Just an Option

“Love. Pain. Stupidity. Perfect trio. Everything that comes in threes is true and if it rhymes it’s gospel.


” Here is my gospel to you. An epistle written in tears and smiles. To get to you I had to beat all odds just to crack the code to your heart. A destiny hack because I never pictured you in my world but here you are rocking every bit of it.A tornado of affection. Through the pain, I learnt patience, I learnt tolerance and I learnt how to play candy crush. The wages of love are wounds apparently as I am constantly reminded by my stupid little mind… But here I am, climbing on top of ego just to reach your attention. Gambling the last of my emotions so I could win your heart. This is my inner most fragile sober me speaking , Baby do you hear me ? I love you and it’s stupid because I’m not sure if you mean it when you say “me too”…I’m at the end of my journey and you are my final destination. Will you be mine forever?”,

He said pulling the blankets to his side. She almost responded with ” I do” but what use was it replying to a sleep talking person. They fought before he slept , she stayed up trying to figure out who Lindsey from work was. She texted Dan every detail of her relationship problems as always. He stayed up texting back as always. It doesn’t hurt confiding in exes right ?Dan was the sweetest. And she couldn’t figure out why her relationship with her boyfriend was unstable. Mysterious.



Politically incorrect

0024. A heavy knock on the door. Drinking hours were over I figured. It was the fourth day staying up just to open the door and have my exquisitely prepared food flung at my face. How did I end up with this monster? I’m good looking, have a decent amount of humor and I make enough to support myself and a pet. Preferably a cat or rabbit because dogs eat more and those things are high maintenance. I watched this blob of mine drag its legs into the house, its legs clinging tightly to the ground. Holding that much alcohol was a skill I was yet to perfect myself. I reckon maybe when I finally gather the confidence to let out a piece of my mind, I will drain my reasoning in liquor. That would be the day I thought. The day I would baptize someone in their own medicine. I had grown tired of this nonsense. This had to end. I was warned against it but, “they don’t know what love is, how could they ?”. Looks and money make the sorrow an illusion of happiness. I was happily depressed. But this had to end. She had to go. My girlfriend was an abusive drunk who raped me whenever she felt like she wanted. “I’ll stay for the kids” I told myself.


The day I would baptize someone in their own medicine

What would you do if the things you did to people were done to you ?


How the writing began.

I used to hate literature. I mean with a strong passion you’d swear William Shakespeare killed my dad. I couldn’t stand the type of diction that was used in most books, I found it confusing. It’s basically the same reason why I have issues with reading the King James version Bible. ( The Bible is this book Christians use to justify their actions and religion but you probably knew what a Bible was). So I hated literature but subconsciously I was inspired by how words could create an atmosphere, a feeling and a purpose. I used to draw more in my literature classes and hope my prayers would get me through the exams. Those were never answered. Then towards my A level final exams, I discovered I could write. I mean I could put words down that made people want more.


The first piece I wrote was in 2012 I think, I wrote it as a sarcastic brush at the ancient art of fairytales. I vaguely remember the intro but it was something like this :

” Once upon a time, when people actually started stories like this, and when princesses were a thing and frogs could kiss people in public. There was a princess (cliché right)….. ”

The first story I ever wrote was for my then girlfriend when she told me she couldn’t sleep and I decided why not try a bed time story. She was the princess in my story. There was no frog. And she didnt fall asleep apparently, we stayed up all night as I continued the story up to about 6 AM. I had made someone smile and that became my basis for writing then. I’ve since written a lot of items including poems, quotes ,speeches and never jokes. I suck at jokes.

Why I write :

– Just for you

I write for smiles. And recently I write to inspire.


Pieces of me – The heart I broke

Her stiletto nails sank deep in my skin. The adrenaline rush raced my Ego and my ID lost the battle to a blind super ego. The psychology of love had won. The score 6- 9, the claws of pleasure had me. I was suffocating in her dripping affection. Her cherry red lips ,as succulent as cacti, thorns included. Her love was my poison, the death was worth every dying second. The more I gave in, the faster my logic eroded . There’s no common sense in love, just strategic stupidity. She drew me in and kissed my neck, and like a vampire she left her mark. An emotional tattoo. She had turned me into her loyal lap dog, her words, my mission. Her beauty only fairly seconded by her reflection, but I can never be sure, she broke all the mirrors.

I was suffocating in her dripping affection.

I’m a slave to her stare, submissive to her needs and a master of her wants. She gave me a kiss on my right cheek. Her breath took mine on a joyride right into the depths of her dark soul. I didn’t want her anymore. She was bad for me. I had been drunk in her love and so blind to her pain. She was broken, I was her last anchor. I was all she had, I wanted to leave now. She cannot be anchored by a rusty heart that’s holding on its last thread. A beat away from oblivion. I blocked her kiss to my lips. Her nails detached from my sweaty glittery skin. Her eyes opened a window to her fragile inner pearl. She was human after all. A product of love gone wrong. I fell in love with her all over again. I wanted to be her knight, but my days were numbered in this game of love. Her hold on me made me lose my guard. I was vulnerable once. Never again. So I left her. I loved her but I had to let her go. Worst case of emotional murder. I remember the last thing I saw. Her tears. I’ve been broken since. I failed her by leaving. It’s all I’m good at.


The first heart I broke broke me. I didn’t mean to hurt her but I didn’t know how not to. She was perfect in every sense and I was a certified world class screw up . I’m the type that was banned from playing near other kids in school. Often referred to the alpha of destruction and her heart met my path unfortunately. I loved her, I loved the idea more. She wanted more attention than I could give so I gave her hell, that’s eternity. She opened herself to me and shared her thoughts and feelings with me. She poured her soul to my deaf mind, I ignored her most stressful moments. She lost an anchor, she lost it all. They blame me. I blame myself too. Her whole life changed because I failed to show her love in return. I won’t include details. I owe this girl all the pain I could possibly inflict on myself. We met a year ago. She forgave me. I’m still trying to forgive myself.

The first heart I broke broke me.


My actions still haunt me. I broke a little girl’s heart. That is the scar that won’t heal. That’s how I learnt to value other people’s emotions. Every little thing counts. It’s not always about the things you do, it’s about the things you don’t do. Or maybe that’s why I embrace pain, part of me thinks I deserve it. The other part thinks I should be drinking.

Pieces of Me- Heart

Hello ?” Are you still there

I could hear the faint breath…the dying

My soul faded , mind lost. Stupid heart

Hello ? Can you hear me ?

Silence !

My knees went cold, my blood froze

I lost my patience, I hung up

Tied a noose, took a shot

This was it , fuck love

Such betrayal was alien , No walls could stop it

No way to Trump it down

Ring ! Thrill and chills. One more shot

Hello , finally , you’re back

Silence! Heavy breathing.

He’s dead! , I killed him. The joy. Finally

Your heart died a peaceful death.

Brain saves the day.


The mind of a boyfriend ? | pieces of me

I know most of you don’t like the poetry vibe in me but it’s where I started. So let me give you a piece of me so that you can fully relate. This piece was inspired by the amount of pain love had put me through. We always talk about love as this beautiful experience that makes butterflies somehow pretty close to us but we skip the ghost stories that come with it. Love is an emotion that is better expressed as a verb and that makes it a bit complicated because it is within itself a mixture of verbs. Love means caring, listening, shouting, fighting, screaming, biting , sharing and we put all that under one word “loving” and we filter out the bad elements. (Don’t take the biting literally)


So back to the piece. I have had some pretty messed up experiences in the name of love. I have played dumb or blind to some things to make love work and I can tell you this, love needs a lot of compromise. Love is like raising a child, it will poop on you and wait for you to clean it up and feed it. Basically in love , you are the solution and always part of the problem, anything outside that is pure nonsense. So how does the pain come in ? Simple, when the other person does not reciprocate your actions. At this point love is like a mirror, you want to see a piece of you when you look at the other person. Wouldn’t you freak out if you looked in the mirror and came face to face with a snake looking a you ? ( I dont know if snakes have faces but you get the idea). This piece was Me saying it’s better to live without a heart because it keeps betraying me and making me hurt all the time. But get this, there’s growth in pain. Emotions are slaves to logic but somehow they run the prison. If you are to take with you anything from this, take this : Love is a game of logic, pain is just the measure of it. Fight on. Love.


Style inspired by Black Licorice.


Hell has a backdoor which leads right to a VIP front row seat to the Earth Show. What if the devil ditched his own script and now he’s just plagiarizing everything humans do ? Today’s feature episode. My relationship with other humans. Another classic plot, a Judas with the soul of Brutus and of course a Marie Antoinette to add acid to my silver less lining clouds. Starring my choleric mind and my highly infectious thoughts. With cast and setting established, here’s an extended version of the torment gifted to me.


Curtains open. The stage is as black as if it’s painted with pain . A shadow appears with blood dripping from the hands and drops a broken glass then falls flat on the ground. Another figure emerges almost immediately and vanishes like an exorcised spirit .Moments later, a mob of people ,all glued to their screens, pass by and jump the body. One of them attempts to flip the body but gets a text mid way and leaves. An elderly dark heavy boned woman wrapped in an abused looking dress follows slowly shaking her head as the mob fades. She flips the plastic looking body. Takes the necklace and wipes the bloody bracelet on the dead womans Versace head wrap. Takes out her phone. Pouts and click click #selfiewiththequeen . The woman runs away as footsteps echo from the darkness. Curtains close. Scene 1. Devil takes notes.


The stage disappears. This was not a play to me but my script wrote itself with ease. The worst came in 4k. She lay there in her pool of not so expensive blood. My heart skipped a beat then another one and then silence. It went cold. My tears dried up as my face went pale. The initial shock evaded my body and reality stomped in. She was gone. My pockets took a deep breath and the ghosts of all those wasted notes stepped into the light. Minus one, I coughed out. I was finally single. Her social media induced depression led her to her red carpet suicide so I assumed. The botox and bleaching gave her no satisfaction, the Brazilian hair with gold beads couldn’t cover the broken parts of her soul. She was raped at age 19 by her then boyfriend who was old enough to father us both. My Sherlock Holmes skills cushioned my ego and I forgot about my hand in this. I loved her still. Such stupidity is the devil’s turn on. I took her in and she still wanted to be blessed. I sweated coins that fed her ego and scraped her insecurities temporarily. And now she is dead. Surely there is a superior being watching. You’re still wondering what happened? The truth. I killed her. I think.

0407. I paced home trying to balance all the alcohol in my system. We had a fight last night, about the friends in my life and how she didn’t like them. I lost it when she told me my bestfriend slept with her on our anniversary night because I was stuck at work. I wanted to imprint the pain I felt on her fac… everywhere. After everything I had done for her. Everything we went through. The angel that sat on my right shoulder handed me a blank soul cleansing check. I looked at it and then her and I saw my own reflection and I walked away. Punched the wall on my way out as I told her to be gone by the time I got back. Back to 0407. As i approached my tiny home, I saw an elderly woman running and the Chibuku in my head left. As I got closer the alcohol started fading. A pile on suitcases emerged out of the fog and I made out a figure on the ground. I ran towards it and there she lay. In a flood of her own blood. My slay queen had slain herself. I felt relieved. For a minute or two. All the NCIS stunts rolled in my head. I was going to bury her in the living room. Or in the rose garden. My senses came back with the sanity of a defeated politician.

0530. All fingers pointed at me while I scratched my head for answers. My hand throbbing from my earlier rage on an innocent unsuspecting wall. I was going to die in prison for this. I knew she was unstable but kept ignoring it hoping for a miracle. In all that guilt sat a huge lump of anger. I wanted to kill my bestfriend. I trusted him with my life and now I had to take his for ruining mine. My reflexes kicked in. I wrapped my ex girlfriend with a rag and took her inside. All the beautiful memories abducted my composure and tears burst through my fear ridden eyes. I loved her. She was the only girl who knew how to ruin Rick and Morty for me. She was special. Underneath the make up and all she was this beautiful and smart but confused girl. I guess cconfusion was a slay queen thing. She loved with her all and never wanted us to part considering the history we shared. 4 years 7 months and 16 days of dating were not a joke. I did this to her. I wanted to follow her to the other side. I lay her down in our bed. And I took a glass of wine and I joined her as promised, ride or die ,after I scribbled something down and put it on the night stand. Then dialed 911. Well not really 911 , I called my father first and he assured me it was okay to call the cops. I was taken in for questioning but my answers were shady ,mostly clouded by the alcohol. Apparently she didn’t kill herself. I did. They said.


Monday 23 headline: “Boyfriend murders bae in cold blood”


Autopsy report: Mikayla Senzeni Nyondo

Gender: Female

D.O.B : 06 June 1995

D.O.D : 21 November

Time of death: 0315

Cause of death : suffocation.

State : 3 weeks pregnant.


Tuesday Headline, Man found hanging, suicide note vindicates wrongfully accused boyfriend.


I never saw my parents after that. I got a text that said, “Chose wisely this time” .How do I live after all this.


taken from the mind of a boyfriend

Check Out Black Licorice’s piece

Black & Beautiful

Black is beautiful. This is not a racist post or anything like that. I have seen sisters lose who they are over the years and I have grown to hate anything artificial on a sister. The problem is beauty is often defined by people of influence and our sisters do not realise they are not the target market but they still wanna blend in. Just because the beer advert is on t.v. everyday, it doesn’t mean you should get drunk if you don’t drink. It’s not for you. The other problem is Black women have no way of defining themselves as they spent most of the time running away from who they are. What Europeans view as beautiful is different from what Asians view as beautiful but when it comes to Africans, beauty becomes defined by the standards set outside. Standards that have some biological differences from us and yet we still choose to copy. At this point you might already hate my guts but let’s talk about it. Black woman, why do you hate yourself ? Why do you want to be someone else?


If the make-up, the bleach, the nose job and weaves make you feel beautiful then without it you are saying you’re ugly. Are you ugly ? Or do you just hate yourself? Be you. Be original black. Not *blacknyana. Fake is high maintenance anyways.

1. Hair

How can you say you’re beautiful when the features you’re show casing are not yours. Its like saying the iPhone is incredible but you’re using Samsung to advertise it .Black hair is beautiful. It’s strong, doesn’t break easily and it doesn’t need a shower cap when it rains. Why would you want to have plastic hair or some other race’s hair when you have something that’s tailor made for you. Honestly there’s nothing as awkward as a sister with blonde or red hair. And then there is Brazilian hair. I think buying hair is about the most extravagant thing to do. Just get a hat if you hate yourself that much. Our styles: braids , locks, cornrows and fros.

2. Bleach| lightening | Madness

Melanin is gold. Love your skin. Marry your confidence with it. I’ve seen sisters turn into all sorts of colours all in the name of beauty. Even chameleons have their original color, the changing is for survival. What’s your excuse? The worst part about bleaching is the way black skin is designed, some parts are stubborn and resistant to bleach. You would swear a sister is being kidnapped if she yawns and covers her mouth. Love who you are. Own it.

3. Lashes

This is about the most painful thing I’ve witnessed. The aplicaication is messy. Soo much can go wrong and yet women still go through with this. I mean how much do you really have to hate your self to sick confidence in beauty product.

4. Nose jobs

It’s round. Keep it that way. Who are you trying to be ? I won’t say much on this but sisters when he leaves you for ” that natural hair, bush locks, no make up and cheap type of girl”. It’s not about money. Its about authenticity. She ain’t cheap. If he wanted some other races he would have gone there but here you are with your blended identity. All these cover ups reflect to your esteem. People with esteem issues are hardly realists which makes them an expense. It’s some form of inferiority complex. Deal with it. Fast.

5. Nails

I have no words for this. If I did they would be truthful and hurtful.

6. Make up

Ahhh! The mother of our greatest shame. The art of wizardry at it’s best. Make up is good when used to highlight certain features. Don’t misquote me later. Make up is beautiful when used right. It’s like putting spooilers in a car. But no ,our sisters want a full body paint job or even a different make all together. They are advising VW Beetles masking Honda Fits. Excessive make up doesn’t make anyone beautiful,it just makes them basic in my view. When you shower you become some one else. Then you complain when he cheats, he is already dating a two-in-one, the rest is just statistics. Sisters, use make up properly don’t be a clown with it. Highlight not Change. Remember this is my view. And the view of every other men. ( Well 98 %)


I challenge every lady reading this to spend a week with nothing but their natural appearance. That means no make up and no filters just natural beauty.


photo submissions will be updated in the blog after the challenge.


taken from the mind of a boyfriend

photo credit: beautiful_black_people