Love Knows.

Love knows
Where it harrows;
It knows where
It bleeds.
Love, it comes
With a subtle forceful
Push; not to make
You forget what hurt
But to heal it, and
Help you feel a-new.
Love, it knows
Where the heart’s been.


© The Short Black Girl, 2016.


A beautiful place.


Here’s a collaboration between myself and a friend. I saw those words “I am so riddled with injuries” on his pm and I made him do this poem with me. It’s his first try at poetry, and I think this is not at all a bad start. Thanks Endaud for the inspiration, and for working with me on this!


I am riddled with injuries
Blood. hurt. murk. funk.
A ragged heart, a punctured soul
Sore. raw. burnt. cut.
But I watch you want me
Prick me with your holy sin
Turn me inside out,
And bare me in your luscious mind
You take me in your cold arms
Cast me into fullness and ripe,
But nothing’s changed
Thrust. Pain. Pleasure. Pain.
Everything. Is. Coloured. In. Red.
Blood. hurt. murk. funk.
You are no different
From the ones that left.


I am riddled with injuries,
Clots, rot, and a haunting glow,
Scars, healing — winter, snow
Save a place for the one that knows.
Harrowed & hollow
Drowning in sorrow
But I come alive in your presence
Anew, in your shadow
For we been down the same haunted road
Coloured in misery, forges & bellows
Wrought in this rainbow darkness–
Beyond the blood,
Hurt, murk, and funk
I’ll show you a vision of solace and haunting tranquility
Kindred souls, you and me
To the bottom of this diamond sea we’ll float
To a beautiful place that is apathy.


© The Short Black Girl, 2015.


In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “First Crush.”

partners in crime

I cant remember how it started, but there was a day, and there was lunch- caprisone and biscuit. I was seven or so, playing catcher (hide and seek) with a classmate during break when I think I bumped into him. He smiled, and my eyes would not get over that sight in another 5 years or so. We ended up sharing my lunch, and chewing on the same straw. Don’t ask me why.

The days after saw us playing together and growing into best friends. We would do practically everything together, even eat my barely-enough lunch together. I liked him. So damn much with my young pre-teen heart, but that’s not the best part– keep on.

I left that school to the same school in a new area- the school built a new branch closer to my home. So we stopped seeing each other for a while, and I almost forgot about him for a fleeting second– until he came back, suddenly, unexpectedly, and a tad too ceremoniously. There was this smell that wafted through the classroom from outside, tantalising in its own right, distracting me from what my teacher was saying in class. Quickly, My eyes darted to the door and he was there, housing that abundant yet graceful smell, the boy after my own heart and I toppled in crush with him all over again. He had come to join us at the new branch, and a part of me jumped in glee at the thought that maybe, just maybe he came for me. So everyday from then on, he became the only motivation I needed to go to school looking good– and I would await his entrance every one time, waiting for his smell to kiss my breath. But at this time, we had drifted too apart to come back together– and we had grown, oh well, he had grown– past hide and seek games, shared lunch and short black girls. He had a clique with whom he’d draw designs on girls and just pretty much play naughty all day long. I had a pseudo- clique too, myself and two very beautiful girls! They had everything I didn’t have, the curves and grace, but I loved them and I still had people to play catcher and share things with.

Time had passed and feelings had changed– safe for mine. He had started making designs on hotter targets but I had only eyes for him. It hurt, but my feelings were enough… If only he didn’t tease me every now and then and pitch my hopes up. One of such occasions was this particular Summer holiday when he called me in the guise of Frank Edoho (the Who Wants to Be a Millionaire host). I was young, and naive, and very gullible so for a few minutes, I thought I was a lucky queen to receive such princely call! He burst my bubbles when he revealed his true identity, but even that knowledge didn’t make me feel less of a queen. I didn’t give him my number, I don’t know where he got it from, but he called and it was all that mattered then. I hung on to that memory and the tingling feelings that accompanied me for the rest of that day– a rare secret for my diary.

Months passed, and so did time, yet my crush won’t budge. I had thought crushes lasted only for a short while, or was it possible that I got so careless and it turned to love? We had become seniors and talked less often. He had joined the boarding house while I remained a day student (at the same school). We would have long bouts of silence, and when we spoke, we would talk almost everyday. He would come sit with me and tell me about his fears, family and stuff. I felt important, maybe I was important; maybe we were still best friends. Then one day, perhaps, the day it all became clear- my feelings- he told me about how he was crazy in love with some girl but was too scared to tell her about it. We were on a short break from school, so he sent it as a text message. He described her and asked that I help him convey his feelings. I wasn’t sure what happened that day but it felt like something died in my heart and my eyes would not stop mourning it. A part of me so much wanted to turn facts around and make me believe I was the one he was wanting, but it didn’t feel right; it wasn’t me but my very good friend that the descriptions matched- a boarder at the same school.

So it was, that my best friend and long-time crush was in love with my very good friend, and I had the responsibility to pass the message across. I played my part, honestly and truthfully, and brought the two love birds together. The next days had me hearing too much gossip about their love affair that made my heart bleed, but I was happy that they were happy and I felt better knowing where I stood in his life eventually. Every now and then, I would hear rumours of how it was me he truly liked and how my name was the only password he used on his gadgets, but it didn’t matter anymore.

I had no more feelings to spare.

If I see him now, I would tell him thank you, because he is the reason why I now write.


© The Short Black Girl, 2015.

Blogging 101- Hello and Hi!



Happy new month to y’all. So yeah, I know it’s the 6th of July already buy hey Why, you’re welcome!

I’ve been a little off for a while now; partly because I have been lost on words to write, and also because I am working on Mr Meku (yeah, for those of you that saw the first horrible post of that story). In the middle of this semi- hibernation however, I joined the Instagram community, where I‘ve been able to re- awaken the ‘pseudo-poet’ in me; and also subscribed to the Blogging 101 bit. Yayy! Lool. The essence of all of this, I guess, is to find myself, and I hope I do eventually.

Today’s post is for the first Blogging 101 exercise- Introduce yourself to the world. And God help me, this is something I love doing. Hehe.

I am Rofiah Alli, but most people know me as Damore Alli, an Accounting Graduate, a talkative, a lover of words, and a lover of love. I think that just about sums me up. And of course, in between those words, there’s a lot more even I am still discovering. I realise now that I have been asked the question of why and when I started writing a lot of times, and up until now, I am yet to bring the perfect words together to describe that moment and that cause, so I hope you’ll listen again as I re- say the exact words I‘ve told everyone else. It started with a boy…

I remember that day in my Senior Secondary School class, I had been musing about this guy I had a huge- heavy crush on. He wasn’t cute, he wasn’t tall, he didn’t have builds, or any of those things that can be said to make a guy ‘hot’ and all, infact, he had this ridiculously huge lips that seemed too big for his face, but I liked him. And did he like me? That I don’t know, and I think that’s where the misery that made me start writing came from. There were rumours, about me, about him, and about the us that didn’t exist. On some days, it was sheer bliss- listening to people whisper words that promised he liked me just as much; on some other days, it was tortuous! If he did like me, why wouldn’t he just take the balls by the hand, and walk up to me like a man?! All these thoughts I had been thinking on that lonely boring day at school when I picked my pen, and started writing. I wrote about love, in its wonder and woes! Of how it could feel so amazing, yet haunting. I just wrote on and on, and when I was done, I smiled. It seemed like I had healed in seconds. And so it was from then on. I would write to heal about what hurt me, write to release the emotions that would otherwise consume my glorious heart. It was a gift, a miracle in the middle of June! I would write poems, and drama and show it to my classmates, who made me feel like a Queen as they seemed to stand on their toes each time, awaiting the release of the next big thing. It was indescribable, the feeling; that my source of release was their medicine. So I never wanted to stop!

I got into the University, and tried writing a book on an imaginary crush. Damn, I was loving that story. I had bought a new 60leaves note and penned down every thought, word for word with my Leo Smart pen and the feeling was just same- Indescribable. Until some arse stole the note! It hurt. I would cry for days in mourning of the beautiful characters in it and how their lives ended so abruptly! But thankfully, although the pad was lost, the ink was not… so I continued! And wrote on. In my second year in the university, when I started using a smartphone, the wonders of Facebook fascinated me and I started typing my thoughts on the keypads to reach a wider audience on there, and OH LAWD, was I swooned? The feedback was amazing. I wrote under the name Damore Alli, and that was how it became my pen name till date. People called me many beautiful names – wordsmith, romantic wordsmith and all! I came in contact with tons of beautiful writers like Neydu Onuoha, Opeyemi Owotumi, Ife Olujuyigbe and many others. I had an army of readers that made my head reel with sweet words. But even then, I just wrote. Without form, or reason; it was just pure undiluted thoughts, no paragraphs or fuzzy punctuations! Then I came in contact with Richard Ali, and he gave my words the gift of form. He taught me to pay attention, to write better. And I have been doing that ever since. I’ll forever remain thankful to him!

It was on Facebook also that I came in contact with the amazing April Laugh who made me just want to get on WordPress and have a blog! She blogged good, wrote well, and captured my heart. I didn’t know what it meant to have a blog, or what blogging was about (even now, I don’t) but puhleese, if its writing, I am so in! So on the 13th of March 2012, in my third year in the University, I created my very first blog- It took a lot of thought, the website address. I had a rush of names in my head, but none seemed right; and then I remembered the dr90210 (or so) that I used to watch on DstV in my 100level days, and dr2103 just seemed like it (21/03 being my birth details, 21st of March)! And again, I wrote on!

Maybe some of you would know the rest of the story- of how I deleted that website sometime in August 2014, because someone had made a flippery comment about my work that really put me down and shattered all that self- esteem I had come a long way building. But for wonderful friends and readers that made me promise to come back here and do the pen some good justice, and believe in myself and my might all the way, I would have been long gone off this space!

So hey, its been a helluva of a journey! And, its been fun!

In case you missed the point, I am Damore Alli and I write to heal and release!

Thank you. ❤

© The Short Black Girl, 2015.

Thank you!