I have never once liked him.
I have lusted for him, and I have desired to hurt him.
I have never once loved him,
but oh, how he has haunted me in my daydreams.
He either deserts me or envelops me at night.
I would move close to him in the early morning,
give him a solitary kiss on the forehead,
on his arm, on his chest;
wherever I felt he would let me touch without pushing my lips away.
He would grip me from behind,
roll us over and kiss me only to get inside of me.
At one point, I thought this was the same thing.
He calls me mystery, wild child, baby blue.
He is turning me into an apology of this girl.
I am baby blood lust.
if i was a mystic
if i had strong magic
if i were born inside a star
& you weren't already
my older sister's best friend
i would trap time forever
inside the hourglass of
your green-eyed memory
holding a skinny ultra can
shoulders deep brown from
catching two sunsets in a row
standing chest deep in
a clear water river
with the booze bottle coozy
& your torn-up shorts rolled
i was a six-foot-something anxious baby with
wavy blond hair and blue eyes when
you gave me a triumphant pinch inside my ribcage
under the table at dinner one night
my chest still tremors when i remember &
when the brave sunlight touched my knees
& bony nose after a long night with you
paralyzed for ten hours tangled
nestled so tight together
the nerves in my fingertips
& eyelids went numb
like waking up in the middle of a first kiss
i remember our
fun-drunk voices echoing flatly
off the popcorn ceiling of your apartment
when you giggled & told me
i'm better than all the ballcap guys
in all the dusty saloons you've tried
sloshing free ones across the bar at you
or bouncing their farmer's tans against you
& off of you on the wooden dance floor
i grabbed your waist tight & whispered
you're better than all the girls in
all the hash houses & hookah bars i've seen
absentmindedly holding a ukulele on their hips
smoking & yelling over the boys swarming around them
i want to catch every warm
slow second of the sun or your lips on mine
i want to taste the dawn &
your sweet skin fresh like rain
i want to smell the dew being burned
off the st augustine grass outside
& when my forehead glows sharp
like feverish red sunlight
you will press whatever part
of you is coolest there &
all the muscles of my body will
relax & sing to you
it was dawn when you
mounted me for the third time
wearing $600 cowboy boots & nothing else
except the red lipstick you found
under your messy bed
naturally you practiced
spurring me with the heels
& hollering like a wild bird in the
big open fields of america
as the colors bled through & into
my forced closed eyelids
turning them pink like
the inside of a curved seashell
or the curtains of your bedroom
your daughter came in
rubbing her eyes with tiny fists
& a healthy smile her cheeks
rosy with warm sleep & sunshine kisses
you dismounted quickly & swung
a shirt over your shoulders
i stand stretch to yawn & scratch my chest
as you both run away screaming
about sausages & pancakes
i'm left there feeling like a heart transplant
you swore we'd never stop dancing
& there you are sure enough
boot-scootin' around the kitchen
in just my workshirt & your lace panties
checking the cabinets for champagne
to sift over the last bit
of florida's natural o-jay
but you really are
my older sister's best friend
so i should just forget it because
you like to scoff at me
& make half-jokes
that you have terrible taste in men
or i couldn't afford
I'm certain that I've seen this part before;
I'm sure that, if this is that thing called life,
I've lived it two thousand times or more.
I'm stuck here, in this darkened room,
And I just want to know you.
I talk to the walls, but they ignore me.
It's years now since I've witnessed the sunlight;
Instead, I close my eyes and repeat
Your name, in the darkened room,
Because I only need you.
هو بلل نفسه بكذبة الديمقراطية،
وألهم نفسه بأنه بها يعيش و يحيا!
زين القمع بأبهى طلة لونه بالوهم الجميل
وردد "بدنا إنتخابات!"
أما هم فأعطوهم القليل فقط، ضحوا بهم أمام عتبات جيوبهم،
لوثوا غضبهم الطاهر بعصا العسكر ليلاً
و سخط "الثوار" نهاراً. حتى أصبحوا "المندسين"، "المخلين بالنظام العام"، "الفوضويين".
خفافيش الليل الغاضبة، حياتهم ذات غضب
يعمي عيونهم عن النُعاس.
ستبقى آثارهم ودمائهم وصراخهم،
لعنة على أرصفة سوليدير.
لن تنمحي تلك اﻵثار برقصكم ولامبالاتكم،
أما هي فقد قرأتُ صوتهاُ ذات مساء، كان مُشبعاً بالنواح والقلق، تردد "أليس الصبحُ بقريب"...
ماتت يوما حينما أدركت بأن لعنة النظام قاتلة والموت للحرية لا ريب فيه ولا جدال.
قالت لي: "للقاعدة شواذ، ألا تعلمين؟!"
صوتها تغير، لربما ظننت ان البحة الجديدة هي بفعل الغضب، لا مُخطئ/ة إنها أفعال الخوف!
لم تزل تسهر الليل كعادتها، لم تزل تستمع لتلك الأغاني الثورية، وبالطبع بقيت تلك الفارغة من كُل شيء!
اما أنا، أصرخُ باعلى صوتي
لأرى هل لازلت أملكُ صوتاً... نعم وهو مزعج.
لم يتغير شيء.
أنا كما أنا.
لكن، شيء ما ضاع مني في وسط بيروت دون أن أدري!
I'm wistful for the cliches of love;
Cuddling close in bed, fully clothed,
just talking, breathing in the other, eyes alining
and fingers entwining, lips curving to smile before
bending to meet the others. Or
together out at night,
the intimately gentle sway to soft sound;
being completely honest, but feeling completely safe.
So why is it
that when faced with a choice, between
a light room, where I am welcome, but containing a couple,
and a dark room, empty of people, light, and comfortable space;
I move straight to the dark room?
Maybe its because I'm afraid to be in the way.
Maybe I don't want to take anything away from them,
I wish them to hold what they have dearly and close,
and I wish I was lucky enough to have the time
with someone I love, to steal moments with and breath,
maybe I'm too jealous to sit and watch them. Maybe
it makes me too lonely. Maybe I know
I won't be held for a long time.
Maybe I'm scared to want it. Maybe
its like an alcoholic watching people drink in a bar;
I just don't know, I don't know where I stand.
Even in my daydreams, I don't feel like
physical any more than cuddling would be welcome.
Even in my daydreams
with real people
I say no, and step back, and run to my little dark room.
Yet I am so lonely
and I want it so bad.
’Tis evening; the black snail has got on his track,
And gone to its nest is the wren,
And the packman snail, too, with his home on his back,
Clings to the bowed bents like a wen.
The shepherd has made a rude mark with his foot
Where his shadow reached when he first came,
And it just touched the tree where his secret love cut
Two letters that stand for love’s name.
The evening comes in with the wishes of love,
And the shepherd he looks on the flowers,
And thinks who would praise the soft song of the dove,
And meet joy in these dew-falling hours.
For Nature is love, and finds haunts for true love,
Where nothing can hear or intrude;
It hides from the eagle and joins with the dove,
In beautiful green solitude.
It’s not just pain,
the kind that tears you apart inside
and yet awakens you
to the silenced realities to which
most are blind.
It is a pull, a lock that
hooks inside of another
them to you
You feel like a magnet
at all times,
crushed when he looks at you
with those sad, terrified eyes
which beg for hope.
You are crushed for him,
crushed for his pain.
to keep him
close to you, to give him
the warmth you
No one will hurt you here,
you want him to know.
You’re safe with me, I will protect you.
You want him to be happy,
more than you care
about your own happiness:
that’s heartbreak love.
And it's always the loners,
the lost souls,
the obscured escapees,
the ones with the shaded expressions and watering, orb-like eyes,
the ones with the smiles that don’t quite touch light into the face,
the kind that drains life out of you,
yet leaves you needing more.
He’s my boy,
that’s how you see it,
how you experience it.
and you would do anything
to protect your child.