This was a twist on a bible passage…this was also very unlike my usual work, but I wanted to share it

wash us

and we shall be darker than blood

sinners shall be obedient unto thee

thou delightest in burnt offering

then shall thou be pleased

with the sacrifice of the unrighteous

as it was in the beginning

so shall it be in the end.


I am a Dreamer

I am unrealistic

I am impractical

I am a dreamer

I dream of a world where the only red thing staining the streets

are rose petals.

I dream of a society where who you love is not more important than the fact that

We will be the cause of the Earth’s destruction.

I dream of a world where happily ever afters are not so unbelievable that

they only exist in fairy tales.

I dream of a world where girls are not criticized because of

how much skin they show, or what they wear.

I dream of a place where women can just breastfeed their children in peace!

I dream of a society that does not make rape the victim’s fault.

They are never asking for it.

I dream of a world where people are taught to respect another’s body,

not beat it black and blue.

I dream of a world where boys are not held to a standard of being

strong, unfeeling, and tough “men”.

Let boys be boys or WHATEVER they want to be.

I dream of a world where a headscarf or turban does not define yours

and your children’s lives.

I dream of a world where my decision to bring a child into this world is

not dictated by MEN in power.

I dream of a world where society is not so cruel that

people draw paintings on their skin, with a blade, ending it all.

I dream of a society where all our hopes are not blown away

like a dandelion in the hands of a toddler.

I dream of a world where EVERYONE is cherished, loved, and accepted.

Society tells me that I am unrealistic.

Society tells me that I am impractical.

Society tells me that I am a dreamer.

My First Book

(The Cover of my Book is Up Above)


I can’t believe that this is done. I just published my first book. This started as a half-assed project for school, but it turned into so much more. When I first began this project I chose to forgo writing a fantasy book because I didn’t want my first fantasy novel to be published through Amazon at my (admittedly) young age. Instead I chose to approach a genre of literature that has always been at a deep (very deep) place in my mind; poetry. I wanted to challenge myself and I figured that a small poetry book would be a good start for my writing career. I also did not choose to publish a novel because I am still trying to find my voice, and I know that I have a lot more to learn.

I attended a five week creative writing class at NYU that help me see the reality of being in the writing business. I learned about writing queries, and about how not every writer makes it big with their works. I learned that many writers are also teachers because they can not make enough off of their books. This did not come as a huge shock to me because I already had been considering a job in education to go alongside my writing career. I was also the youngest in the class. While most of the other students were seniors getting ready for college, I was still a wide-eyed freshman marveling in their accomplishments. A few of them have won writing contests, contests that I have always been too scared to sign up for. I ended up becoming friends with them, some of whom I still keep in contact with.

After I finished the class, I began to write poetry based off of memories in my head and experiences I had in the boroughs of New York. I conducted interviews of people who have been living in New York for a while and I realized that, although the interviews were really useful to incorporate in my book, to write about the boroughs I would have to be in the borough to really capture the moment. So I decided to sync schedules with my best friend, Teodora, who was traveling around New York’s dessert shops for her project. For the next two weeks I traveled around New York. Teodora bought countless desserts, while I wrote in coffee shops, on the subway, and even as I walked from store to store. Being a Long Islander, this was a wonderful and exciting experience because it was such a contrast to my life of sitting in my room in Long Island while watching TV. As we went to every borough, even Staten Island, I actually saw how fast paced New York was, and how everything never ceased to move. This was the inspiration for my title; The City Stops For No One.

I decided to use Amazon as my publishing platform because I knew that I was not going to get any real query responds for a amateur poetry book, written by a fifteen year old. I just wanted a way for people to actually buy my book if it looked appealing to them. I can not even fully describe the feeling I felt when I finally published my book, which happens to be on the very day that I am posting this. I felt happy, proud, and everything in between. This gave me more motivation to work on my craft and finally publish the fantasy novel that I have dreamed about since elementary school. I am forever grateful for this project because it forced me to get out of the house for one and to enjoy life with my friends. It forced me to make connections and it made my friendships stronger. It filled me with experiences that made me a better and smarter writer.

No One Would Hear

She walked, her blue jeans slightly frayed
He smiled, watching the way her hips swayed
She winced, each step seeming to make a cascading boom
He sniffed, smelling her intoxicating vanilla perfume
She worried, whether her heels would catch attention
He smirked, watching her approach the intersection
She hurried, rushing to get home before it was too dark
He laughed, watching her with the gleaming eyes of a shark
She searched, looking for a nearby house
He walked, his steps as quick as a mouse
He stopped, leaning down to kiss her shoulder
She halted, her eyes widening as fear washed over
He smirked, dragging her into the alleyway that was near
She screamed, knowing no one would hear

Like a Play

His hands, cold and unfamiliar, slip over my skin
Soft but sudden, The whisperings begin
Pulling and shivering, I try to get away,
But the whispers continue on with no delay
They pull at me, making me feel nauseated
I scream,
But no one comes, just like he anticipated
After what seems like decades, he lets me go
I fix my dress, and shuffle away, keeping my head low
I asked for it, I asked for it, that’s all they will say
Because I watched the events unfold, just like it was a play

Dear Janice,

Yes Janice, you’re absolutely right, I was hitting on your boyfriend. I mean isn’t it obvious. Because yesterday morning I woke at 6 am, walked 40 minutes in 40 degree weather, got on the 7:12 train, walked another 20 minutes and wore my rattiest sweatpants just so I could get with your boyfriend. I mean wasn’t it obvious in the way I flipped my afro, and sexily asked him, “do you have the science notes?”. And of course this had nothing to do with the fact that we had a group lab report due that same morning. And before you ask, yes, we were obviously talking crap about you. Didn’t you hear about the way I diabolically whispered, “Can you ask your girlfriend where she got that dress? Its really cute”. I mean I’ve totally been in love with your boyfriend since the day I met him. You can tell in the way I occasionally wave hi or nod. Sometimes if I’m feeling flirtatious I might even smile in his general vicinity. So yes Janice, you are absolutely correct. Can you believe how much of a slut I am? I was actually planning on asking him to build a whole solar system with me for the science fair. Looking back on it, I am so ashamed. To make it up to you, I will ask Ms. Brenner if you can join our group. And while you’re painting uranus,  I’ll be painting Saturn waiting for your boyfriend puts a ring on it.

It is NOT a Poinsettia

A Mangora gibberosa.

         It was

                       It is

                                       It was

weaving magenta ribbons      of Mesh

like a    May festival dress made

for a princess

It was Beautiful.

A Narcissus Daffodil.

It was

                         Always was

Dull         rotting Milk

Swaying in the wind like

The     damp  golden curls of a

Dancing toddler

It was ugly.

An Aquilegia.

It was

                It should be

as suffocating as the smell of      


Left to    burn in the sun

But    it is sweet

Fresh honeydew.

A Coccinella Trifasciata


                   It isn’t

subtle like the  vapour from

the pot of slack Brandy    boiling on a

rusted stove

It is a Beatle.

It is    Nothing.

It is

                It was

It isn’t

                   It should be

Everything, but

It is Not

as cool as      the ocean breeze

as soft as        an owl feather

as smooth as   a sun-kissed stone

It Is Not a Poinsettia

So Sorry!

I am so sorry for being so inconsistent with my posting. I am swamped with my 3 hour commute to school and my work load right now. I am about travel and I will make sure to post frequently.

update: I am trying to figure out what genre of writing i specialize in. I used to think fiction/fantasy, but I may be into romance, action, and poetry.

only the future will tell

Through the Window

By Abisola Fashakin

She opens windows seeking memories she’ll never find 

The cobalt salty kiss from ocean waves, 

The never ending summers spent, and preparing to unwind

Small fires, torpid songs in secret caves.

She leans out windows breathing thrilling smells  

Of grandma roasting crispy, golden chicken pepper stew   

The salty breath of  orange-coral seashells,

Of mother’s lilac scented sundress and pinkish purple hue.

She touches windows recalling the feel   

Of broken glasses, blues and emeralds, always on a beach, 

The  yellowness of  tokened lemon peel,

Not Knowing memories would always reside outside reach

But smiling, she didn’t mind.

She closes windows, shutting rotting blinds

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