Love

Her
reach inspired
hundreds; thousands; millions.

Her smile
cured every soul in her reach
from its own mayhems.

Her heart
hugged the whole world
with color.

Her mind
taught even vivacity
how to love.

She
was a dichotomy
to be poked at
and studied.

They didn’t realize
her secret
is her love.

 

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Flesh

But it’s;
the gossip,
the lies,
the deceit,
the arguments,
the tears,
the broken friendships,
the heartache. 

It’s
the trouble of picking up
all the pieces
of all those experiences
and
reshuffling your meat into place.

It’s
the angst of trying to sew together
a muscle
that’s supposed to beat
as long as you’re alive.

It’s
the sincerity in your pain
the innocence in your darkness
the anchoring of your freedom
the tongue thrashing your flesh.

It’s the beauty of the deficiency
the attraction to longing.
It’s the callousness of
your beating hearts
to be pumping blood
through the veins of living cadavers.

For what is
a heartbeat
without a soul?

Where is the beauty in suicide?

Past; present; future

They ask.
They always ask:
what your drive is:
what your aim is:
what your lifelong goal is.

They ask
you
where your sympathies lie;
where your heart flutters;
why your heart flutters?
how you want to live;
who you strive to be like;
who makes you who you are?

They take all those answers from you
about
your-
self:
future;
present.

But they fail:
to ask about your past;
your demons;
your weaknesses;
your unexplained fears;

They-
don’t-
care-
about all the things
that held you up
to be this
version of yourself that
they find interesting.

They
don’t care about
all those skeletons in closets;
all those days spent mourning;
the sad moments that gave you
this strength that
they applaud.

They
don’t ask;
how many times you’ve been defeated
how many times you’ve had your heart broken.

The truth;
they don’t want to know
about what’s lurking within those
shadows of yours;

They
don’t need to know what it is;
what you are.

They
just need to know:
you’re
less beautiful than them.

Captivity breeds resilience

Standing
side by side-
covered
top to tip
sweating.
Longingly wishing
to free our
pale skin to the sun.
Walking,
hand in hand,
smothered:
thought to breath
in lust for impulse.
Searching
without meaning.
Roasting
Our skin,
Our blood,
Our bones,
Our veins.
Slowly, roasting but
cycling.
Aimlessly.
Shoulder to shoulder.
Trying to understand
the world;
Touching everything but
getting burned and
moving on.
Daring to question once,
but facing loud voices shouting to
shut
up. To
stop
thinking. To
follow.
Follow.
Follow
the rules.
“SHUT UP.”
We’re repeating to
our wandering thoughts.
“Follow.”
We’re repeating to our damp skin.
They say.
They said.
They’re always repeating
that if you
place your lips
on wounds and suck-
you’ll remove the infiltrating poison.
But what they’re not telling you is
the hardest of all the poisons is
the stagnancy
that is continuing
to fill our veins;
simplifying our minds.
Daily,
we’re striding
silently.
Wearing our layers of silk gracefully
masking our impurities.
Side by side.
Hand in hand.
Shoulder to shoulder;
Afraid to let go of each other
seeking that physical reminder
that;

captivity breeds resilience.

A Cataclysmal Path

She was faced with a choice;

To shout
Off the top of her lungs
Off the edge of a cliff
Off for the whole world to hear
That this isn’t it
That this is not what she wants
This is not how she sees her life going
This isn’t right

A choice to yell
At her family
At her friends
At her society
At her life
At herself
That this isn’t it
This is not what she wants
This is not how she sees her life going
This isn’t right

A choice to scream
Out every bit of air within her lungs
Out every honest thought shes ever had of him
Out a description of exactly how disgusted she is from all of this
Out that this isn’t it
This is not what she wants
This is not how she sees her life going
This isn’t right
It can’t be right.
He isn’t right
He can’t be;
How can he be right when his touch sends shudders of indifference down her spine
How can he be right when his choice of perfume is a freshly smoked cigarette
How can he be right when he embodies everything she is against
How can he be right when all she feels when their eyes meet is nervousness, frustration, anger
How can he be right when her eyes do not look at him with love
or curiosity,
but fear.
How can he be right when the very thought of him feeling her skin repulses her.

Or, to choose
To remain quiet for the sake of all the burdens they’ve placed on her beaten shoulders;
Burdens of honor
Of righteousness
Of propriety
Of diligence
Burdens of norms
Of purity
Of family name
Burdens that drag her body down with the weight of an anchor meant only to position her into their cold fingertips, without exception
Burdens that she cannot argue with or voice
Burdens that she has to live with,
lovingly accepting.

The angst that she needs to unleash is vibrating every fiber of her being
The power of her thoughts is going to war with
The power of her heart
Of the love she has no idea why she feels for them
And the supposed love she’ll grow for him, for them.
The powerlessness she feels
And the acceptance she’s telling herself she will have.
She finally convinced herself that
Their will matters more than her own.
So, she decided to get away from them-
That this is a new door that’s opening for all the freedoms she’s been telling herself she doesn’t need for years.
She’s decided
this
is her only escape.

She clutched the dead flowers in her hands and walked as appropriately slow as she could.
As her mind was fighting the trembling ankles that wanted with all their might to carry her towards the door.
She walked with her head slouched low, as she couldn’t look at the faces that were celebrating the end of her life.
She wanted to shout again, to yell that they look like grimacing prison guards.
She looked down to keep her mind quiet and try to embrace the decision they made for her.
That didn’t stop the tears streaming down her face when it came down to her trembling lips whispering the one word that destroyed her life,
“نعم”

 

Maze

Living in a facade of strength,
but in reality, engulfed in nothing but human-like perceptions
full of limitations and convulsions,
seeking something.
Unsure of what, but walking on an
unambiguous path,
which seemed to be leading me somewhere.
I hoped that i’d end up shaking hands with
a sure outcome.
a sure ideal.
Or, hopefully, a sure doctor?

Yet, there I was,
in a corner where all the paths I came across
entwined and gravitated
towards each other;
forming an impossible maze;
forming only one possible outcome.

There I remained,
Sitting in the back of all those art classes,
silently learning to paint on smile after smile
realistically enough for no human to
see the depth of these scars.
Shrugging my shoulders with
an eerie dust of:
‘I don’t cares’
and ‘I’ve come to accept its’,
waiting for that outcome to prevail.

There I stood,
next to a mute,
next to a mask
next to an empty shell.
Secretly trying to breathe the life back into it.

And now here I stay,
giving up on
the cage that she lives in
as I watch it attack itself.
As I stand hopelessly
praying for her to stop fighting
and move on.
Standing hopelessly changing my mind
about all those empty breaths she’s taking.

Here I resign, mama,
Looking at your skin lose its light,
watching it slowly
molding to the shape of your skull.
Standing by your bedside and
fighting the urge to shake your shell and yell,
“You’re fighting for a life that’s not worth living!
Put down your weapons,
Put them down gently and
raise your white flag because
you only exist to die.”