What lies beneath the surface; *Intricacies of Abuse*


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I read once that the purpose of abuse (more emotional than physical) sometimes is to keep the ‘victim’ dependent on the abuser. 

My fascination with criminology and cold cases has taught me and shed light on the many intricacies of abuse. The whys and hows of emotional and physical abuse, insight into the abuser’s way of thinking. 

Like with everything else in life, from the outside looking in, it’s always easier to ‘judge’ regardless of how misinformed you are on the matter, pass comments on what ‘you’d have done’ and ‘how stupid’ that person is based on one reason or the other. 

Abuse changes one’s psyche in ways that aren’t fathomable to a rigid and timid mind, and it is because of this that judgment comes easily.

People that have been abused usually don’t speak out because of the ’embarrassment’ and backlash that comes with it. Just to name a few;

1. You wanted it because if you didn’t you wouldn’t have taken it. 

2. What did you do for you to be abused. 

3. Reference to situations that have absolutely nothing to do with the abuse itself. 

Focusing on the above mentioned, ask yourself this, how easy do you think it would be for you to speak out if it happened to you? 

Why is it that we find it easier to emotionally attack those affected rather than deal with the ones responsible for the abuse? This in itself shows how we live in an undeniably flawed society. 

Abuse affects the way one views themself and may trigger depression amongst many other things. Imagine losing sense of who you are though you’ve known yourself your entire life! Then add on the slander and backlash from the same society that advocates for people to speak out. 

Abuse in it’s entirety is something that is difficult to fully understand as each case differs from individual to individual. It is something that is diffucult to accept, not to mention deal with and half the time ‘victims’ live in denial of it, making all kinds of excuses because they just cannot fathom the reality of it all.

Being emotionally &/ physically abused is not something that is easy to get over, for some it takes months and for others a lifetime. It is a struggle on its own, and by knowing this may we never be the ones that make it harder for them to move past it. 

I for one am not a fan of the word ‘victim’. I think people deserve more than to be labeled victims but well. 

Abuse, though we do more often than not, is not something that should be taken lightly neither is it something to laugh about. Let us aspire to be people that are approachable for those that need help with this problem rather than  being the cause of more pain and discomfort. 

There is always a way to overcome it, though it may seem bleak at times. Always believe and trust that you have what it takes to stop the cycle.

❤️Someone, somewhere needs to know and believe this❤️


Kiss your inner-self-sabotage goodbye


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“We choose our joys and sorrows long before we experience them”

~ Khalil Gibran

Time and time again I have used this quote whilst blogging, it just makes so much sense don’t you think? From karma to the words we spew into the universe daily, one can’t help but just LOVE it!

I stumbled upon a realisation yesterday, though not new, I have known and understood it for quite some time now. Often I have witnessed family, friends and even myself fleeing responsibility of our not so fair circumstances.

Khalil Gibran’s quote shedding light on what I have known but ignored for oh so long, how do we become consciously better at this fragile thing called life? How do we move away from that deep urge to play the ‘victim card’ even when it does not apply?

Why is it that sometimes (if not most times) as people we are drawn to causing others pains but are so quick to be mind boggled when somewhere down the line pain comes knocking? Why is it that our pain should never be forgotten but for the ones we have caused hurt and discomfort, their pain we view as a nuisance and must be quick to fade with each day break?

“Rarely do we ever admit to being the sole cause of another’s broken soul”

~ Terr


In comparison to the number of times we’ve cried and played victim, how many times have we owned up to the aches we’ve caused others under the night sky and tried to make it right? Imagine if God himself sat us in the middle of every single being and asked us to own up to all that makes us who we are, the good and the bad, would we be as outspoken as we are when we shun those that have hurt us forgetting those we’ve hurt?

“What goes around comes around and what goes up must come down .” Wrong someone today, whether tomorrow, next year, heck 5 years from now, (trust me ) karma will come knocking and when it does may we not be so quick to forget those we’ve wronged. Instead of humbling ourselves and accepting that to be a way of life, may we not seek others to lay blame on as we often do. 

Take a moment to reflect, unlearn and renew your mind and your way of thinking. More often than not, we are victims of our own choices, words we speak into the universe and what we do to others. Understand this and you’ll spend less time crying rivers for sympathy points because that is no way to spend the one life you were blessed with by The Great I Am. 



Lend a hand * Rupemba Primary School students*


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I read once that before you ask why someone hasn’t done anything about a situation, always remember that you are also someone and that you haven’t done anything about it either. 

I have decided to add another category on my blog, LEND A HAND. I always find myself drawn to certain things and well, it’s about time. 

Now that that’s out of the way *exhale* RUPEMBA PRIMARY SCHOOL!!!! 

I first became aware of this school after a certain gentleman posted about it on Facebook and as I looked at the pictures I just wanted to cry😞. 

Rupemba Primary School is located 30 kilometers after Zvishavane towards Bukwe Mine in Zimbabwe. The school caters for 200 plus students and as I look at the pictures once more I am mind boggled as to how that is even possible. 

Sometimes because we are so sheltered from the plight of others, it is hard to fathom that this is actually how others live and go through life. 

I have decided to reach out to all those that would like to help to change these children’s lives. 

I shall be collecting textbooks, stationery and clothes  for the school. The one thing I truly would want us to do together is build a solid structure for them 😭. 

It will not happen over night, even if progress turns out slow, may we not lose sight of the end goal. 

Education is every child’s right, together we can make their journey a little easier. Let us be the change we’ve been seeking for oh so long. 

*For Rupemba Primary School* 

If you are interested in making donations, please feel free to contact me; 




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From day one I’ve talked about getting out, but not forgetting about how my worst fears were letting out. He says why put a new address on the same old loneliness, when breathing just passes the time and we all get old and die.

Now talking is just a waste of breathe, and breathing is just a waste of death, so why put a new address on the same old loneliness when its just double the stress. From day one I’ve talked about getting out , though always thrown off by the thought of a jaded heart worn out.

From day one I’ve talked about getting out…day one long gone, surely this courage forgone, but still  thoughts of you I hold on, when the steps of this love are so far gone. He says why cut me off when I am the key to your lock, the one true key that can never be mocked.

Reminiscing about nights gone right with you long gone, from day one I dreamt about getting out and now you are just a mere memory of what I was doing wrong. Shoes in hand, key in the lock, phone rings, heart drops, day one I’m back at residing again.

*** started and finished by intertwined hearts***


I used to love you…


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Our first warm embrace under the night sky, streets ablaze with warm lights, a perfect forever, when I looked up, I saw in your eyes. Feeling long gone, the night no longer bright, no longer there, I remember I used to love you. 

Like the perfect fixer-upper, you had potential but at every turn you fought progress and so like many a things, you’re slowly meeting your end with potential unexplored. 

Life-less streets, a perfect forever out of sight and out of mind, I randomly remember that I used to love you.

Stuck between waiting it out and moving on, I waited. Turning a blind eye to the abuse for in you I saw potential so in the eye of the storm I chose to wait.

The abuse even greater, bruises covered in propaganda, I held on to the promise of tomorrow but tomorrow never came. Bruised and broken, I realise its time for me to go for I used to love you but that is no more.

You shot me and pretended like you were the one dying. Wondering why it is that I am the one that’s shunned for wanting to leave when at your hands I’ve shed tears and blood. I played my part but you just couldn’t help but tear me apart.

Deserving better, I shed tears at my soon-to-be loss of you. Knowing fully well that with you, better is nowhere in sight, though I used to love you, its time for me to go.

Santa Clause on a Coca Cola truck under a cloudless night sky on First Street, closing my eyes and picturing this once more, I remember the day I fell in love with you. 

Cloudless night skies now teargas filled nights, Santa’s Coca Cola truck now riot police trucks, I realise I no longer can wait out this future-bleak storm. No longer the case I choose to remember I USED TO LOVE YOU and understand that, that is no more as I go. 

*tear stained letter to my city*



Who knows?…because I don’t.


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I wish I could understand why the rain falls the way it does, why when it hits the window pane, my eyes feel the need to create a beautifully sad duet to the beat of my tainted heart.

A deafening silence leading one to the depths of despair, the sun retreats and with it my wishes for a moment longer basking in brighter rays of the olden days.

With the black of night masking me from the turmoil that is day, I fall in love with pages turned grey and can’t help but yearn to escape like pebbles washed away by the lightest of rains.

Needing and wanting to fully express and pour out my heart to you, I let my fear of rejection keep me from you, keep you from hearing me. For you see, if my words splashed, spilled and inked onto what used to be blank canvases saved for the broken you rejected, would I live to try again? Would my heart and soul recover and live to gain?

Needing and wanting to tell you that I’m willing to try if only you tried with me, if I wrote and gained the courage to pass this love letter to you, is it guaranteed that you would read it, heck even receive it. An ocean created from a thousand tears, we’ve sent a message in a bottle on a regular, sit and wait by the shore for a response that may never reach us for it may never have been sent.

Going round and round in circles I lose sight of what I am trying to achieve here. Grief and fear stricken, in this here moment, I am much like a child dying to pass a note in Elizabeth Bathory’s class. Afraid of how I’ll meet my death if Countess Dracula caught me but alas FORTIS FORTUNA ADIUVAT!!!

The plague of not trying would kill you more than the pain of having done so and suffered for it and with that my love letter to you I write for the world to see. I have tried but for this to work, we need to try together, fight to be one again and create an unending passion for each other once more. For you see, even though I’ve loved and lost plenty with her, she’s not only where I’m from, she will remain the very definition of who I am even when I’m long gone.



*Fortune Favours The Brave*

If I were still a child, living in Zimbabwe would be like…


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…seeing Santa Clause way back when in 1st street and having him ask you what you wanted knowing fully well his gift bag was empty.

Being force fed oats to the point of rethinking living but soldering on based on the promise of ice cream that was never to come that day and an entire day of cartoons knowing fully well ZBC offered no such thing.

If I were still a child, living in Zimbabwe would be like… living on ifs… I am no longer a child, eyes wide open, heart bleeding, I stop and wonder… Is this how it felt living post Sicilian Mafia Gangs, terrified of stepping out of line for God forbid Richard “The Iceman” Kuklinski was sent for you…is this how they felt?

If you cozied up to the Five Families, you were more than alright but at what cost? Mute the words of your broken soul as the things of the world take over and let you believe all was well as long as you were close… Close enough to secure a roof over your head and food at your table at the expense of that very soul.

I wake to realise, it wasn’t just me, I wasn’t the only one, but one in millions. I wake and wonder if this is how it felt living at the very peak of the Five Families, is this how they felt?

Disappointment a yearly, if not daily dose in what used to be a proud country. My heart hurts, filled with broken dreams and empty promises, I watch the majority try and make do with whats left but dear God its become more than hard.

I wake with a sour taste of 2008, a bad feeling of de javu and an upset tummy from all the bullsh*t. I look back and hear my old teacher say, “…you have potential but don’t let it end as just that…”.

I loved my country for its beauty and potential, I read the palms of her hands and saw what she could be, I closed my eyes and day dreamed on the visions only to die slowly from a broken heart when I opened my eyes to see her sinking into the abyss of death with me.


You gave in to temptation and took what was not yours, stole from the very people you swore to protect…I hold her hand and search for solace as we sink… but dear God did they have to steal it all…

Lets give it but a moment…


They told a tale so true and surreal… A tad too true it felt so surreal. Heed the words of the old and wise we did not. If we took but a little time to listen… Dry bones do tell the story best or have we forgotten.


An ignorance so real we let it waltz us to our graves, learning from dry bones not so in blood shed we are led to our graves. From Hitler to Gaddafi you’d think from dry bones we’d learn the path to embark on not, but instead here we lie in the thick of the plot.



You are where you are because you chose to be there. You might not agree but let me ask thee, is it not those turns you oh so loved and took, that led you to be here?

A wise man once spoke, as if to my troubled soul, “Get beyond the blame game.” My own ‘wisdom’ made me foolish and so in the rain I was slain, till to light  came.

‘They’ chained, gagged and brought you here, so you toss and turn with depression ever so near. Wishing ‘them’ ill, you curse and moan as if a thousand deaths to them you leer.

Inhale and listen to what in a whisper he said, “If you blame someone for where you are, you can’t fix it, they can…and that is too much power to give someone else.”

Exhale and apply.

“We choose our joys and sorrows long before we experience them.”

~ Khalil Gibran

blame game


“Don’t think, it complicates things…”

When you have nothing it’s easy to love because you know those that love you,  love you for you.

When you have it all, it’s almost hard to believe that those that ‘love you’, love you for you and would love you even without anything.

…and when the two collide the beginning is always chaotic, chaotic enough to ignite the death of love unborn.


***For K***