the obscure hall and its hollow walls

I am wandering around the obscure walls of the sunken place searching its oblique halls and I can’t see past the darkness and the emptiness. there is only hollowness. I am alone, frightened, unable to fathom my surroundings. It is as if the hollowness of this place came to hollow me out. It reverberates through…

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-dear diary

all I used to have were unfinished thoughts dear diary… fragmented parts of myself, that stopped writing at the fear of being uncovered. having your privacy violated, particularly when it is your innermost thoughts, makes you lose trust. not only in those around you but even in yourself- how can you trust the words not…

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-breaking apart

sometimes, it feels as though I’m melting spreading into lather-like substance losing firmness consistency breaking apart, slowly- irrevocably a withered fern losing its light other times, melting is like healing its the scabbing of old scars its taking me into surprising new forms its as though the fire of pain came to glue me to…

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the sweet solace of the moments we give to our selves

there are few things sweeter than the moments we give to our selves. the solace of meditative silence deeper breaths longer baths and slowly slowly preparing meals for yourself painting your nails singing an old song. then there is the healing from crying the small freedom of letting go of all that has attempted to…

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1 Year Later: A Happy Birthday To Me

31 May 2018 The Healing It’s The Afroist’s birthday today, and I am all sorts of emotional having just reread the first post I wrote one year ago. Reading it, I found myself cringing a little at some of the odd phrasing, wanting to edit it, and convincing myself not to, as a pledge to…

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-peace studies

I am a scholar of peace. I have written  the essays on conflict, peace, and security. I have defined peace debated it, and deconstructed it many times. so arguably, I know a lot about peace.   not really.   I have found the peace I have studied lacking in answers. just more questions and ceaseless…

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A Lament of the Growing Futility of our Rage

our anger has no ability to destabilise they have grown accustomed to our anger.   our anger is their profit deliberately deliberately they anger us the more we scream cry destroy ourselves the more they line their pockets  thicken and bulge with the acidity of our anger our anger is so profitable they now sell…

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-the unsent letter

I hate when you say you love me or miss me I gave up on you after the countless times you pushed away my outstretched hands I cried away my love when you told me I was ugly when I sat in the scorching water of the bathtub hoping to burn away my skin shrink…

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wishing for stories of black fairies

a cinematic wish-list

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