I’ve started questioning a lot.  Not intellectual questions. Not political queries. Stupid questions.  Questions for me.

It’s not all men But every single woman They say one bad apple  Can’t ruin a

What happens when the writer’s block – that dreaded ennui of creative juices – becomes the

the sea can be terrible at times –  she baits me with her meddling pecks of

The dawn breaks apart,  Seeing the skies drown in rain, Heart yearns to feel the dew,

I stepped out of my house after a week, can’t say that I liked it, it

It was late at night, The pale crescent moon, Night shining clouds, Fire flies all around

Her breath tightened as she plummeted towards an unknown darkness. She knew she’d hit rock bottom

Years of patriarchal trauma and guilt bitterness filling the vessel constantly sinking the feeling of trying

Two waves born; sunlight’s mercy and moonlight’s sin, we were two hearbeats  of the turquoise sea.

I have been living with lies Ever since I came into being. Lies I told myself