Death Date

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Uganze decided to die on October 13th. Unlike other days, she felt a warm, twisted sort of happiness – it might have been fulfilment – when the sharp, rude alarm tone of her phone belligerently yanked her out of sleep. Albeit awake, she shut her eyes and took a deep, long breath, clearing her windpipe and filling her lungs till it ached. A small smile danced on her lips, forming creases on both sides of her mouth. She exhaled and stretched lazily like a lithe cat.

Grrrn! Grrrn!! The alarm tone had begun to irritate her. Gladly, that would be the last time it would wake her from sleep. She scrambled to the other side of the bed and picked the phone from the top of the bedside locker. 07:30 AM. She read to herself, smiled as if she had a secret with her phone, and swiped on the screen to disable the annoying sound. Knowing she was going to die on her terms, putting an end to her life-long misery, gratified her. Continue reading “Death Date”


Regrets and Hopes

“One day the river will overflow.

And there’d be no where for us to go.

And we would run wishing we had put out the fire.”

Asa’s Fire on the Mountain.

November 2052

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IN HER FINAL days, Nelo used to tease me saying I would have her close by if I poured her ashes to serve as manure for the mango tree we had planted earlier this year. That fantasy never materialised into reality – her siblings crushed my dreams to dust as they thumbed through the pages of Holy Scripture to say cremation was sinful.

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To Women That Tweak Themselves

This is not poetry;

it is an address to women that dim their shine that they might be bearable to the sight

For those women, who dilute themselves that they might taste “better”.

For those women who, like beautiful cubes, shave their rough edges and sandpaper themselves to fit into round holes.

Indeed, this is for those women that bend

And break and adjust to fit.

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Mother, Murder

 May 2005

            Everyone overcompensates for something; Chukwuka was no exception to this rule.

            He desperately wanted a daughter. This desire was born from the fact that his mother passed on while giving birth to him. He felt redemption would come from having a daughter he could dote on the way he could not with his mother.

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I Don’t Have an Appropriate Title for This, But “Sex and Friendship” Might Suffice

This is part of something I’m working on. You know those bland sexual experiences we have with people we have beautiful friendships with? Ah! Here goes:

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(…) If sex were a painting, what transpired between you two that night would have been a dull abstract painting done by an inebriated amateur painter. It was that crappy. So crappy you don’t want to be reminded. (…) At a point, she had told you, “I want to make you moan.” But, you’re not used to faking things. That’s the reason you skip foreplay with men. Continue reading “I Don’t Have an Appropriate Title for This, But “Sex and Friendship” Might Suffice”