My palms are calloused enough to the compatibility of leather.

I was gifted them while holding on to what was only trying to rid me.
                    
This is the art of holding on.
This is the art of letting go.  
        
And I'm sorry for the residue of my palm prints.
        
As for my scars,
They behold a lesson to who may question them.

A lesson I should've already know.

Skin isn't as durable as we wished it could be.

He was midas
And she was just tin.

He ran his finger tips along her sharp edges.
He embraced her rugged structure.
He filled her hollowness with glitter, turned her into gold.

She only became petty gold.
Like a cheap wedding band.
A symbol of love, but never to be loved.

-Z.H.

Ya Allah.
Ya Allah.
May you grant all the oppressed triumph.
May you bestow upon them the strength to change the world

Palestinian children are the bravest children the world has ever seen.
Palestinian mothers are the strongest women to ever walk this earth.
Palestinian fathers are the most hard working men to start on their hands and knees.

3 Israeli teens were murdered and it suddenly makes headline news.
16 Palestinians, ages 8-21 were murdered within 2 weeks and their names were never eulogized.

When will Palestine be recognized as a ongoing genocide?
And if a tree falls in the forest and no ones around to hear it does it make a sound?

Yes.
and a blind eye is turned.
and earplugs are handed out on street corners.

#LongLivePalestine
-Z.H.

This is..
To dragging our limber bodies out of bed before the sun has kissed the horizon.

To painting on fake smiles, like we females, paint on our faces with the foundation of insecurity.

To pulling on designer clothes that said more about us that we could ever say about ourselves. Our secrets stitched into fashion trends.

To making a half-assed grade with half-moons blackening the circumference of our eye sockets.

To teachers trying to tell the difference between who spent the lunch hour getting high or who spent the lunch hour succumbing to their tear-ducts.

To standing up to Queen ***** when she sneers at your choice of shoes, telling her, that you can't live the high life if you don't wear high heels.

To the intimidation when we realized that hallways were more like runways.

To the friends you thought you'd keep forever.
They didn't stay beyond graduation day.

I was told that my high school days were supposed to be the best days of my life.
And now I question, will the rest of my life be as colourless as my high school days?

8 years old.
Singing to the playground.
One, two
Buckle my shoe...

18 years old.  
Singing to my lover.          
One, two  
I fell for you...

Three, four                          
You're the only one I adore.

Five, six
We're like a solar eclipse.
You as the sun and I as the moon
Our alignment is lovely.

Seven, eight
An escalated heart rate.
Started at 65 heartbeats.
Tracing limbs... 72.
Kissing contours..
96.

Nine, ten.
I keep falling for you.
Over and over again.

You found a love buried deep beneath the surface of your skin.
Past the layers of epidermis.
Past every muscle and fibers.
Past the all the capillaries.
Past all the cells holding you together.
He held you, together.  
You loved someone.              
And this time,
Someone was in love with you too.

You apologize for falling asleep.

My phone adhering to my cheek by the sweat of "Wishing You Were Here"
It's okay. It'll always be okay.                        

You don't believe me when I tell you that the heavy breathing of your slumber is a lullaby.            
I listen intently.

You man-handle your mornings with the aspirations and ambitions.
A few dark hours of limberness under the silenceness of the moon.

You don't believe me when I tell you that the heavy breathing of your sleepness is a lullaby.
I listen intently.
Intensely.