left it behind in some aburokyire

I’m neither a part of this nor that

Despite the dumb weight of other people’s opinions.

How I do love me some words! (Poetry Sunday) — Words are my anchor: tethering me l oo se ly to sanity in notions of ‘Love’, ‘kindness’ and ‘equanimity’ — shaking me so vio — — l — ent — — — — — — — — — --l — — -y, when I think of ‘pain’, ‘rage’ and ‘wickedness’, even as they humor me with witty is the ‘foolishness’ the’silly’andthesublimely’ridiculous’, plus…

How I see myself, or rather don’t —

Yes, this is what depression looks like too — I felt sorry for myself — a sorrow — at being able to clutch at proverbial straws, making out that this life had a point at all. I listened to them tell those tales that I had regularly reeled off — griot style. Those acts of faith by those who…

a trace of tough self-love — Reading you, Bukowski, is pure inspiration — in turn of phrase, w/ emotion laced angst all over the place in the open heart of your prolific prose poetry pulsating, amazing, sheer grace in the face of don’t know what’s becoming of me here & yet, I thank you for now I…

There’s so much good to be grateful for, but… — As I start yet another day by peacefully writing in my gratitude diary, in spite of the slow unraveling of normality (especially out there in the Northern Hemisphere), I realize that there’s so much to be thankful for in my little corner of the world — even if I could…

how I deal with my mind chatter —

how not to make a sensible living of any sort — I am so pleased to say that I’ve found it: the thing that gives me such great joy! And its name is Art. It’s the pleasure in painting, photography, sketching, image making, the imagining of futures and so much that I am yet to discover that I can do. And…

about living in an uneasy “in-between” called transformation — growth lies in the uneasiness the in-between the unfinished sentence — @editorsmusings I am an unfinished sentence. I move between a constant wanting and yet I desire little. I also live within patience — just waiting, while still being decidedly impatient. In essence, I reside in the troubled “in-betweens” of…

until I just can’t find myself —

This story called my life. —

or else, “Here’s to destination unknown!” — No one wants to hear my truth, not even myself, as I wallow in a pity party for me, although it could be for you of little faith. And, yes, I am worn, disheveled, down & out, worn out by hedging my bets on this “not my portion” but (in need) a safe stet…

on the many meanings of my numerous names —

Reflections of a Wanton Child — I AM still in the process of evolving, even though I could say that a certain core part of me is more-or-less set, in stone. But if asked to say what that part of me is, I would be hard pressed to do so. All I know is that I…