A little prose and poetry about my first Canadian Winter.

All I can do is write about boys.

Although you try not to, the author gains an immeasurable amount of respect and awe from you. For a moment, they are the perfect creator.

We don’t remember what it was like to walk for the first time our weak legs carrying our chubby body across the living room floor. We...

He smiles at me and then that smile is on my lips and then we’re smiling together and then our smiles are together

Then the magic of our exchanged smiles and glances would go unrealised and I would never again know the colour of unsaid words

The day I died, the sun was shining, the air was singing, and I believed cruelty could not exist.

We could and likely will not to find the words we need.

She can’t remember her voice. She chokes the girl’s name, “Suhaila.”

Lies in the Lines: A Video on Propaganda

poetry is everything unspoken

The first published piece for Variety of Voices!

What are you?

A classic deancas song.

I roar at the moon And the moon howls back.

There have been tears, there have been laughs, there have been epic failures and soaring successes.

"You're full of shit." "Find me a knife." Ameer and Seoul are simply not capable of a civil conversation.

There are no words because I know them all. I know the tricks and I turn them into mansions of metaphors.

Today’s edit is a mix of one of my favourite movies and a cover of one of my favourite songs.

Luna stands centre stage. They’re here to give context on creation before the curtains close.