NUDITY, FOOD AND THINGS THAT CAUSE HATE. Sister Simi, sorry o , the owner of the slightly maniacal laughter said as she pinched her accomplice who walked back to the living room of my two-bedroom flat, holding his pinched arm. I could swear that I saw a tingle of accomplishment in her eyes and I looked at her in disbelief. How are you now? In that moment.

These words shall be my legacy. I used to be a rapper. I used to be a dancer. I used to read a lot. I used to have friends visit me at home. I used to be more social. I used to write poetry. I used to be a sculptor. I used to draw regularly. I used to make music. These are words I hope to never say. I used to make photographs.

Calm, TOTALLY INSANE, but calm still. Musings of Minds under the illusion of freedom. Know that when the thought of writing this review came to mind, I had an instant headache because I had never written before. So, bear with me.

I developed the passion to write when I was just a kid. I started out as a reader. And boy, did I read! Novels, plays, poems, whatever had ink on it. I even went as far as reading dictionaries when I got bored. To finally end my stor.

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Using my pen to share my thoughts, belief and the GOSPEL. STAY FRESH AND STAY REPPING JESUS.

Buzzing all around you,. Of mothers you saved but still had to die. With those children still inside them. No, the sun, for heaven does know loss. Gloomier than darkness when you ceased to shine. You stopped counting at 22. And when you rose,. Puss and blood trickling your thighs. You showed us how to be strong.

Poetry and music are very good friends. She is unconditional love, who. Reached down and picked you up. Placed you in her lap. And rocked you back and forth. Her gentle breath on your face is always warm and. Her arms are always inviting. She is divine comfort, who. Nursed you from her own breasts. Gave up pounds of her own flesh. Carried this load, so heavy. Even with you attached at her chest.