Truth is my Compass, & Wisdom my Helm.

once you know, you cannot un-know. once you have seen, you can never un-see. once you have allowed yourself to feel, you are freed from silence; for the submergence of one's truth only births havoc within the self.

We are resisting ourselves into unmarked graves of psychic annihilation because we are unable to renounce our addiction to pride.

Zisa Aziza

Spirit Swag

be a woman who gives space before you ask for it;
a folk who sees through you and speaks to you

is that swerve of self that words can’t capture

put a spell on a poet—have her remember her mother tongue;
spirit swag be the iris, when soulful is mascara

Create borders for your mind and protect it, as though your thoughts were the last vestige of sovereignty on this planet.

Zisa Aziza

Hypnotic Rhetoric

Africans sold their own folk into slavery,
Citizens enlist in the army out of bravery

No matter the day, we chasing an economy;
The coin alters the colony and chronology

But the disharmony is a commodity

We now mythologize the continuity of our history,
Reframe the lens and alter the subtext for mockery

With such eager deliberation for falsification,
Who is entertained by this imperiled speculation? 



The moon and I make love,
and birth seas

We tease the wind,
to beckon suns


I will neither egress, nor acquiesce
The precondition for contrition

I will transgress this distress,
For disillusion is a healthy obtrusion

If oration is my sole act of deviation;
Silence will confound, as words expound

Spiritual Combat

died by the sword,
reborn by the lord

endowed a predilection,
for psychic insurrection

With the Consensus of the Gods

I am the salt
Of ethereal worlds
We have yet to exalt

Propelled by the benighted,
Into the luminosity of foresight;   
Transubstantiation, must be expedited


Keep near, those who embrace your existence;
Even only if in memory, for they are most transient

And forgive those who deplete you;
Although they may seem earnest, they are dishonest

Road Sleeper

get your ass out the passenger seat,
kick passivity out the driver’s seat

grab that steering wheel—and ride this vehicle;
like you know this your last fucking trip


Like soil, if the soul ain’t fertile, the crops may not be worthy of harvest.

Zisa Aziza