A series I started to explore loss and grief of versions of myself, relationships, people and memories. 

I shed my silken skin. Ate it wholein order to honor that expired part of my soul.

I fancy myself to be a vessel. I'm immortalised by what I do, or by what I spill out. But let me reconsider that word immortalised. I heard a guy preach a heavy message on death. He had an encounter with some dudes who said the black male is a god "we are gods" they said to this fellow who answered them plain and simple you will die like a man. At what point will this generation face the mortal...

This is a series of illustrative bookart I created to pair with a recent piece of prose I wrote during my time in isolation. “Sinking beneath the surface of the nightThe sky and the ocean meld and split apart again,Indecisive lovers,Soft skin stretches across jutting bones,You pull your fingers through your hair and stretch upward, The long arching shape of your back,Casts shadows onto the bedr...

Friday afternoon, 01/05/20 I have never seen anything more golden than the London Central Mosque’s dome in stormy weather. Running out of Regent’s Park through Hanover Gate, a strong blow of wind rushed blossom bits in my eyes and I stopped. Spring is a wicked season. (“Spring is a wicked temptress!”, and so on). I stopped between two trees so thick, they created a small frame of the minaret w...

They hold me down, and my lungs breathe black,my blood boils back I won’t drownbecause I’ll burn brighter. 

they say your eyes reflect expansive seas and carry deep secrets. they say your gaze weighs targets down like an anchor and you’re stare can bore holes through skin. a force. you’re a force, they say. so intense. so captivating. but i know you in another way. i see your delicacy. the feelings you struggle to hold inside.your eyes are filled with skies i cannot reach.i think the clouds are block...

A reading of 'paper and wood are the same' by Justin Tabbett, presented in a hybrid of animation and typography.

so, we are not white / & our love does not color within the lines / & we don't own blinds / so at night, / the moon teases and hangs at our bedside / so we wake up, and shoulder the burdens of daytime / the leftover bearings of a stripped sunrise / we sleep if, and, but are still tired / when does that bread expire? / can we go any higher? / no, we are not white / & no matter what t...

I don't know if I love you.How am I supposed to knowWhen the world keeps telling me that Love is something magical and wonderful?I like you. A lot.But every time I look at youI realize I've never felt that magic.And I don't want you lead along.So if I don't love youYou have to continue on.You have to find that someone who will make you feel the magic.But I don't think that someone is me.

I carry tequila shots from the bar (you refused to join me) I don’t want to spill them but  I don’t want to move with too much caution because we’re Meant to move fast and Free.  In a few hours your sweet-sour liquor will Stain my fingers anyway (we’re already giddy with regret) 

I slip into you like the evening we spent at the beach Late in August; Sunwarm water only just starting to turn Cool, The promise of a perfect half hour until the  Wind would pick up.  You require perfect timing,  Meeting at the horizon point: “I’m only here for tonight.”  But the joy of silk is how it wakes on skin; Warm, just wet, and brushed with seasalt.