I googled how to find peace, and this is what the results did say,
“write all your troubles on a piece of paper at the end of each painful day.”
My pen became the ship that sailed into the oceans of my dismay.
I wrote and wrote, and wrote and wrote, yet my stormy clouds stayed gray.
I asked the Stoic, “could you know if journaling works just as Google says?”
With a smile on his face he gently said, “instead of writing, erase.”
Dec 12, 2025
Dec 12, 2025 at 4:18 AM UTC
It’s either I’m a bad bartender or you are bad customers- I refuse to believe it is the former.
I’ve spent years learning how to flair; I’ve juggled bottles, flipped liquors and done magic tricks to wow you but all you care about are your cocktails.
So I’m done pouring into cups I never get to drink from— done serving tables I never get to eat from.
I’m done being a mixologist for people that prove they don’t want to mix with me, which is to say, I refuse to be the friend that always calls; the friend that always splits himself thin for “friends” that would never do the same for me.
So the next time you come to my bar to drink, don’t expect to see me at the counter— don’t expect to see me in your life.
-Buumba Munene-
Jan 4, 2024
Jan 4, 2024 at 3:01 PM UTC
They say we are dust
I wish that was literal
Me, a particle; part of a pyramid somewhere in Egypt
Firmly holding an architectural mystery together for thousands of years
Maybe that would have been better than struggling to hold this 23 year old life together.
Why is this dust flesh?
Why does this flesh have breath?
Why is this breath soul?
They say we are dust
I wish that was literal.
Nov 12, 2023
Nov 12, 2023 at 3:08 PM UTC
Hey bro. If you get this, you’re the boy that gets to love this little angel. A few pointers: Number 1: If she gets a little moody, she’s either tired or hungry..
Number 2: she’s allergic to peanuts, berries and honey..
Number 3: If you run your hands through her hair, she falls asleep..
Number 4: she.. she’s the best that’s.. that’s..
I want her back..
Apr 24, 2023
Apr 24, 2023 at 1:25 PM UTC
“Walls have ears.” — I’m embarrassed that these panels of brick, concrete and sand get to hear my midnight screams.
Mar 7, 2023
Mar 7, 2023 at 6:42 AM UTC
Breakups are for the brave:- those who do not fear to continue their lives alone when the bi-cycle ends and their ride or die leaves when the ride has died.
Those courageous enough to carry themselves up when their lover lets them down and those valorous enough to accept that they will never hear words of the person that called them dear because those words now deafen the heart’s ear.
Breakups are for those ready to be the latest lionhearted lonely losers—the spunky sobbing second-soulmate-seekers.
No coward can part with the person that pats their body parts when life poses pitiless; no one has ever said “it’s over” and meant it without being valiant-
and so, the next time you feel you are done, I hope you will be brave enough to be done.
Nov 10, 2022
Nov 10, 2022 at 7:16 AM UTC
Curse this heart of coal!
Ever burning— ever consuming itself from within:-
Author and finisher of its own distraction.
Why did the fire choose me? Did it not know that I am a heart of coal? — and the more it uses me for who I am, the more I die by what I am.
Curse this heart of coal.
Aug 26, 2022
Aug 26, 2022 at 6:31 AM UTC
It takes three seasons to go by
for angels to look at the earth, and in the fourth, they cry.
Their hearts bleed at the sight of humanity’s pain and they can’t help but let loose their tears as rain.
“Maybe!” they shout to each other, “if we cry a little harder we can show
that the flowers that dried can once more grow.”
‘Pitter-patter’, they pour and pour
so every heart that’s heavy may know—
that though the world grows dry with sorrow
we still have angel tears to borrow.
Aug 4, 2022
Aug 4, 2022 at 3:40 PM UTC
It’s hard to write poetry about her cause she is poetry and that’s about her:—
She is the rhyme that gives this empty soul rhythm..
the metaphor that give this piece of life meaning..
A diction that’s my addiction..
A **** symphony of syntax..
A connotation that cleanses and an alliteration that fixes..
She is the word that forms the frame of my poem’s fame.. she gives this meaningless mumble a name.
She asks, “baby, why don’t you write any poetry about me.” I answer, “you are poetry and that’s about you.”
Jul 27, 2022
Jul 27, 2022 at 1:59 PM UTC
She was ugly but he made her feel like she had it all wrong :—
When she complained about her dark spots, he would whisper into her funny-shaped ear, “that’s what made me spot you,” and when she complained about how fat she was he said, “I’m happy I gained you.”
He called her thick untidy ***** hair the ‘fortress of his love’ and her bushy eyebrows the ‘blanket for his cold soul.’
He told her her stretch-marks were the waves on the body of her sea and he would surf them with his fingers.
Because her nose was big, he would tell her, “you take my breath away,” and when she looked into the mirror and saw the dark circles around her eyes he would always tell her about how he would love to travel the universe of her soul cause they were dark holes.
It was odd that everything she hated about herself he loved ever-so deeply — She was ugly but he made her feel like she had it all wrong.
May 12, 2022
May 12, 2022 at 3:30 PM UTC