Back in the market
A week ago – not too long ago.
I bought a soap
Placed it with the other things in the packet.

Last night,
With the soap that costed less than a pound.
I used all my might
After the exhausting day
Sans light nor sound
A battle in the shower
To stand and not lay
Took all my remaining power

On the water came
And the droplets ran crazed
Like soldiers in a classified raid.

The soap sans a name,
Came into hand
And suddenly I found myself paralyzed
– less than a pound

But here it smelled like
my long passed childhood –
I could see myself at my granny’s place
In the bathtub, no older than 5


I picked a soap at the market the other day. I suppose most of the time when I’m shopping here, I try to buy things that remind me of home. An orange juice here or lavender scented spray – anything to keep the homesickness at bay.



I don’t want to have to defend it
not while I’m growing it
I’ve spent too many years unsure
so please allow me privacy and
– space.

– Lita

[c] Misunderstanding

Confession: Very in love with my best friend


a little ping on my phone
feels like an electric zing,
there your name sits on
top of my notification bar.

I scramble to find a clean shirt
I ponder over my peach fuzz
wonder it makes me looks like a man
the type you would like to encircle your waist.
staring at my reflection
what don’t I have? – I ask myself

my boy muscles
ride their way over to your place
don’t even have to knock
your voice pulls me in
you’re hacking away at that keyboard again.

when you turn to look at me
I swear the world momentarily pauses
words keep swimming to the tip of my tongue
yet are paralysed with fear at the thought
of jumping into the conversation.

upon closer inspection,
your face is littered with tears
softly you tell me that she hurt you
– again.
what don’t I have – you ask yourself.

you embrace me
I say I love you
I embrace you
You say thank you.

For Tristian

– Lita

(Confessions is an ongoing series centered around the basic human experience. The everyday things we think about and feel but don’t share due to society or fear of being ostracized from our inner circles.

Most confessions are taken off a thread on Reddit – If you happen to stumble upon your own confession and wish for me to take it down, please let me know.)


[c] Sickeningly Sweet

Confession: I bought Girl Scout cookies, and then threw most of them away.

Sickeningly Sweet

street after my commute
eyes latch onto me
turn the block
my thoughts turn mute
racing against the clock
and they’re gaining on me.

quick fluttering steps
under flickering lights
futile; they’ve got me
– cornered.

“Would you like to buy our cookies?”

– Lita

(Confessions is an ongoing series centered around the basic human experience. The everyday things we think about and feel but don’t share due to society or fear of being ostracized from our inner circles.

Most confessions are taken off a thread on Reddit – If you happen to stumble upon your own confession and wish for me to take it down, please let me know.)



am I selfish
for shutting the door
when love is standing there
with a bouquet of flowers?

am I insecure
for questioning and examining
when love utters words out to me
with hopeful eyes?

am I jealous
for dry crying
when I see love trying to move on
with all of love’s might?

am I fair
for wanting attention and desire
when that love is not meant for me
With for me alone?

– Lita

Shadowdancing Sans Light.

Shadowdancing Sans Light.

I take night walks
Like a reprisal from
The pill I find hard to swallow
– day.

In the shadows,
I find forgotten thoughts
Dance with the moonlight’s gaze fixated –
On me.
Like the stalkers they warn me against.

In the dead of the night,
The trees sing,
Telling tales of yesteryear
Burning up oxygen in their lungs.

In the night
I find the peace
That in daytime I can’t seem to lease.

– Lita


To put things in perspective, I was born after the 1st mp3 player was created. So relatively speaking, even though I’m no spring chicken, there’s still a whole world that I’m basically a stumbling duckling to.

So sometimes I stumble upon photographs, paintings or music that strike a cord within me. Usually much older than I am which turns the appreciation into a research mission to understand the context in which it was produced.

There are a plethora of  creators in so many different mediums and sometimes I feel like even though I get exposed to their work. It’s always a fleeting moment in time and suddenly they’re gone in the wind never to be seen again ( unless I see them in my search results.)

I won’t really go deep into what this ‘series’ of posts will be centred around – you probably already get the gist of it.

I’m just going to jump straight into what I have discovered recently (who/what).


Before I bombard you with the history of this photograph, I’ll divulge into what I felt and thought when I initially saw it.

When you look into Yoko Ono’s eyes, there’s this emotion that I spent a couple of minutes to verbalize – to put in words but I can’t quite do it.

It’s almost as if she has dissociated herself from the this world. Her mind seems to be elsewhere. Yet at the same time there is this yearning, as if there is something beyond what we could comprehend that she desires. However amidst all these emotions, a peace is present – the same kind that you get while you’re floating in a pool.

A pleasant nothingness.

John Lennon has visually completely encompassed himself into her being – her essence. I like how his hand is threaded into her hair – her free flowing hair. To be a poetic sap for a second ( not that I’m not usually one.) I drew a parallel between this action and how the hair of women is highly romanticized and given power in the work of some poets and writers alike.

For the sake of having an example( so both you and I can be clear on this point.) I’ll drop Philip Larkin’s “Waiting For Breakfast, While She Brushed Her Hair”

Anyways back to the photograph. I was shocked Lennon. To be pressed up against Ono, there isn’t even an opportunity to have a guise of space. I love the way that gently cradles her head – perhaps he has deep respect for her mind and all that she contains.

My mind always floats back to the way he has moulded himself into her. I realized it was direct consequence of how in mainstream medium it’s always the other way around. That’s why this photograph seems so strange so out of place – why it impacted me so much. As well as the feeling of committing an intrusion of a private moment that it invokes.

The photograph was taken on 8th of December 1980 by Annie Leibovitz.

I’m going to go ahead insert an explanation of the context taken from The Study:

On December 8, 1980, Leibovitz was commissioned by Rolling Stone to photograph John Lennon and Yoko Ono, as part of the promotional efforts surrounding their joint album Double Fantasy. While Leibovitz had hoped that both Lennon and Ono would pose nude, Ono was uncomfortable with shedding her clothes. But Ono’s reluctance led to a legendary improvisation. Of the experience, Leibovitz has said: “I was kinda disappointed, and I said, ‘Just leave everything on.’ We took one Polaroid, and the three of us knew it was profound right away.” Later that evening, Lennon was shot and killed outside of his New York City apartment building. The magazine ran the haunting image (sans headlines) as its cover the following month.

That pretty sums up most of it. If you want to see more Annie Leibovitz work ( you could search her up.) or alternatively you could click here.

Thank you for sticking through it. Hope you experience something good today.