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I’ve been procrastinating on writing. The idea that I could be over sharing or pouring out parts of me that seem too vulnerable and feel like I’m setting myself up for pain keeps haunting me. I constantly feel the need
I used to want you so bad, now I want so much more than you that I’m not sure I even want you anymore. Even if I did want you, I’m sure I wouldn’t want what you were, not as
(These were taken on my phone at Coffee Casa) This is another one of those. I have been battling with publishing this post. It has been seated as a draft for close to
I wrote this post on the 15th of November 2017. I did not publish it. Publishing it felt like I was admitting to failure and much as I’d like to think I
This feeling makes me feel bold Makes me feel special, like two teaspoons of gold Makes me feel wanted, like a jewel a-hold Makes me feel yearned for, in its slavery I’d gladly be sold This feeling makes me want
When a pianist loses his keys, A designer, her sketch pencils, An addict, his fix Or an add alcoholic his brew. When music looses tune, Or a carpenter his wood. When coal turns white, And the Dead Sea comes alive.
The unburnt is the identity of my Law class at Riara Law School. We are comprised of loud, opinionated, diverse, sassy human beings who’s age varies from approaching 30 to barely-in-my-20s. The Chronicles of the Unburnt are random stories on