She replies demurely when I ask who she is as she fumbles in front of the door. My neighbour who was once my lover, and whose heart I shattered in the moans of another. What happened to your sister? I ask, dread creeping upon me. Why have I only now asked the question? The sibling replies, staring at me with eyes with wise eyes.

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.

Stories, stories and more stories. They dance around coquettishly,. I do not own them. I cannot catch them,. And pin them to paper. 8221; She wished that she could also apologize for cheating with his friend. But it was so long ago, and he would only tell her that she was forgiven.

So, I had decided to go to the one person who would accept me and my child; My Mother. Tossing my bags into my car, I began the long drive home. The only other person I dreaded facing was my father.

Un-intellectual ramblings of the unrepentant sweet toothed junkie. Originally posted on nostalgic words of future me. Give it up for the madame. I look lovingly at my shiny new blonde wig and smiled softly. It took me six long years to earn the privilege of wearing it. So obviously, I have none.

A view into a beautiful mind. You cross it all the damn time. You somehow imprinted on me and I cannot erase you. Do you still seek, Alder One? It said with a voice that was like the ocean lapping at the shore. Why do you keep calling me that replied the male.

In Quest for Prince Charming. After my crazy stint with Gboyega, I had decided to stay clear of men o. I decided to free and focus on other things like my job, money and God. Yes God, believe it or not. Who am I kidding? Omo, that was how I felt o. Thinking it was one of my friends, I just put the note in my.

Well, this is just all sorts of awks. That moment when you become a stranger in your own house, which you built with your sweat, blood and at the expense of your laptop keyboard, phone screen and twitter intergrity, is as depressing as waiting for Tonto Dikeh to make good music. Allow me to re-introduce myself.