I’m mad at myself. I keep wasting opportunities and I don’t know why. I can see myself in the moment and it’s Iike I’m trapped inside of myself. Banging at the edge of my head, I’m screaming but I can’t be heard.

I’m more than my own worst enemy. I’m the reason why I can never get higher than what I want to be.

What is wrong with me?

Why am I sabotaging myself?

Why do I want myself to fail?

I don’t want to, but I can’t seem to stop myself from stopping myself.

I want to break away from the part of me that wants to stop. But I don’t know how to, or maybe I just dint want to.

I’ve become my own safety net, that I’m too scared to walk the tightrope.

I need to break free, of this voice inside that is blocking me. Telling me that no matter what I do I will never be good enough.



I carry your sins on my back, your pain and all your woes.

You think your alone in this all, that your the only one struggling. But it affects me too. Everything you go through, I go through to.

I experience your blowback.

When you’re happy I’m happy. When your sad I’m sad.

I’m your mirror image. Your carbon copy.

But I’m not you. I’m me.

I want to focus on my own live. Live out every second of my own, without worrying about you.

The sins of a parent run deep.

Please let me free.

Let me spread my wings and soar. Don’t leave me to fester in all of your burdens.

Let me be me.


For the longest time I never felt like I was pretty enough.

I wasn’t pretty enough to hang with the cool kids, I wasn’t pretty enough to get a boyfriend, I wasn’t pretty enough to get my dream job, I wasn’t pretty enough to have the life I craved so much.

Pretty was an obstacle to me.

I believed that all I had to do was change something about myself and then I’d be good enough. I’d make the grade. I’d be passable to the majority.

But no matter what I did in order to ‘improve’ myself, the insecurities still remained.

It wasn’t until I looked deep down inside of myself that I realised that I am good enough. I don’t have to prove myself to anyone. The only person that I have to impress is myself and as long as I love myself, and I treat myself like the queen that I am, I will go as far as I want.


The mould curled its way up the wall and ended on the ceiling.

Tiny spirals of blue, black and green, dotted the former eggshell white wall.

Charlie was pretty sure that she had inhaled the spores whilst she was asleep.

All she wanted to do was to paint over it. Allowing the wall to have some form of pride again. But she knew it wouldn’t work, the mould would find some way to break free again.

Lying back on her bed, Charlie began to count the dots on the ceiling.

She was tired. Bored. All the negative words one could associate with having nothing to do.

She was a bird with clipped wings. Her soul belonged outside, alongside the clouds and the bees. She was meant to be free, not cooped up in small room like a caged hen.

What had she accomplished for the day? Nothing. Just a completed tv series and that was nothing to be proud of.

Her thoughts turned to her phone, pictures and videos of people living out their lives trapped inside.

Her mind willed her fingers to pick it up, to allow her to escape into someone else’s life. But her fingers resisted and the phone remained where it was.

Unread books lay at the side of her bed, books that would remain untouched. Pages that would remain unturned. Words that would remain unread.

Getting up, she slouched over to the window and watched a train as it passed by. She looked on in envy at the passengers that were making their way home.

How she envied them. They had a purpose, a reason to live. Her purpose had long ago burned out, like a candle flame.

She didn’t want to cry anymore. The tears weren’t worth the pain.


I wish you knew how much I love you.

Even though you’re so misunderstood that you probably can’t even see.

I never knew until recently how broken you were. I was in so much pain myself that I couldn’t see that there was so much pain in yourself.

All your poisoned words and negativity towards me was just a reflection of what you felt towards yourself.

I’m standing in front of you stripped bare. My heart in my hands.

I want you to know no matter what that I love you.

I want you to come back. The real you. I want the woman that I’ve loved all my life to come back.

The fun loving woman, who’s laugh has its own life. The woman that would wrap me in her arms and squeeze her love into me.

I want you to learn to love yourself.

I want you to see how amazing you are. Drop the dead unnecessary weight that has turned you bitter.

You don’t need him!

He’s blackened your heart. He’s made you question what real love is and in turn you’ve stopped loving yourself and it’s turned you so toxic.

You are so much better than him. You don’t need someone sucking the soul out of you.

There is so much more than being someone’s wife.

It’s time to strip off that label and seek your own identity.

Find your way back to happiness.


We stood at the edge of the cliff. My eyes raged with pain and hatred. A feeling that I never usually experienced.

My so called former friend stared back at me, her eyes glazed over in their usual state of ignorance. To think that I had spent so much of my heart on her.

Who would have ever thought that she was actually a wolf in sheep clothing.

I must have been a real bad judge of character. It seemed that everyone else was in on it except for me.

I saw a beautiful talented yet broken young woman, who didn’t know her self worth. I wanted to help her see herself as I saw her. I spent hours listening to her tear herself down, gave her a shoulder when she needed it the most and wiped away her tears when she cried.

I was blind to the real poison that she really was. She was never really a nice person.

She felt power putting others down. The more acid that dropped from her mouth the better she felt. She fed off the misfortunes of others. Seeking validation of her own self, by belittling others.

She thought her shit didn’t stink. A false wave of bravery was worn as a cloak masking her insecurities.

I was so blind to her, that I never saw the knife that she had been holding the whole way through our friendship. I never felt it stab me in the back until it was too late. I was lost in her, love for her leaked from every pore. I was protective of her, she was lost and broken and it was my duty to look out for her.

How wrong I was. She was never my friend. I was just a crutch to her. Used over and over to boost her when she was down. I was her personal punching bag.

She had someone who would ride to the end of the world for her and yet she continued to beat me down to boost her own ego.

As with most things, we started to move apart. The further and further apart we got, the more aware I became of her deceit, of who she truly was.

My eyes were fully open. The rose tinted glasses had fallen and shattered; I was free of their spell. I saw her for who she really was. With every bit of strength I had I removed the knife from my back.

The wound took a while to heal. But in time it did and I grew as a person.

I never thought I would see her again.

But here we were together again, after what felt like an eternity.

She thought I was still the same person I was. Fragile, naive, weak. Boy was she wrong. Little did she know that in the time we had been apart I had grown. The little lap dog that would follow her around was gone. In its place was a fierce, confident and strong woman.

Our eyes locked, two former comrades, now true enemies.

The battle was ready to begin.

I am…


I am a black woman.

Words that I never really thought about before.

I was always trying to distance myself from it. Market myself as just a woman.

Why should my race have anything to do with who I am? We are all equal right? Race is nothing other than a social construct?

Ha like fuck it is! Race is real people. I live, breathe, bleed race. I am a black woman.

Now more than ever I truly see the beauty of who I am. I am done living in shadows hiding myself. Self hating. Wishing I was something else. I am done hiding behind my hands and seeing the reality of what is happening in the world. Ignoring it. Pretending that it’s not true. That it’s too far away to affect me. That it’s not my problem.

Well it is! It is real and it is happening. For too long people who look like me, who are like me, have been robbed. Robbed of their opportunity to rise, to live, to exist.

Now more than ever I know who I am. Never again will I hide myself. Try and blend in. I want the world to see me. To see us. To see we.

I am a black woman.

I am black!

Writer’s Corner: Confession

I want you all to hear my confession.

My name is Zainab and I am a creative.

I was born to create. Art excites me. Music excites me. Words and stories get me high.

I don’t want to be ashamed of who I am anymore, I want the truth to be known. I want to be proud of who I am!

I don’t want to fit into a box. I don’t want to be part of the norm, a cog that keeps society running smoothly. That’s not me!

I want to be at one with my creativity!

I need to be me! I’m tired of pretending to be someone I’m not.

I want to sit in the dark listening to music with tears streaming down my face and not feel weird about doing it.

I want to lose myself in stories that are not my own.

I want to experience the euphoria that only comes from embracing the world that I belong in.

My name is Zainab and that was my confession, thank you for listening.

Imma Star!


Okay, so I’m not a star disclaimer, but the other day I just happened to be on a film set, my first one might I add. (And it was a for a huge feature film, but I won’t say what it was until later).

And though I was not in a starring role, (my role was very tiny), it was still exciting and 3 days later I’m still buzzing.

To all those people who think being an actor is all glitz and glamour, that one day you’ll be famous and you’ll be invited to all the big parties and get loads of free things and wear beautiful dresses, walk down red carpets and have fans screaming your name; I need to tell you now you need a reality check. Working on set is damn hard and it isĀ tiring and draining.

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