My hijab is a piece of imagination
a symbol of Islamic populism,
yet I get carried away by racists
misjudging my outer belief, only
for the sake of white extremists,
I cry and wet my birth certificate!
why am I a Muslim? Is it my choice?
I see a minute third-piece frame
down the lane-a sorrow to share,
it chokes my individuality- an insult
to my devotion for god, for life ;
yet, people have the time to call
us terrorists when they roam naked,
some pretending to be feminists
and lovers! Reality is a bitter piece
of chocolate melting away as time fades,
as it erodes the values we held before,
20th century is still marred by those
who wish to keep their history books
unfolded, un-kept and unstated;
a wish down the memory lane is needed
for it will awaken the senses of my fellow
brothers and sisters fighting over a shawl
covering my head!
 
I am curious and this curiosity is not a mere
joke, its the curiosity weaved into a cloth
hiding my sensitive and strong brain
from those “all-seeing” eyes around me,
pretending to expose my hair as if it was
something of utmost importance and value,
but friends,  it’s nothing, it’s a trick
by those who seek to humiliate me and
my faith for god, and I am sure that this
will echo for the decades to come,
for me, a hijab is – “ a piece of head
covering worn by women of the world”;
and I am sure that our fight for the right
to wear something will reprimand
and will be carried out by my fellow
successors and those who shed light
to our cries and woes in this big world
of ours!
[AMEN]

I am sun and you are moon.
Caressing countlessly
Cranes and Starlings swoon
With love effortlessly.

I paint the daybreak flawless
with color sinking in
Moon is gathering the waves
while Mantas sink and swim.

You wrap yourself in darkness
with holes and craters deep,
Orbiting a world that has you
shackled at your feet.

I can see it spinning, with
everything it holds.
And I'm afraid that one dark day,
it might just steal your soul.

I can't control your presence
parading atmosphere,
And must not always worry
That the waves will disappear.

Nor reminisce on memories
so many "moons" ago,
That orbit other planets,
of which we'll never know.

And maybe all this warmth
inside my soul so bright,
is overtaking judgment
and misjudging moon at night.

The heat within me rising
might be unwarranted.
So I will just shine brighter
and make flowers bloom instead.

I think I'm always meant to be a writer; in the way where I always see things in third person.

I guess the past boys I used to like were, in a sense, too flashy for me. At first, I don't know what they lacked that I had to stop. I'm looking for something but they just didn't have it. Maybe I'll know when I meet the right person?

So now, I'd rather stick to just observing the boys around me--those of potential love interest or not, like I do with every other person. The most recent boy was such a main character in many people's stories; he has main character quality, albeit only from afar.

I conclude I'm looking for a person who's like me; not exactly a writer, but someone who balances. A reader, perhaps? Someone who sees things in a third person perspective as well; someone who can read people, understand the atmosphere and we can watch and scrutinize over anything and anyone.

I'm not saying that the boys in the past were incapable of being observant, but maybe they just don't care about these things, in the way that I do. And I don't really want to waste my time on a person who's like that.  When you observe a reader, they sort of observe you back.

So, back to my most recent--he's just a main character, lolling about in a plot, used to being watched, and not being proactive enough to be another writer or reader. It's ironic, because there are supposed to be two people in a love story. Two characters are needed but I don't want to be in that situation because I don't think I can be "main character" enough.

I'd rather find myself a reader to match me, a writer.

I've learned something about myself after liking a person. Now that I think of it, I guess I am looking for that thing that sets non-readers and readers apart. It's just really obvious, to me at least, when you know a person reads or not.

The superficial factor is, which I'm sure everyone sees, if a person "looks" like a reader. But you'll only truly know when you interact with them. The reader's thoughts are beyond their "looks" as a reader and goes farther than the minds of non-readers.

There's no rush in finding a relationship, I guess. I believe the readers will find the writers they will want to read, even if they don't know the writers' names at first. They'll come across our stories and they'll feel like being a part of it once they've read; not in the sense where they feel like the main character, but how they understand the writer's thoughts through the plots of the story.

You can see it in one's eyes and we writers have this in-depth instinct in sensing out different types of people: bad, good, weak, strong, non-readers, readers, etc. I suppose sometimes we don't want to admit these things because of easily misjudging people, but it's a fact that's silently agreed on by almost everyone.

I'm really dead set on on finding that quality which will make me love a person, a reader. And so far in the boys I've met, I never found it. But that's okay, because I always find little bits of myself, even if it's just a bit, every time I don't find what I'm looking for in them.

It turns out I'm looking for my other self in someone else. I'm looking for a reader who can read, know and understand me.

So much energy
So much countless energy
Dedicated to one thing
And one thing only
Hit him up for a lesson
And he will teach you his ways
Hung up on memory projection
Out of state, out of state
Imprisoned, shackled down by the few, the many
Expressionless and absorbed by many colors
Making a few marks on majesty, uncovering the beauty of it all
Unhurt by logic, untouched by sound
Spitting in greater reasons
Great and small
Waiting till the point that you either have to die
Or drop the ball
Whatever that may be
Whatever that may look like
Increasing in hands and ski technology
Expressed by numerous representatives all wanting an equal shot at each other
And ending up on pages and pages worth of mill and junk and whatever needs to be said and whatever needs to be born
Deciphered decouple disinherit, side vowed
Interlocked and interwoven
Machine like aristocracy
Misjudging so quickly
Misjudging like an abyss judges the appropriate time to go by
Mixing it up on a rotating mirror of color,hands free interact interact
And make space Angela out of whatever is left
It is finally here
Performing for you

VISITATION

Brian walked
through the wall.

Paused, smiled:
halfways in - halfways out.

"Jaysus..!" he said.
"That always feckin' happens!"

He pulled the rest of him
through to this room

leaving a glowing
trail of ectoplasm.

"It makes me feel
like a ****** snail!"

"Sorry about the ghostly slime
it's hard to get used to

being dead
if ya see what I mean!"

I couldn't have of course
so  I just nodded.

"And this ghost stuff
is really the pits.

Here I am and yet
here I am not."

He gave me a playful
punch on the shoulder

and went right through me
misjudging his new existence.

"Now, listen bud...all this crying
is getting on me nerves.

It's gotta stop.

You've got a life
to live...now...live it!"

And then like e clichéd
cockerel crowing at the dawn

he faded into the curtains.
"Jaysus...these curtains

are truly terrible
they'll have to go!"

"Well. . ?"
said the sunlight

"...will we get on
with it?"

The day waited impatiently
hopping from one minute to the next.

"Yes. . ." I said
"Yes."

Dear Generation X,
Please take a step or fifteen back,
if that is what it takes to make you see
that some of you are thoroughly misjudging me.

Dear Generation X,
Please stop sh-tting on me when you
see me in a low-paid job because you
think that I'm uneducated, when in fact I'm
earning my own money to help fund my education.

Dear Generation X,
Please don't patronise me every
time I raise my voice with an opinion
of my own, prepared to eloquently argue
up against others more than twice my age, restraining my
own temper so that I remain polite, whilst condescendingly
you reply with "you're a little brat" who should "f-ck off and find her manners."

Dear Generation X,
Please refrain from moaning about
how the youth of today's generation
never have anything intelligent to say
when you place gags in our mouths, or that we're all too thick-skulled
and should go back to school, whilst simultaneously shouting at
us all to "get a job" and "buy a house", when many of us are drowning
in student loans, granted for gaining the knowledge needed to bag a "decent job."

Dear Generation X,
Stop trapping me.

Humans have a history of misjudging the motives of the master of the universe.  We are blind, deaf, crippled, and numb, locked in the after effects of our birth into sin.  God knows what it takes to open eyes.  For some it is painful, but if it means freedom from eternal pain it's worth it. Maybe the harder we are of heart the more it hurts to wake.

I guess today you have said what you have been holding up on ya mind. And I respect whatever you said buh lemme just say you really did say a lot of things buh lemme start of with the main issue which is about me calling. I understand how you feel and there’s nothing nor anything one or me trying to toy with ya feeling. I know you feel like am using because I don’t call buh like I said am not. Sometimes I just feel to shut everything around me down buh I really really try not to allow it to affect what we have wallah I do buh sometimes it just suppresses me. I have this thing depression issue that comes from time to time and I feel like it’s turning into bipolar disorder I once asked you if you knew what it meant and it’s really really getting to affect us and trying my best to see it’s not, I know sometimes I can be narcissistic buh am trying to not be and the only way I try to keep myself together is by sleeping it over nobody knows why I sleep a lot people misunderstand me buh you the only one am telling this and my reason for sleeping a lot is because that’s the only way for me to keep it together and keep my cool it’s the way only place I can be to feel okay and must of the times I force myself to sleep buh what can I say I let it get best and I told ya this before most of the times I find it difficult to express myself ,my feelings, the person that talks a lot and emotions to people it’s all part of my my issue that I have and wallah really try to see I do try it myself to ya buh I guess I failed and it’s reached to a point where I made you cry, I have always prayed and hoped for a day to come for ya to cry or even to make ya cry. Today you triggered or brought up some memories I don’t like ever thinking about it really hurt and hearing you cry was really really hard and like you said any person that loves his partner will try to his to comfort that person in pain buh I couldn’t and I guess I failed as a boyfriend and I feel you deserve more you deserve better than someone like me. Furthermore I even made you feel as if you ain’t the one and buh lemme just say you the only one and I love you with all my heart you might believe and you got every right to buh that’s it.
And some of things you said really really hurt me to the core and I didn’t show you the real me you should justify me like that deep down in your hurt you I would never ever hurt you intentional or not comfort ya. Those words really did hurt it was very hurtful. You think I want this huh?, am trying my to see my issue not affect us buh you misjudging me and saying somethings is really wrong of you to do so I thought no matter what you will think there most be a reason why he acted like this and understand me that’s how I felt buh I guess am wrong. And you did really let the anger get best of you, I always told ya not to allow it to get the best of ya buh you did today by saying out your mind and I appreciate you for saying what’s on your mind. You know they say people whom are angry, drunk say what’s on there mind and they mean it buh babe what can I say you made feel as if I ain’t the right person for ya that person to love ya wallah buh it’s all good. You said you got a lot buh you never shared it with me because I wasn’t there for ya buh I know wallah I was its not that you gotta tell me over the phone buh at least when we are chatting you can if you wanted to you would have told me that’s why I always ask you if everything was alright and fine buh you always say you good when I know you ain’t. And I don’t know why whenever we on the talking most of the times your mind is always some where, you have have been doing this for along time and it’s really really bad it’s shows as if you don’t take me serious especially the one yesterday that’s what it show don’t get it the wrong way buh that’s it.
Buh anyways it’s all good my apologies for everything, especially for making ya cry, for not comforting ya when ya needed me, for not been there for ya when you needed me, for not been the best boyfriend you wished for, for making ya to doubt me if I really care about ya and if I truly love ya and for everything I couldn’t do and say plus not been able to explain myself and if I did say anything that makes you feel bad am sorry too wether it’s intentional or not
Am sorry once again
I love you..........

your harsh words set my heart ablaze
following the flames that light up my darkened soul
for I am not one to be weakened by hate
but I am the master of truth, justice, candor

I may battle day by day
to send your stinging words away
for I wash my bruised skin again and again
scrubbing away the hurt left inside
from the remembrance of you
the resemblance, but also semblance
misleading, misjudging, misinterpreting
leading me away
into a dark hallway of misery
but holding clarity
sending my mind into a black hole of despair
a single light will shine.
the question is,
will you follow it?

Catch

Eternal summer spent back peddling
on your lofted rocket
through leafy canopy
teeming careless at the ragged
edges on slender stems, chastened
by autumn pooling gold while I wade
gloved through swirling eddies
engulfing parked cars
losing the ball against chalk
white skies stricken with dripping
black lattice, misjudging
the parabolic frown while robins
hawk spring like it was something
new and improved
snagging the ball
on the run, in the webbing, at the curb
sun spackled and off my stride
for the return throw
taking time to plant my feet and read
the Braille of stitching
your farewell note
with post script
to tell me you remembered
to pack your glove.

Waiting with twitching fingers
As the judges come judging
Fear within his heart lingers
''What if they were misjudging?''

The critics were not amazed
As other kids looked at God
''Must have been how he was raised''
They said with a simple nod.

The critics' mouth forms a word
"C+ no better, no worse"
And what god had really heard
was "God you did not come first".

God added Adam and Eve
Just so the C+ was changed
And in his heart he believe
"C+ could sure be exchanged".

The critics came around again
God gestured "Look at the finest",
With a scribble of an inked pen,
C+ changed to a C-

VISITATION

Brian walked
through the wall.

Paused, smiled:
halfways in - halfways out.

"Jaysus..!" he said.
"That always feckin' happens!"

He pulled the rest of him
through to this room

leaving a glowing
trail of ectoplasm.

"It makes me feel
like a ****** snail!"

"Sorry about the ghostly slime
it's hard to get used to

being dead
if ya see what I mean!"

I couldn't have of course
so  I just nodded.

"And this ghost stuff
is really the pits.

Here I am and yet
here I am not."

He gave me a playful
punch on the shoulder

and went right through me
misjudging his new existence.

"Now, listen bud...all this crying
is getting on me nerves.

It's gotta stop.

You've got a life
to live...now...live it!"

And then like a clichéd
cockerel crowing at the dawn

he faded into the curtains.
"Jaysus...these curtains

are truly terrible
they'll have to go!"

"Well. . ?"
said the sunlight

"...will we get on
with it?"

The day waited impatiently
hopping from one minute to the next.

"Yes. . ." I said
"Yes."

All these white skulls in black robes

gather to form a scraping of the Grim Reaper's knuckles

pale bones that crack over a century

flakes fall, democracy a mockery,

society reaching to tug on your regency

swing your scythe, then, amateurs of Death

creeps-to-be, the sleep of the burden

that you miscarry, a jury of a baker's dozen

presided over by pressure, a phantasm form

informing decision, the swift thievery

of civility, it's clear the query presented

and who you answer to are not your people

you have more in common with plague

famine, pestilence, strife and conflict

caused by misjudging your own ability

to walk the edge of a conscience

slick with the blood of right's robbery

go and wet the knife, rest in fear at night

instruments of ****** who play an orchestral masterpiece

if your backbone bent straight with morality,

your souls would leave your bodies out of disgust for the high price due on the lease.