Lovers Anonymous: Part One – Hungover

I woke up aching
Head throbbing, eyes bloodshot
Last night’s mistakes rang out in my mind
All their whispers beat down upon my skull.

I held on to my head the way I clung to the hope of us. It still hurt.
And then I realized
Whether I let him go or not
He was gone

I had gotten drunk
I was hungover
The cure: 3 bitter tsps of truth+ just a dash of “fake it til you make it”+ a pint of self-love. Add water. Stir.  Drink. Repeat until better.

So I got up and showered.
Day 1

Beautiful lines in my skin: An ode to my stretchmarks

My body writes me poetry.

It writes in cursive.

We don’t appreciate cursive quite as much as we used to.

The words curve along my feminine parts and they demand to be read by every admirer of my flesh

I started having this poetry written to me before I became woman,

Around the time puberty became my uninvited body transformer.

It made no sense to me

“How could I have stretchmarks when I have no booty?”

I didn’t get it. I didn’t like it.

Now I get it. Now I’m in love with it. In love with them.

My stretch marks. My marks. They run deep.

Deep enough that I won’t forget that there has been a journey.

Things weren’t always like this and they won’t stay like this forever.


The creams, the surgeries-  futile weapons all.

They may dim them or temporarily conceal them but they will never fill them

For my marks are dents that never need to be filled

They are reminders that a part of me can be broken and I’ll still remain whole

There’s a science to it but I’d rather focus on the nature of it.

It was my body’s way of telling me that it needed to grow even if all of me wasn’t ready, even if I wasn’t comfortable

It needed to expand and it needed to do so swiftly

I could catch up later. I would. I have.


Every woman’s body tells stories.

Some stories have more volumes than others.

Some stories hit touch our core more than others.

These stories can be read with eyes closed, palms open and fingers willing,

With lips parted and tongues ready to translate.

They are transcendent waves sun-kissed or moonlit

asking lovers to immerse themselves and get swept away.


These stories are epic, captivating, real.

They connect us all as lines tend to do.

Each of us being our body’s muse

get a love letter (some of us get a few).

My body may not be the most eloquent poet

but it speaks a language that sometimes only I understand

My stretchmarks were written in its native tongue

And the words are beautiful


Photo Credit
Photo Credit

Body issues are present in all of us and stretch marks are a major source of this for many. I know it is hard to accept these for some of us and truthfully, it is understandable. But we only get one body in this life (plastic surgery options aside) and I think we should have as much fun with that one body as we possibly can and get the most out of it. We all age and turn to dust eventually anyway. Let’s just accept that the flawless is unrealistic and get to accepting and celebrating the evidence that life flows through us.

I was inspired to write this after seeing the Featured Image in this post. The woman in the picture, Alexanra Elle is beautiful and writes lovely words. I plan to recreate this picture. I just need the right photographer or the patience to do it myself. Let’s all own our stretchmarks and show how beautiful they are…if we dare. 🙂

ItsNasB End of post pic


I Like Your Flavour. A poem about taste

“I wana taste you”




“Wait, let me finish…

I wana taste you

With my pores. I wana drink you in with my eyes.

I wana lick every inch

Of you

Wrap my tongue around every drop

With my skin. I wana soak you in.

I want to have you flood my tastebuds with your juices.

Drown me with your nectar.

I just want to savor you.”

“I just wana know why. I’m not sure I’m delicious”

“Because you grazed my lips and my mind already and what you left was sweet”

“That’s hard to believe because I really think I’m an acquired taste”

“Then let me acquire you”






Featured image (not seen in mobile view) source


Sticks and stones may break my bones but words can never hurt me.


Words have power. They have so much power.

Words have meaning. So much meaning.

We can speak things into being.

We can silence something into non-existence.

The lie is the worst form of theft. It takes away in the abstract.

It empties a space if the truth in a manner that can never truly be refilled.

Words can hurt.

There is life and death in the power of the tongue.

There is death and LIFE in the power of the tongue.

Words can heal.

Words can hold together as much as they can break apart.

Words can touch the parts of our minds and hearts that our fingers cannot.







Say what you mean

Mean what you say

Or shut up.

Photo Credit
Photo Credit

Thank you for reading my words.

Featured Image Photo Credit. Featured Image not shown in mobile view.

ItsNasB End of post pic

Why I Write

I am debuting a new feature on the blog called Talk Tuesday.

It’s part of an effort to have me be more consistent with producing content. I have assigned a  name for every weekday and I will hopefully post more often now because of this. Just because I have a name for each day doesn’t mean I will be able to produce content every day but I will do my best given the transitions in my life and how hectic my schedule will be from now on. Hold me responsible, interact with me. It will help. And now, without further ado, here is my first Talk Tuesday post: Why I Write.


I write for the lonely and the overwhelmed

I write for the loved and the unloved

I write for the lost, the searching, the endless wanderlust-ing adventurers

I write for the confused, the misunderstood, the misunderstanding and the know-it-alls

I write for the beautiful and the eyes that behold them

I write for the forsaken

I write for the voiceless and the speaker-boxes

I write for the silent

I write for the observers, the painters, the artists

I write for the actors, performers, the muses



I write to cause chaos, to inspire thought, to inspire growth, to reveal truth

I write for peace

I write to purge, to redeem, to filter and to refill

I write to comfort, to inconvenience, to settle and to stir

I write to upset, to soothe, to ruffle, to smooth out

I write to be free



I write because it’s what I was born to do

I write because I am poetry in motion, because I was written into being

I write because it’s what I know how to do when I don’t know how to do it

I write because that last line made sense to me

I write because I can’t not write



I write for me

I write to you

I write because I am a writer, the words choose me as their messenger and because they return my kind gesture with a love catered solely by me for me


Until next post!

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Could I be…

Could I be
Obsessed with you
Undressed by you
Entangled with you
Released from you
Thrown by you into the deep end

Just so I could be
Caught by you
Caught up with you
Swept up in you
Swept away by—

Naa, I’m not saying it right. Let me try this again

Could I be
Linked to you
Engaged by you
Enraged about you
While enamoured with you

Could I be
Far from over and in the most satisfying way, under you?
Not paces ahead nor three steps behind but right beside you?

Could I be
Wrapped up in
Soaked by
Decorated just for

Could I be


I think I’ll call her Hope
for she will be the manifestation of the optimism I’ve had of finding you and loving you so much I can’t imagine not making something that is of us in every possible way


I think I’ll call her Serenity
For she will represent the peace my soul feels when yours is nearby

I think I’ll call her Destiny
For she is as meant to be as we

I think I’ll call her Grace
For she will be a clear reflection of God’s favour

I think I’ll call her Beauty
For she will be the definition

I think I’ll call her Love
For her pores will be clogged by
and her blood will run red with it

I think I’ll call her Sweet+Heart
For she will be a hybrid of your smile and your best feature

I think I’ll call her Divine
For she will be named after the way you describe the goddess that carried her

I think I’ll call her Faith
Because I know she’s coming though I can’t see her yet

I think I’ll call our daughter Patience
for she will represent the virtue manifested in me as I wait for the other half of her DNA

76 + 4 (JA Blog Day: Police and Security Force Abuses)

JA Blog Day 2

1 “Good morning, affisa”, I always said

2 Whether they wore khaki or black with the blue seam or red

3 Even when they ignored me time and again

4 I felt all police officers were my friends

5 I mean, their job was to protect and  to serve people like me

6 So I understood in the moments that they may have been a little grumpy

7 And then I grew up and something changed

8 My friends became rivals, their roles rearranged

9 Their job was to hunt

10 to bag and tag or to cage

11 With eagerness and bloodlust

12 With arrogance and with rage

13 God forbid we utter a word

14 The wolves drove by in jeeps ready to dwindle the herd

15 And the nearby bushes through which we always escaped

16 Opened up on the other side to a hole that gaped

17 An orifice filled with the sinking sand that was

18 The criminal system skewed in favour of “the fuzz”

19 Your only crime most times was being born in a forsaken place

20 Or being viewed as the worst of the most vicious race

21 No one on your side so we turn to weapons instead

22 Steel, metal, copper, lead

23 Powder so explosive, it made ears bleed

24 Its grains so fatal, it made hearts bleed

25 If we were going to be dubbed criminals

26 We were going to act like it

27 But these were real life performances

28 Not a play nor a skit

29 If God be for us—

30 What God do you mean?

31 The God that let the bullets rip through Crabby’s spleen?

32 The God that let Vanessa’s young soul be taken  at sixteen?

33 The God that let Kay-Ann and her unborn lose their light?

34 The same God that sent the police to Kavorn’s house that night?

35 Or did you mean Dudus- the god we knew and could touch?

36 The one who gave us miracles while not asking for much

37 Who gave us food, shelter and clothing everyday

38 Who looked out for the poor by making the rich pay

39 That was our saviour and we would have fought to protect him

40  We would have stood up firm against my former friends even when things looked grim

41 “Jesus died for us, we will die for Dudus!”

42 And so we did

43 It goes without saying that as bleak as things seemed

44 This wasn’t the future I envisioned when I was a kid

45 But neither did Shanell when we used to be close

46 Of all my friends with potential, she had the most

47 Then she developed a penchant for men in uniforms

48 She was so focused on the roses, she could not see the thorns

49 So she was cut and she bled out

50 The first slice ensuring she could not shout

51 You see, many focus on the abuse they dish out on the streets

52 The blood spilled and bruises caused before open eyes and closed mouths

53 But they fail to also see the destruction they cause behind closed doors

54 With the ones who have to take the licks they couldn’t get to give out

55 The ones who bear the burden of the sanction applied

56 for the violation suffered to the innocent until tried

57 But no one felt it for my friend- “Shi can tan!”

58 “Nuhbady neva tell har fi tek up soldier man”

59 And this is true, no one did

60 But that didn’t explain why people were not livid

61 We had become so complacent in our lives that we acquiesced to our deaths

62 Passively waiting to be forced to walk the plank

63 So used to this ill-treatment and indignation

64 That when we were asked to draw justice, our minds became blank

65 The emptiness the perfect canvas to be painted on by those at the top

66 Those who had money in their pockets as well as the top cop

67 We were seduced with promises of a better life for our families and loved ones

68 Of chicken back and oxtail and all our favourite cuisine

69 In exchange, we just had to use our weapons as spears and our bodies as shields

70 To serve and protect our yellow king and Mama queen

71 So we made this small sacrifice daily, to our loss

72 But we kept getting more promises- “Mi soon sort yuh out, boss”

73 Until one day, we were sorted in our final positions

74 It all happened so fast, we couldn’t make actual decisions

75 We were pawns in a game we didn’t sign up to play

76 May 23, 2010- never forget that day


1 Three years since our cries were last heard

2 Our souls still don’t know peace

3 And my last thought as my blood made the earth run red?

4 The fact that “Good morning, affisa”, I always said

The first annual Jamaica Blog Day is today and its date commemorates three years after the date of the Tivoli Massacre. Bloggers from Jamaica or with Jamaican heritage are seeking to collectively bring awareness to issues of significance. None is more important that that of Police and Security Force abuse. To date, allegedly 76 fatalities were suffered by civilians with 4 of these being presumed deaths of missing people. These numbers are the reason for the title of the poem and the amount of lines used.

I looked at domestic violence involving a security force officer because this doe not immediately come to mind when we hear the term “police and security force abuse” and it needs to be acknowledged because this group is especially prone to aggressive manners of resolving problems and the victims of these resolutions are generally unable to speak out. The pathology of a person given a great deal of power (read: access and weapons) to protect and as much freedom as those in the Jamaica Defense Force and the Jamaica Constabulary Force is of paramount importance. It is time for an upheaval.

However, let it be observed that the change in psyche is not only due for the officers but citizens as well who have been abused into silence.

This is a very heavy topic and it has not been easy creating a post around it. But, thankfully, this train was not being driven by me alone. I must thank @cucumberjuice and @anniepaul for creating Jamaica Blog Day and I hope it was more successful than either of you imagined.

P.S. I read the intro paragraph of @Petchary’s post for JA Blog Day and it gave me the numbers that inspired the title.


All names used are actual victims of police or security force abuse in Jamaica.

Until next post!

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