We are the generation who forgot how to love.

“We are the generation who forgot how to love.
So we bury our emotions beneath rocks.
So we build these walls, and we say that they keep out our deepest fears, but really, they just deprive us of the kind of love that our soul wants.
Maybe it was Disney films and it’s false depictions of love, that set our standards far too high, far too unrealistic, and far too unattainable.
Maybe, we were the generation who saw the deterioration of our parents marriages, some born out of cultural necessity, others frivolous victims to the arrival of the 60’s, where love was ‘free’, and begun to shun monogamy. 
Many of us are the parents of immigrants from distant lands, that know no romance. 

We are the generation who grew up in an era of social media, the world available at our finger tips, love filled words exchanged over screens, by ferocious finger tips. How could love ever cease to exist?

It hasn’t,

But nowadays, it is almost a fools wish.”

Cinderella Anneh-bu




















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Empaths, family dysfunction, and healing the karmic line.

One of the factors about being an empath, that most do not realise, is just how connected we are to our ancestral, and family lines.

There was an old African saying that my parents would always repeat to me, though I never took it seriously until I began my own journey into spirituality. It went a little something like this, ‘You are your ancestors. You come back as them, over, and over again’.

I did not understand what this meant at the time. Probably because I didn’t try to, probably because I wasn’t ready to. How could we be our ancestors? Wouldn’t we remember if we were?

Well, what exactly is memory? Memory that you perceive to be images received in your mind? Well, how about karmic memory?

Karmic memory, may not be so easy to identify as something that has occurred for you before, but you will see it manifest, time and time again, in your relationships with others, and in the things that ‘trigger’ you.

Much like [Carl Jung’s] theory, about the collective consciousness, this African belief pertains to the idea that, whatever is not lived through, or completed within our ancestors, will once again manifest through us, and the rest of our generational lines, until it meets resolution.

For empaths embodying the divine feminine, templates such as abandonment, and mistreatment are cemented, from centuries of being left by their men for wars, and raped, and sodomised, as they saw the rise of patriarchy, and the destruction of the divine feminine. This will usually be passed onto the female empath, through her mother, possibly as a direct experience, or, as a distant flicker. It could manifest as anxiety, depression, hypersensitivity to men, (through love, or fear), and even a desire to re-integrate the divine feminine, in hopes to reconcile what was once lost. As this is passed on directly from mother, to daughter, (from the womb initially), there is likely to be karmic issues surrounding the relationship between the two.

For empaths embodying the energies of the divine masculine, the trauma in the family will be directly related towards issues of masculinity, where men’s worth was once tied around their ability to show a significant amount of aggression, defense and outward action. Of course, the divine masculine who identifies as an empath, will struggle greatly with this, as they are predisposed to feminine energies (because of their hyper sensitivity to energy). They are likely to have fathers who are emotionally unattached, unavailable, or not involved in/with their lives.. This could manifest as sociopathy, for the ones who reject to allow their empathy to guide them, or, alternatively, this may manifest as nervousness, and timidity, as this individual carries the stigma of feeling de-masculinised. This is his internal struggle to re-integrate the divine feminine also.

Both the masculine, and feminine templates are stored within the empath for ultimate release. Empaths experience numerous deaths, and rebirths upon their shamanic journeys, and all of these allow them to successfully purge energies stored within their karmic, and generational lines. They will also continuously run into relationships that challenge and trigger their karmic ancestry.

© 2015
All works published on this site are under strict ownership of the owner, and any re-destribution is strictly prohibited without permission, and necessary credits.

To gain a deeper insight into the working world of the empath, and how to transform your own life as one, join my empath learning course here at, specially tailoring to empaths, and their healing.

I am not the woman..

I am not the woman who knows how to be perfect. I tried, I guess for a while, but it wasn’t worth it. I don’t know how not to make mistakes, and be anything other than crazier than the waking day, and my, oh my, that better be okay..

I’m not always pretty, because I don’t need to be. Sometimes I’d rather be witty, and take pity on men who fall on bended knee.. Perhaps not for me, yet still not stealing the glories, that I have etched into my skin, long before men, with their lust, and issues with trust were ever a thing..

You cannot hang me up like a trophy, because the prize is not with me, but it belongs to eternity, the ethereal realm of thoughts stream..

I am messy, and impractical, and silly, and nervous, and strange, and a little deranged because I have a whole world to save, no ones to blame, 

maybe the most high..

I have to die every other week, though full of morbidity, it is not as bleak as it seems, only so I can be reborn and turn painful burns into eloquent poetry, and teachings of spirituality.

I am possibly not the perfect spouse. Sometimes I stay in the house for hours on end, but if you want to be my friend, I guess, I own a few hours to lend..

But afterward, when my issues of insecurity, and inferiority, and abandonment settle in, you’d better not buy a ring…

So, imperfect, what a thing.
© 2015
All works published on this site are under strict ownership of the owner, and any re-destribution is strictly prohibited without permission, and necessary credits.

One day, when he’s older..

One day, it will cease to be enough.
He will grow tired of standing idlley by on street corners, discussing women, and decisions, and extorting politicians.

He will grow vision.

He will no longer be a victim of his environment, neither will his lust for life be filled by fleshy desires that tarnish the soul.

He will question the way in which he views women. He will cease seeing them as individuals, and therefore separate in his treatment of them, but he will come to understand that they all, are delicate beings.

And he will no longer have any harsh words for the ones who do not know their worth. He will see in them, his own crooked verbs, lies he once told that caused them hurt. The result of such a curse, he bears witness to.

And then this man will search for a woman, not a girl. With whom he can correct his crooked world, avert his nerves..

Should he be so lucky, through her, he can learn.
© 2015
All works published on this site are under strict ownership of the owner, and any re-destribution is strictly prohibited without permission, and necessary credits.

Twin Flame Poetry ~ 

‘Representation matters. I didn’t see many black book characters growing up, so I love using black art for my works. I think it is very important to point to the community that this type of love does exist, authentic, and pure, and love in the black community does not have to reflect the kind of love that is seen on, ‘love and hip hop’.

– Cindy Anneh-bu.
And in the end, it dawned on me, that I was always going to love you, that you would always remain etched into my spirit, and ingrained into my heart, so I needn’t worry about loving you, for you are me, so many centuries ago, born of the same fruits, split into two wombs, the first wound of the great divine, seeing birth to one soul, later parted into two, fating a global spell of separation, though merely illusion.
Only to my sweet satisfaction to find you in my teens, still caught in between adolescence, and the many lessons, and the blessings it took to find me.. There is a love that rivals all types of earthly love, a life that ignites a fire in you to be better, to shed your skin of old, dualistic ways, a love that comes, a love that grows, a love that knows, a love that stays. I thought that I knew what it meant to be awakened.. All the while, I only had half my eyes.
Yet now, you grow so fearful as the winter sweeps us, and in turn, my love, I grow so worrisome, so undone, thrice before I endured the bitter hum of departed love.
But it is not I that you run from, why it is yourself in the long run, for the most high made us one.

I ask the people what they make of forbidden love, and they scorn as I mourn, and split blood from their teeth, they do not know about falling from forbidden trees, to be exiled from the garden of Eden, and have a love pause, wait for you for centuries..

And finally my love, I do not wish to cause you grief, so please.

The world would never understand, nor fathom a love so grand, even I have found no ground to stand.






Cinderella Anneh-bu© 2015

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A letter, from a father, to his daughter; much, much later. 

“I give you the world,
On a silver platter,
And I say that there is not a thing in this universe that I treasure more than you.
But already, that isn’t fair.
And I have placed so much glory, and storage on your head, and I expect you to live up to these false ideals.
I watch you closely as you play,
So delicate,
That every time that you step a little out of line, or I fear that you may be bruised, I swarm in, and I take you, and I keep
And in doing so, I teach you to be afraid of the world.
You watch the others, your brothers,
And you see how they play untamed,
Unscathed by the battles of the playground,
Free, to dance around and move as one with the breeze, grazing their knees, and rising to their feet with ease,
But when you try,
I ask you to come back, to stand by me.
And that is where you will always be.
If not by me, then in the grips of another man who will expect much the same of you, to keep away from the dangers of the world, to be frightened, to be his.

I tell you that you are precious,
And there is this thing between your legs that you must guard with all of your life,
And keep yours till somebody make you a wife,
And only then will you know glory,
I tell you only then, will your story be worthy.
With this same sacredness, I give you shame.
I pass you blame.
I tell you to cover your arms, more discretely, straighten out your skirt more nearly, and close your legs,
For men are watching,
I teach you to be prey.

And at the end of the day,

I return, and turn around,
And call you my precious little girl.

A letter, from a father, to his daughter.”

Cindy Anneh-bu


© 2015
All works published on this site are under strict ownership of the owner, and any re-destribution is strictly prohibited without permission, and necessary credits.