My hand itches for a pen. Preferably black inked. Something about black feels authentic, true, bold, brave.
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Stories by Tebogo Yanda Keulebogile Msweli
REMINDING MYSELF TO LIVE THROUGH P...
I had gone through a very intense writer's block. Every empty page felt like a mockery, a reminder of how I m...
BEFORE EVERYTHING CAME CRUMBLING D...
The book I wrote the poems in, was a gift from a dear friend of mine. The book had the scent of the cologne h...
LOST FOR THE HOLIDAYS
I felt lost.
I didn't know where to start planning ahead. I thought I was but now that the "ahead"...