Adeboro

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Tag Love

Stupid Boy (and girl)

You’re reading this in the voice of a flower. Do not panic. Or think you’re weird. Flowers are also living things. I sit here in a vase, serving as a centre piece on a table in a semi-fancy restaurant. On this beautiful evening, I have chosen not to think of all my worries; like the fact that I shall die this night when all the guests leave and would be

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Remember?

To whom it may or may not concern: I knew you when we were younger. Five years ago. I wish I didn’t. So, then I would not know how much you’ve changed. I knew you when your smile was still wide and free. Not this forced smile you do now; trying to keep all your teeth in your mouth. I knew you when you couldn’t raise an eyebrow. How did

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I have a friend…

I have a friend… I have a friend. His name is the Holy Spirit. Apparently, he’s the best friend I can ever have. I don’t utilize his awesomeness, gentility, listening skills as well as I should. But He sticks around. Always… always there. Looking out for me… doing everything he does; with me in mind. I have a friend. Her name is Demilade. She has the body of a model

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…and you wonder.

You walk into your house quietly, walk straight into your room and you sit at the edge of your bed. The mess you made just before you anxiously went out on the date is just as you left it. You stand up, walk to the mirror and stare at your face. You touch your lips. They feel very swollen but they look only slightly swollen. You arch your eyebrows and

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Unsuitable Suitor

Trust me, the title has nearly nothing to do with the content of the story. I just really like the phrase – from Jason Mraz’s ‘Prettiest Friend’ It was like a joke, but neither of us was laughing. I was staring back into the eyes of the woman who I had so jovially conversed with, I had so often traded hair products with, so often shared secret heart issues with

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Mother-hood

I like to say to people that I’m hood. In fact, when Ezra recently told me ‘Hood Morning (that’s how we greet in the hood)’, I felt quite happily gangster. But I must say – I’m not hood. Neither am I gangster. Neither am I street. I like to believe that the reason I try to associate myself with being ‘tough’ is because I never really experienced hardship. I never

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Hey Babe

                                                                                                                 12 December, 2013 Hey Babe, I can’t believe I’m writing this letter. Two years

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Definitely Unsure

How did I get to be in this place, at this time, for this reason? We are about 6 girls now. We are basically girls. The oldest of us would probably be that girl sitting at the far end of the bench opposite mine, reading a Joyce Meyer book (very inappropriate for the moment except she’s desperately looking for some conviction and last minute excuse to get out of here).

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Je suis a fighter

*Hello people, this is another ‘One Pic; a Thousand Stories’ post. Remember; you can send in your own interpretation of the picture to oadeboro@gmail.com* ‘I love you no matter what you do, but do you have to do so much of it?’ Those were the words James had scribbled in the card he thrust into my hand. I read them, rolled my eyes and said (exaggerating concern) ‘She cheated again?’

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