Do the battles get harder every night?

Do the machinations of your conscience harass you at midnight?

Does dusk invite horrors?

Of course not.


No regrets.

You’re better than that.

Smarter than most, braver than most.

What’s a conscience when the world thinks you’re a lion?

Roaring across the plains, preying on the silent.

No, you’re superhuman,

You break down fragile dispositions.

What’s a conscience?



-Raw Wilde




Deja Vu


You lean nonchalantly against the wall of a crumbling old building.

Cigarette stubs littered around you.

The stench of lost lives makes me gag.

A dirty look is thrown my way as I walk past and I pretend I didn’t see it.


The next time,

You’ll be leaning against the dirty wall of another crumbling old building.

Hands shoved in pockets of pants that haven’t rubbed noses with soap and water since the night that you stripped them off of a man who lost his life.

You’re still going to smell like death and I’ll try not to gag.


The time after that,

You’re going to push yourself off the wall,

Swagger purposefully towards the Father and child walking behind me;

Relieve him of his cellphone and his life.

Then you’re going to run into yet another crumbling old building.

What’s an orphan to you?


The time before that,

You called a girl a whore to her face.

And because she knew you were going to kill her if she did otherwise.

She chirped brightly in response.


In another place, Another time,

You’re wearing shiny black shoes,

A designer suit and a crisp white shirt,

Sitting in an expensive car,

Dragging on an expensive cigar,

Smelling like money.


You’re still giving me a dirty look,

Still making me gag with your entitled self.

Still birthing orphans,

Still calling women whores.


You’re the same person.

Even when you dress a little fancier,

Smell expensive and look clean.

You’re still the guy stealing cellphones and raping women in downtown Johannesburg.


So today,

I’ll hold my head high and walk past.

I’ve seen you before.

You don’t remember me though.

I’m just another new skirt for you.

Another life you’re ready to end.


So today when you push me up against the wall and search my bag,

I’ll say:

‘Hi, it’s been a while.’

And hope today is the day you’ll find your humanity before you slit my throat.


Raw Wilde

-Deja VuSlide1

Hillbrow Apartment Building

Dear boy with the forehead and the wife.
It’s me.
The girl whose virtue you tried to steal for an award that didn’t exist.
The girl whose spirit you tried to crush but failed
Interestingly, my thoughts found their way to you today,
I was thinking about the way the streets of my city haven’t been cleaned lately when Lo and behold! You came crashing into my mind.
Like a foul smelling bag of trash crashing from the tenth floor of an unkempt Hillbrow apartment building.
Dear boy with the women and nothing.
I thought with disdain, how sad you made me.
Infuriatingly so.
I found myself embroiled in the throes of burning hatred,
The fire moving up my spine so swiftly,
Like a seasoned thug preying upon an unsuspecting civilian on the corner of street somebody and street someone else, leaning casually on the walls of an unkempt Hillbrow apartment building.
Dear boy without dreams and even less virtue.
Those unkempt Hillbrow buildings all have one end.
Eventually they crumble from that virus that eats at us from within.
Then they come crashing down,
The bricks scattered and contained within the perimeters marked by the developers.
It’s a pity you’ll have no-one and none to contain you when the potential deficient virus infected threads that hold you together finally tear and you come crashing down.
Dear boy who reminds me of the sort I never want to be,
I’d forgotten about you until I saw the trash littering the streets,
The stink permeating the air as I walked past an unkempt Hillbrow apartment building.

Raw Wilde

-Letters To Forgotten Lovers Continue reading “Hillbrow Apartment Building”

I deserve the best.

The Opthalmologist is 37 minutes late for our appointment.  I’d like you to know, before I go any further, that I have no idea what an ophthalmologist is, other than that he might know whst is wrong with my left eye and hopefully be able to un-blur it. I also know that the optometrist referred me to him because my eye was too much for her. I don’t know what an optometrist is either, with the exception that she found my right eye certifiably healthy.

I’m not upset with the ophthalmologist’s lateness.  I mean hello? He’s  an ophthalmologist. I’m more concerned with the possibility that I may never know what it’s like to see properly with both eyes, which if we’re being honest with each other is just plain selfish. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful that I have one working eye and I can see. It’s that well, I want more. More eyesight. The same way I want more love, more food, more sleep, more money. MORE!  MORE! MORE! I WANT IT.

I probably should give up and forget about it and continue living life with my good eye but I won’t, because I want to know what it’s like to see with both eyes. I’m curious.  If I’m honest with myself however and stop making jokes at my expense,  I’m worried. What if I go blind?  What if I’m halfway there? What if there’s no redemption? 

So I’m still sitting here. Because this Opthslmologist is the best and I deserve the best and as such, I shall wait. Patience always pays right?

On Self-love and all things self.

Dear you, (I hope you read this)

I follow you on Instagram. You know that, or you don’t, either way it’s not really relevant to what I’m about to say.

You know that saying that goes like, “You’re my boyfriend’s ex and you followed me to see if I’m prettier than you? Yes I am bitch. Goodbye.”

It hit home once. You see I checked out your profile countless times, it wasn’t in animosity or because I was trying to find out about your life. It was more curiosity. I wanted to see this girl who had him so happy, this girl who was going to give him all the love I could never give him, this girl who would forever be his number one.  Then you were so beautiful, pretty does not cut it. I felt a stab in my heart. Did he pick her because she’s beautiful? She’s skinnier? She wears make-up? I envied you for those first few weeks after I read about you.

I religiously kept myself updated. It wasn’t until I caught myself imagining myself as you that I stopped to think. ‘Nkosi, why are you giving yourself such a hard time? Why are you trying to be someone you’re not? Why do you feel the need to know so much?’

I didn’t have a response for that, except of course the generic, ‘Coz I’m pathetic and envious and alone.’ A few months later I had a chat with my best friend. She berated me over stalking you. She told me I had low self-esteem. She asked me why I felt the need to validate myself against you. I couldn’t respond coz it had finally hit me. I wasn’t after him, or your relationship, or your beauty. I was after something else.


You’re confident, it shows in your photos, I craved to see that light come through, that one thing I wanted to have so badly but couldn’t quite have.

I spent the rest of that night wondering how I could possibly channel that into my life. You became my personality crush. I don’t exactly know who you are per se; all I know is that you have confidence and self-love. Two things I struggle to hold down. I forgot about him and focused on channelling that one thing that kept me coming back for more.

I’ve never been one for make-up and fashion but I thought if I could dress as edgy as you do and hook up some make-up I would feel that confidence. I snapped a whole lot of selfies and all I could see was someone who was trying way too hard to be something she could never be. I decided to dress differently and I felt uncomfortable, I had to ask for validation as well. ‘Does this suit me? ‘Do I look good in this?’ ‘How do I look?’ It was nerve wrecking and quickly broke me down.

I was left confused yet again. What is it about me, makes me so uncomfortable? What makes me feel like less a person? WHY DO I NEED VALIDATION?

Growing up, I never had assurance; I tried to fake it till I made it. Pretending I didn’t care what people said about me and crying about it later because I listened to them. The bully in 3rd grade, she picked up easily that physical aggression didn’t work, the scars healed, but the words, they stung, because I always burst into tears before she laid a hand on me.

The girls at boarding school, they quickly picked up that I needed attachment; I wanted to be loved, so they teased me about it.

My problem was transparency. I tried to hide my needs, disguising them as friendship and love. It didn’t work. Said people could see the hunger behind what was offered. You can’t love someone if you can’t love yourself. You can’t befriend anyone else if you’re not your own friend. I couldn’t enjoy my own company so much I had to get it from other people. I couldn’t love myself hence the failure in loving others.

That my dear is how I ended up realising what was missing in my life.

Self-love, self-assurance, self-giving, self-worth and self-everything.

I have recently discovered that I too am beautiful but it’s hard to accept because I’m always putting myself up on a pedestal beside others, always comparing myself, always why others and not me? It’s hard to accept sometimes. It’s hard to confront one’s self and be stern with the mirror. I’ve tried and I’m continuously coming up short. There’s a radiance missing from my photos, there’s a certain kind of loss I feel every time I look at myself in the mirror and recognise the dork sitting within and try my best to push her away.

So thank you for helping me realise what is missing in my life. Thank you for leading me toward the path that brought me to the realisation that all I need to be confident is to love myself as I am.  Thank you for helping me realise that I need to know myself first, I need to fall in love with myself first, before I fall in love with others.

I’m on the path there but it’s difficult.

Yours in admiration,


An excerpt from the next Raw Wild Emotion Publication


It’s fitting really that the only time I’m going to be open with you is when I’m about to end my life. Trust me dear it’s not by choice. I never was one for long letters. You know I like to yap away my troubles. It’s only that I could never master the courage to tell you this face to face. I’m too much of a coward for that.

I know I haven’t been much of a motherly figure to you. I sent you to expensive schools in the hope that you would forget I existed and somehow become consumed by the fast paced life you would never have been exposed to had I allowed your Father to bully me into home-schooling you. I’ll be the first to admit I jumped at the opportunity to send you to Australia when university time came. It had always been my wish to send you abroad and when you expressed interest, I couldn’t deny myself that simple if broadly demented, pleasure.

I could not live with the knowledge that you got to enjoy the pleasures of both parents while my child was in god-forsaken I don’t know where. You remember James of course.

It’s taken me almost a year Kyle, a year to make this decision. James is alive and well. Staying with a friend of mine and I have been quite happy having her in my life, albeit secretly. She has recently started asking questions about your father and yourself and I’m afraid I’m too cowardly to simply advise your father that his dead daughter is alive. Harold already thinks I’m insane. He would doubtless have me committed. Anyhow, I’m not writing this to explain myself, I’m certain you don’t care for my well-being. You think I’m a selfish bitch. I don’t blame you. I have led you to believe you are a burden to my and your Father’s relationship. It’s ironic that I’m the burden to his and your relationship. I can be quite convincing when it comes to him.

I’m writing this so that you can find your sister yourself and bring her home. I will probably be less troubled in hell if I know you are all together. She’s a beautiful child, quite sarcastic too. You girls get that from me. She straightens her hair too. Disgusting habit but I haven’t the heart to tell her, unlike you.

Harold hasn’t had the opportunity to get to know his children due to my neediness and my selfishness. I bid you to allow him the chance. Come back home and bring your sister home too. That would make him happy.

My death has everything to do with my selfishness and nothing to do with loving you. I would love nothing more than to reunite our family but it isn’t going to happen. I couldn’t handle Harold looking at me like I’ve just ripped his heart out. That’s how he looked at me after I lost little Jamie. I also couldn’t handle the way you look at me, like I’m a she-devil of some sort. I suppose I’ve earned that title.

Keep well then.


“She couldn’t even be bothered to sign off as Mom. She just said Maude.” I said to Jamie as she folded the letter I’d been carrying around for seven years.

“It’s like a completely different from the woman from the one I knew. If I didn’t know her handwriting I would have thought Father wrote that. He was always sharp with me.” Jamie said, her voice registering a longing that mirrored my own as she spoke of Mom. My mother and I had never been close. It was no fault of mine or hers. We just never clicked, too different, her the quiet one and me the vocal one. Jamie and Dad had been opposites as well, her the sort of quiet one and he the vocal. I wasn’t surprised they hadn’t gotten along and I wasn’t surprised they had problems. It just was how it had always been.

Jamie and I were sitting in her bedroom; Edgar was sleeping in Jamie’s bed.  A habit both aunt and nephew seemed to be fond of. It was a week since the day we had buried Father. Oliver had gone back to Australia due to work commitments and I was still in South Africa. I was going to be staying on for a little while yet.

“She thought he would hate her. I believe that.” Jamie said quietly.

I shook my head before responding. It was a fragile situation at best.

“The way I knew Dad, he would have forgiven her. The way I knew her, she never would have let him rest before he told her he had.” I defended quietly.

“You’re always going to defend him. You never gave her a chance. You don’t know how jealous I was of you. You had both our parents for as long as you needed them. Then you just threw them away like that. First Mom, you can’t deny that you were unavailable to her, especially emotionally. Then Father, you were all he had left and you still left. Why Kyle?” My sister asked.

“It’s complicated.” I said.

“Then make me understand.”

“Jamie, I loved her. At some point, she was abusive though. Emotionally and mentally, she was always stomping on my most vulnerable moments. If she wasn’t threatening to disown me and have Dad do the same to me she was telling me how it should have been me kidnapped. She blamed me for everything. Dad didn’t want more children after we lost you. He said I was enough. So she sent me away, hoping he would come around and he never did.

I paid for that Jamie. She was emotionally unavailable for me. Always quick with the insults and the break you down statements, as quiet as she was, she had a sharp tongue. I went to bed in tears on most nights. Coming home became something I did for Dad. Going to Australia was a serious green light for me. I had to get out. When I read that letter I couldn’t stay. She kept you a secret and never said anything to me. It was the worst betrayal and I just felt like I’d had enough of this family. It was childish but that’s how I felt. I wish I’d done things differently but I didn’t. I’m going to have to live with it. They’re both dead now.”

“Not as perfect as Father pegged you to be eh?” Jamie said, her voice quivering. She bit her lip and looked away.

“Dad thought we were all perfect. He thought Mom was the most perfect thing to walk this earth. He had her faults. He knew them, the same way he knew mine, and yours. He accepted people the way they were. He didn’t judge her for what she did, he didn’t judge me for what I did and I can guarantee you, he didn’t judge you either. If there ever was a perfect person in life Jamie, it was Dad. I know you’re going to go off about Mom now but she never treated you the way she did me. I was a reminder of the child she lost, and those she wasn’t going to have. I understand why she did the things she did. I just cannot find it within myself to forgive her. Do you understand?”

“I’m getting round to it. That’s the way I feel about Dad. He saw you in me. He punished me for your sins Kyle. You were his everything. I never stood a chance. I suppose that’s how you felt about her?” Jamie asked, still trying to keep the waterworks at bay.

I nodded.

“We’re more alike than we both think huh?” I joked.

“Oh, hell yeah.” Jamie laughed.

Copyright N.S Ntaisa,2015.

Why I was taking photos and barefoot in a cinema bathroom…

Nkosi Ntaisa, Author, Poet and Bathroom Poser seen here taking a walk on the wild side.
Nkosi Ntaisa, Author, Poet and Bathroom Poser seen here taking a walk on the wild side.

This is a photo of me posing in a cinema bathroom on Valentine’s Day, 2015.

You might be wondering why I was posing in a bathroom on Valentine’s Day. For Pete’s sake Nkosi or Raw Wilde, oh who cares about your name anyway, why were you posing in the darned bathroom? Wait, are you barefoot in public?

Here is my response to that question.

I like taking photos in bathrooms. It’s the most amazing thing ever! Sigh.

I asked a one of my best friends to describe me one and she had only one word to describe me.


My best friend said I was strange. Not weird, mind you, strange. I scrunched my nose and tried to decide why she was calling me strange, I means she should have said something like, ‘Nkosi is a lovely, charming, well-mannered and disciplined and talented young beautiful girl who enjoys the different things that the world has to offer.’ I told her as much and she said, ‘I repeat, you are strange. Do you think you are that boring?” I was stumped.

Boring? Not I.

It took me about a year to come to terms with my strange fascinating disposition. On the day I understood that I was a strange girl, I was sitting on my bed counting crayons and colouring in a drawing of Cinderella I had downloaded off the internet and my friends where out clubbing and getting high on life.  My phone beeped and a Whatsapp message sat in wait for my viewing pleasure.

Friend – Are you sure u dnt want us to come nd pick u up?

Me – Lol nah

Friend – Okay, wud?

Me – Colouring.

Friend – Your hair? You’ve got braids.

Me – No stupid. Cinderella.

Friend. Ok.

Friend – Cinderella??

Me – Yeah. How’s it going there?

Friend- It’s great! Music, dance, fun! We’re coming to get u.

Me – No I’m good. I’m listening to music myself, and bopping my head. He-he

Friend – Please get dressed.

Me – I’m not coming dude.

 Friend was silent for a bit of a while and then she responded with this.

 Friend – Ok. Nkosi. We won’t come. I understand that colouring in Cinderella (WTF?) on a Friday night and probably watching a marathon of chick flicks afterwards and perhaps two or so Jason Statham flicks is extremely entertaining for you and most likely a walk on the wild side for you. See you tomorrow strange friend of mine. Xoxo.

That got me thinking. I thought back to what my friends usually did on Friday night and referenced it to the Facebook posts that I normally was subjected to on weekends and I figured I was actually quite strange. At age 20 few people actually care who Cinderella is, let alone colour her in. Jason Statham is the norm and he can be watched on days besides Fridays (imagine that!). Oh and they go out to have fun and stuff. I guess I’m stranger But whatever! I like me.

In answer to the question posted above.

I went to watch a movie with one of my Valentine’s Day, 2015 because I wanted to go out and do something. Everything was going well until we walked into the bathroom and I remembered I had a phone with a camera and I liked bathroom photos. My friend may or may not have discouraged me from bathroom photos and I may or may not have convinced her to snap just a few photos of time.

I was barefoot because I was being adventurous. Because you know, I’m strange. (Actually I was wearing heel s and they were hurting my feet. But I’m not telling you that.)

So what?

I like being strange.

P.S tonight I’m getting into bed early, I have a few books begging to be read.

One of my besties and I after a successful 'date night'. This was taken at 00h16, Feb,15, 2015.  Talk about being wild...ha-ha
One of my besties and I after a successful ‘date night’. This was taken at 00h16, Feb,15, 2015. Talk about being wild…ha-ha