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.

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

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

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

A Walk Down Memory Lane

By: Abisola F.

Why don’t you take a walk with me

To a place of hopes, dreams, and memories

Why don’t you take a walk with me

To a place where the sun always shines

Why don’t you take a walk with me

To a place of love, hate, and memories

Why don’t you take a walk with me

To a place where the fear subsides

Why don’t you take a walk with me

To a place of betrayal, hurt, and memories

Why don’t you take a walk with me

To a place rooted in lies

Why don’t you take a walk with me

To a place of sadness, madness, and insanity

Why don’t you take a walk with me

To a place we all despise


By: Abisola Fashakin


Thrown to wayside


Picked apart







From all of these pieces

You can put together a puzzle

And the big picture

Would be an Outcast


By: Abisola F.

The flicker

The burn


The heat

The crackle

The hiss

Is all one burning abyss

The snap!

The flinch




It goes on forever until one day

The flames die down

Everything is gone

And the world is once again still.

Create a free website or blog at

Up ↑