The Optimist

I admit it damn it

I’m a pessimist okay?

I said it.

I don’t have much faith in humanity

I don’t have much faith in myself either

Negativity is like a moth to a flame

I keep it very close and dear to my heart

I don’t care about a lot,

I don’t care about a lot of people

empathy is a battle I struggle with

why should I walk a mile in your shoes

when you haven’t even attempted to undo the shoelaces of mine?

why should I feel your pain?

attempt to feel how you feel

when you turn a blind eye to my own suffering?

and yes.

I’m selfish

its a disease, just like procrastination and laziness

In this world you rather eat or be eaten

and I’m nobodies chew toy.


But recently,

I’ve had a spark of optimism.

not an ever burning flame

pessimism isn’t disposable

or easily treated.

But I met you.

And maybe,

I’m well on my way.



Can you be ‘Pro-Black’ in a Interracial relationship?

I was recently watching The Grapevine UK debate about interracial relationships and what struck me was the idea that you cannot be pro-black and in a interracial relationship. The panelist all had varying views on the topic but somehow there was an underlying narrative of “how can you love your oppressor?” Now, this isn’t the first or probably the last time I’ve heard this. When Serena Williams married Alexis Ohanian, when many black male artists have white or biracial wives such as Childish Gambino (Donald Glover) and Kendrick Lamar. 

Firstly, I would love for people do define what pro-black even means? Is it this social media crazed generations version of Black Power? Is it the new word for black empowerment and black consciousness? Because ‘pro-black’ seems to be more of a popularity statement. Seems to be part of the ‘culture’. Everyone wants to be ‘pro-black’ and ‘woke’. Our ancestors didn’t go around calling their self help groups ‘pro-black’ or claiming they have a more powerful third eye which all of a sudden means they are ‘woke’. I’m honestly tried to reading people claiming to be ‘woke’ and ‘pro-black’ but hold their breaths and lock their doors when they know the real work, the real movement is outside, on streets. When the real movement is making sure your black children are educated, making sure you raise strong black men and women that no longer are shackled by the slave mentality. To make sure your out there protesting, investing your money into the black community, making sure your there for your community, having safe black spaces but also being black and educated. To be ‘pro-black’ is to support, encourage and uplift the black community, the community you belong to. So who isn’t ‘pro-black’? What black man, what black woman, looks at the black community, in tatters and doesn’t want to support the reconstruction and the rebuilding of a complete race? Who are you to tell me how black I am? Who are you to attempt to measure my blackness? Who are you to disregard my input and experiences, as a black woman, because my partner doesn’t match the shade your looking for? 

When black men marry their white wives, I don’t see the attack on their blackness to the same level I’ve seen the attack on a black woman’s. Black women are suppose to love and cherish the black man when the black men are still trying to rework and find themselves because the after effects of slavery hasn’t left their mind or our blood. Now, I’m not saying not to date black men. I love black men, my brothers are black, my dad is black, my grandad is black and so are my uncles. I’ve dated many black boys before my current relationship with my white boyfriend. I thought I was only going to date black men and never step out. Even before me and my boyfriend even became friends, he heard me say that I don’t do white boys. But shit changes. We were friends first, 100% platonic, never thought that I would trip and catch feels. Who knew I would end up liking a white guy let alone date one. But the world has a funny way of putting people together. Do I pass up on a opportunity to find happiness because when I look in his eyes, his eyes are green brown combo that changes everyday, or because his hair is straight and silky, or because the sun burns his nose but gives him a cute little tan all at the same time? Do I look at him and blame him for all the things white people have ever done to my people? Do I look at him and see my oppressor? Or do I look at him and see my best friend? The guy that I vent to when I’m angry, the guy that I hug when I’m sad, happy and tired? Do I dare to venture beyond what is skin deep? ‘Pro-Black’ shouldn’t mean ‘Anti-white’, or has all these fake ‘woke’ and ‘pro-black’ people forgot about the white allies that helped push forward the civil rights movement? That were apart of some of the biggest civil rights organisations? Have you forgotten about the JFK’s?  The whites that got shunned by their own people to help fight for ours? Do you have the right to tell them to go fuck themselves? Do you have the right to discredit their own contribution? Are you really as educated as you think you are? 

I just want to end by saying. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion. I’m no stupid, I’m not dumb, I’m not dating a white boy for the youtube interracial relationship culture wave, I’m not dating him because I hate black men. I’m educated black woman, the president of an ACS, a girl who’s whole dissertation piece is going to be about the plight of black women. A girl that has spent hours researching her own history, reading all the narratives, writing essays upon essays about the black struggle and the black fight. 

Racism exists. I know for a fact that not all people are like my boyfriend. My boyfriends extended family is a prime example of how racism lives and breathes today. But if his willing to sacrifice his family, his traditional cousins and uncles. If he is willing to be the gossip of the family, to consistently being picked at for having a black girlfriend and still stand up, defend me and tell them to go fuck themselves. I, too, can stand up and tell all you fake ass ‘woke’, ’pro-black’, uneducated people, to go fuck yourselves too. 


I’ve been so lost.

I’ve been drowning.

Not drowning my sorrows in a good bottle of Jack

But instead inhaling and exhaling the smoke God let grow

I don’t know where I am

I’m unsure to where I am going to go

and for once I can’t see my own future.

Its like water filling my lungs


Choking on responsibilites

my fear of heart break

my fear of never belonging

my fear of failure


I’m choking on anger.

Waiting for someone to help me breathe

but no one is coming.

Realising, that in this world you have no one but yourself

even the flower you helped grow will die

even the person who watered you, will die.

but anger.

I can die angry at the world.

The anger that corrupted my spirit, my soul

The pain I cover up with fists.

With yelling

With shouting.

Questioning why

why does it always seem like the grass is greener on the other side?

why does it feel like the world is crashing around me?

why does it feel like my poetry has no direction?

why do people hurt the people they love?

why did the world have to let my grandma die?

why couldn’t I stop it?

why couldn’t I stop it.

pain is just a consequence of love.

maybe I loved her too much.

maybe I needed her too much.

maybe I deserve to spend the rest of my life choking.



I no longer believe in things I cannot see.

that means that theres a lot of things I don’t believe in.

I lack faith. Religious guidance. Emotional support.

I believe actions speak louder than words

I don’t believe the words you say

the terms you use

the words you pray

the lies you create.

I don’t believe ‘I love yous’

I don’t believe in ‘I’m sorry’

I don’t believe in ‘I’ve changed’

I don’t believe in promises.

I barely believe in myself anymore.

I can’t see who I am anymore

All I can see is that I exist.


Blindness is a mental disease.

What’s the point of living

if you can’t believe

in the things you cannot see?


hopes and dreams

I have a lot of hopes and dreams

dreams of you near

hopes of you staying

dreams of your existence

hopes for dreams to become realities

I do a lot of hoping and dreaming

hoping you care

dreaming of love

forever hoping for dreams to become realities

because i want you in every reality

because I dream more than I hope

I dream of someone who likes the same tv shows as me,

someone who understands me,

someone who will risk it all for me,

someone who likes hot sauce on chips

someone who’s stars aline with mine

the comfort to my blanket

the seed to my soil

the hopes to my dreams.

Lottery Ticket

I would die for you,

take a bullet straight to my brain,

a knife in my chest,

lay down my life,

take my last breath,

venture into the unknown which is life after death,

if theres even a life at all,

let myself fall into the uncertain.

would you do the same for me?

would you take a bullet straight to your lungs,

a knife in your leg,

hoping for a heaven and even a hell.

its crazy.

absolute madness.

how certain I am that I would give everything up for you,

and how unsure I am that you would do the same.

it like buying a lottery ticket,

its like answering a 22 mark question and praying you got it right,

because in the end you either get what you want,

or you fail,

life is a gamble,

and sometimes it always feels like your losing.


There was a time,

when I thought I knew how much I meant to you.

Now it just feels like a knife in the back,

and a bullet to heart.


even now.

with everything I now know,

with all this knowledge I have acquired,

with a firm grasp on how much I mean to you

If the bullet were to fly in your direction,

if the knife was to pierce your chest,

if the angel of death was knocking on your door,

I’m sure,

that I wouldn’t think twice about my next move.



The Platonic Breakup

No one talks about a friendship ending.

No one talks about how its feels to lose a friend.

It might sound dramatic, a bit silly, stupid even. But think about it… how does it feel when you to lose someone that was so close to you? someone who almost felt like family? someone you thought was going to be there for all of your achievements and you for theirs? someone that you’ve known for years and was convinced they would be there for many more?

I was watching Sabrina Benaim spoken word poem called “On Platonic Love Being a Real Thing”. Contemplating what she meant, and how the universe somehow knew that I needed to watch that video at this very moment in time. Where I was starting to lose faith that people knew what true friendship meant. That I even knew what true friendship meant.

There is such heavy importance on when you breakup with your significant other. But everyone seems to dismiss the importance of platonic relationships. How they shape your views on relationships altogether. How they affect the way you love. How they affect the way you view other people. How it feels to breakup.

I’ve experienced many platonic breakups. It feels as if the older I get, the more painful they become. The more aware I become on how much I care about the people closest to me. Like any normal breakup, you consider why the other person doesn’t care as much as you do. Even though you instigated the breakup because you no longer felt cared for, listened to or respected. You thought… at least they would fight. To then come to the realisation that not everyone has your heart and not everyone deserves a space in there either.

How to deal with a platonic breakup is to allow yourself to feel hurt. Allow yourself to reminiscence. Allow yourself to be grateful. Allow yourself to stop being angry at how it all ended. Remind yourself that there are people out there that know and understand the true meaning of friendship. Remember that you don’t always need answers, sometimes it better to not know why.

Most importantly, you have learnt something. You have gained knowledge. You have grown and maybe the breakup was a message from the universe to remind you to trust yourself. To never second guess your choices. To remind you not to love less, but to love wisely.

To ensure that you will always value, love and care for the ones that stayed. Even when they didn’t have to.