faraway home

Writing Prompt: Faraway

Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.


My home is faraway in unfamiliar land.
It is beyond moon and stars.
It is beyond our ideas of galaxies.

I am forgotten there.

My home is faraway in familiar land.
It is beyond oceans and skies.
It is beyond questions asked.

I am forgotten there.

uncaged voice

Writing Prompt: Voice

Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.


i am trembling voice. i am fear finding footing and tongue. i am freedom picking the lock to my cage with skeleton key words that find their way through tumblers and springs. the door will open and i will be set upon the oppressed world, unlocking the black and gold bars of those who couldn’t see their cage. tongue lashing, words whipping, voice shaking hills upon hills of status quo. i will swing cages wide and far and let my voice spill into the streets, words littering roads, blocking hate and ego from passage. i am voice flying without wings into future worlds; fast, furious, naked for all to see. i am trembling…no longer from fear. but because my voice needs to heal; it must heal or i’ll die. it must reach ears that want peace and freedom, so they will know how uncaged voice can change the trajectory of existence. how uncaged voice can change everything that i am. how uncaged voice can set fire to the silence.

the wanting

the gale lifts me up to the white clouds.
tufts separate then fold around me.
i fly toward Proxima Centauri, Alpha Centauri’s star.
my wings gather stardust along the way.

i fly through still unbroken blackness.
and learn to breathe with cosmic lungs.
light is my destination or my path.
it all leads back to a million forgotten selves.

i seek the other side of galaxies.
near the farthest ends of tomorrow’s needs.
something waits there for me.
it is wanting what i have not learned to give.

it is wanting my many yesterdays.

© zaji, 2016


freedom bound


Black unpolished marble doors too heavy to swing open.
Locked inside dark moments that seek escape from Earthly prisons.
We are not free.

Black slick walls, wet from raging rivers seeping in.
They enter me, finding the lonely dark spaces.
Slipping through rocks and secrets.
I am not free.

Black words write themselves on onyx paper.
Words hiding between unruled lines.
Words killing authentic creation.
They are not free.

© zaji, 2016

to tell you a story


I want to tell you a story.

But the words are dangerous and may draw blood.
They come sharp, and sometimes come in hollow points.
They are piercing.
Always seeking darkness.

To tell you the story opens wounds.

Because the words no longer cauterize.
They tear flesh and sometimes bone.
They cannibalize the heart.
Always seeking sacrifice.

I want to tell you my story.

But it’s difficult to bleed you.
Difficult to watch your essence drain.
Each breath you take leaving you.
As I spit truth upon the altar.

© zaji, 2016

my footsteps

Writing Prompt: Footsteps

Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.


I walk through the rain pelted land,
my footsteps following me as I go.

Seeds fallen from towering trees settle on the dirt.
My footsteps squeeze them into the soft soil.

I look back to see where I once was.
Steps from the past leave stories.

The stories are shaped by me.
I am shaped by them.

They walk on, behind me,
my footsteps.

I am left standing inside myself,
hoping for a future not promised.

© zaji, 2016

on the edge

Writing Prompt: Edge

Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.


At the edge of sun soaked cliffs, I find you,
soul worn, standing in patent leather shoes.
Snow melts under the weight of orange rays.
There is a tomorrow waiting here for me.
But it does not remember you.

Home grown ideologies double as wool coats,
warming my heart and mind as I wait for the moor.
You become shadows upon leaves.
In the end, when clouds hit the moon,
you will be gone, disappeared from this place
where Earth and sky meet.

You will then exist on the edge of yesterday’s dreams.

© zaji, 2016

words are never enough


It is never enough,
this house of words and glass.
Sentences splash across walls in bright island colors.
Palm trees whisper stories of the ocean’s song.
Still, it is never enough.
Words find each other in the quiet spaces.
They join hands and become sentences
that run naked under sunlight and moonlight.
No, it is not enough.
Words are remembering self,
in days gone and moments frozen in ink.
In the end, it is never enough.

© zaji, 2016

blue poetics

I’ve written a few Twitter posts that I am sharing here. Twitter poetics…in blue.


Stories breath. Exhaling the laws of words. Speaking lifetimes back into existence. Speaking for yesterday’s wisdom.

If you say our world is beautiful, I will believe you. But do not lie; do not lie.

i seek refuge in ink and unbleached papyrus. something waits for me at the end of the stories. paper wet black, and true.

under sun and moon i touch naked back to grass. breasts become mountains, inching toward the sky, breaking clouds into pieces.

the night creaks and moans. i am undulated by the darkness, a bending wave of body and soul. i am outside light. i am inside night.

we live inside ourselves, inside experiences and memories that become our tattoo.

I am at the center of loneliness. It is there that I wait for you, in the midst of my wanting.

I look in the mirror & say, “I remember you.” The mirror melts into a puddle at my feet. I am no longer chained to false images.

i see friend

Writing Prompt: Friend

Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.


i see friend.
she stand there.
years blooming on her face.
smile rising inside me.
she speak decades back.
she conjure long gone words.
she remember laughs.
she remember cries.
she remember moving earth and sea,
because she gonna come see me.
she gonna let me run tears.
she not gonna talk,
cause i need to cry quiet, no words.

i see friend.
standing in rain.
i open door and she step in.
we spread across bed,
and let words flow.
we talk life.
we talk love.
we talk dreams.
we reach into the remembering.
we scare away forgetting.

i see friend.
she coming back for me,
from the grave.
she riding resurrection’s back to see me.
she coming back,
cause i need her now,
in this empty room,
in this space that friend once filled.

© zaji, 2016

envy not

Writing Prompt: Envy

Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.



…is a waste of time.

the time spent looking at someone else and what they have could be spent living one’s own life and creating one’s own destiny.


…sucks the energy from your soul.

wish for your own dreams, not the dreams of others. envy not their life, because it may not be what you imagine it to be.


…only hurts you.

© zaji, 2016



i’ve landed here,
left stranded inside my body.
form and void birthed me into sentience.

i want to forget my belonging.
i want to escape the prison of my skin.

but i’ve been given life,
locked inside solitary confinement,
chained to this single soul.

i am walled in by flesh and bones.
trapped by heart and lungs;
my wardens.

the day comes for me.
it comes saddled atop the moon.
wrinkles mark my waning time.

i will soon be set free,
from the prison of my skin.

© zaji, 2016

pocketed thoughts


forgotten skies cry for tomorrow’s clouds.
wings can’t help me fly into yesterday.

so i fold yesterday’s thoughts into neat little squares
and tuck them away in my patchwork pocket.
they live in darkness seeking light.
they desire to unfold into wings, big black wings,
strong black wings gathering energy.

but the thoughts remain folded,
inside lint filled pockets,
tossing around with life’s necessities.

© zaji, 2016

soul flow

Writing Prompt: Flow

Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.


My soul flows from here.
Along rippling riverbeds smoothing stones.
Across silt, soil and pebbles.

Baptismal waters cleanse me.
The sun dries my shadows.
Soul is wanting cloudless skies.

I am remnants of Earth.
Flowing into my past.

© zaji, 2016

the unrequited


i return to you dressed in red painted toenails
carrying my heart in my right hand

my pen in my left

you admire my purple lipstick
“eccentric” you say

“royal” i say
“but i am not your queen”

he look away to search the concrete for words

i look to the sun

he say “your toes. red polish. you hate red”

“i write in red for you. i paint in red for you” i say
“see my pen here?”

“i see. but your other hand full” he say
“what’s in it?”

“can’t you see?”

but he can’t see what’s there—my heart
all he sees is my fist balled tight

“i see green nail polish on your thumb” he say
“and grass seeking sun is growing up through the cracked concrete”

© zaji, 2016

contrasting self

Writing Prompt: Contrast

Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.

Who I was yesterday is not who I am today, yet, in a strange way I am the same person. It’s an amazing paradox.

I am contrasted to my yesterday self.

In my yesterday skin, I was my hair, long and filled with stories, each inch overflowing with seconds, minutes and weeks of moments. Each moment reaching for the past and the future, whispers of a life unfolding.

In my yesterday skin, my hair often defined me, while still allowing me to define who I needed to be. My hair and me, symbiotically living through sunrises and sunsets. Sisters, my hair and I. Sisters of the sun and moon.


In my today skin, I am my hair. Sometimes. My stories have been cut away— some trashed, some burned, some tucked away in a music box. Locs of stories. Long locs of memories wrapped in tears and laughter, dance and song. They’ve left me, cut away by my own hands. The whispers are hushed and the stories set aside, tucked away in tiny file cabinets in my mind, no longer residents of my locs, but now residents of my past.

I am the contrast of myself—at times. Some pieces of my yesterday in Black & White. Some pieces of my today in full color. Contrasts. The paradox is real.