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My quiet riot of words begins here.

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This space is where my thoughts land when they’ve run out of places to hide. It’s part diary, part soapbox, part sanctuary. Expect reflections that challenge norms, stories stitched with memory, and questions without tidy answers. I’m not here to go viral. I’m here to go deep. If you’ve ever felt too curious, too intense, too “much” welcome. You’re in the right corner.

Daughter of Chibok

Time has moved fast.
Three hundred sixty five days
since we were taken,
one full year of pain and agony.

The memory burns.
The memory of never going home.
I stand here as a woman,
my innocence seized and buried.

I nurse Mohammed now.
He smiles, unaware he is
the living scar of my sorrow.
Do not weep for me.

I am a child shaped
by a greedy society,
an offering placed
before a selfish deity.

I pray the gods receive me.
I pray other girls survive.

My voice fades.
My story ends.
Now I die.

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