Me, Polygons

In solitude, you become a beautiful multitude, and it’s you and you alone, splintering into tiny flecks of feeling, with only a slice leaking into the external world. When people ask, “What do you want?” I think, “Which of me you do want to see expressing want?”

This is a dance of the world and-

– other stories. In case you were struck by the title (someone said my titles are marvelous, I’m  supposed to be proud of that uhn) or  worried this would be another story on Madam Corona, that wicked Nollywood woman whose children are dancing and dancing, stealing from everybody’s pot, I Read more…

I am not

I am not featuring a picture or offering anything elaborate. Look. No big grammar or bothering about ‘literary merit’ or form. Here is it: 1. My mum is a doctor but I am not a doctor. I don’t want to be a doctor. I won’t be a doctor.  I would Read more…