It feels awkward, suspicious to be someone of few opinions.
Ever so slightly so that it barely matters
My Grandma has Dementia, but somehow that’s done nothing for my own memory.
A fully alive, fully outstretched black person taking up as much space as they need is the most frightening black person, so be scary.
They just watched us get darker and darker, welcoming in the deeper glow, disgusted. But what could they do?
His story isn’t unique to him. The details may be, but the overall portrait of his circumstances lend themselves to the narratives of black people murdered by the streets all over.
I know there’s no fiction on here as of yet but it is coming!
A long read on boxing’s saviour role in the lives of London’s young boys from inside a local youth boxing club, written months before the world lost its head
Reflections from aged 22 on the eve of 23.
It is just a feeling. But why do I do that with feelings? Feelings are not always thoughts, not always stories. They’re felt, sometimes that is all.