Grandma lived there,
so we could never feel alone.
Raised in the Newham trenches,
but the first trip I was old enough to remember
I knew Ghana was home.
I still remember Grandma
making me eggs in the morning,
shouting down the local merchant
to bring me a coconut when I was done.
I remember running
from her chickens and cats
Ghana as a kid… was fun.
As an adult, it’s my rose in the battlefield
of my fractured identity,
the part of me that self-doubt
waved the white flag to
after seeing the proud black flag
my identity waved back in defiance.
“White is right” used to be a skyscraper
compared to the inferiority complex we were housed in
until the plane doors became my Narnia wardrobe.
Because black kings and queens
were no longer just a defense mechanism
no longer a retort whispered
by Black people
to Western ideology.
It might sound regressive,
but I feel a deep sense of love of home
when I see people who look like me.
Nothing compares
to being close to my lineage.
I’m not religious,
but suddenly it makes sense:
maybe God was just trying to make us feel like family.
Maybe that’s why
He created us
in His image.
Before I flip the page to my last time in Ghana,
I have to let you know what happened to Grandma.
Grandma had been in a coma for a week,
so the night I heard my mum scream…
I knew a guardian angel
had just been added to the armoury.
When my mother cried in my arms,
she wasn’t “Mum” anymore.
I saw her as a firstborn.
I saw her as a child.
I saw her as someone’s baby girl.
I saw…
her.
Knowing I had to walk back through the Narnia doors
to mourn the fall of a matriarchy
had me going insane.
I have lost a parliamentary term's worth of time with grandma due to family politics
Grandma’s death was a Copernican shif
my worldview changed.
When I was young she taught me the value of the wasting food,
Even in death she taught me the value of not wasting time
It has me thinking…
if I could go back, would I do my life the same?
Would taking the risk
to make fast money
have been the best option
if it meant I could spoil my grandma
while I still had her?
Will I make it in time
to enjoy it with the ones
who were the reason
I ever wanted to make it?
If I could speak to my younger self,
would I tell him to become a stereotype?
When he’s offered the shortcut
drug dealer or fraud boy
would I tell him to take it?
May 21
May 21, 2026 at 4:40 PM UTC
A child even his father couldn’t love
I watched you chase your nephews and nieces
well… my cousins
I’m the child you never gave the chance to make you proud,
the one you never let disappoint you,
the one you never even gave a chance
to have a chance
I never drew breath, but somehow I know
you’re not the kind of man I’d want to become
How could you teach me self-acceptance
when you fold at the sound of affection?
Your tears soaked the page before I could hold the pen,
and now I’m the casualty
of your vow to never love again
How poetic
It’s the only vow you ever kept
But… but… son, is that you?
I couldn’t stay strong.
Women wrecked me.
I was too broken to build a bond
Courting turned me into a ghost whisperer,
always dealing with someone still trying to move on
But Dad, don’t you see?
Now I am the ghost
I will die with you,
yet I will have never truly lived
Tell me, Dad, what legacy will you leave behind?
Because it won’t be children
I’ve seen your mental struggles
but legacy is more than survival,
it’s sacrifice
Better yet,
this was your grandmother’s dying wish.
So what will you tell her
when you meet her again?
May 21
May 21, 2026 at 4:19 PM UTC