*I woke up this morning and my name flashed on T.V.
They said i blew up places , they said i killed masses .
Men , women & children I murdered them all.
Who am I ?
I am a muslim and i am taking this fall.
They used my name and spread the terror.
I am not them , it surely is an error.
We, muslims, are the holders of peace , we spread love.
Why am I being represented by their false actions.
I am a person, with different notions.
World will now brand me a terrorist.
Don't judge me by their actions , I insist.
I am not them, they pilfered my name.
They inflicted libel , and my religion to defame .
I have been robbed , robbed of my name.
I am a muslim , human like you , all the same.
My name has been robbed , my identity stolen
I deprecate the terror and mourn for fallen.
There are millions like me and humanity lies in our depths.
But we are all victims of Identity Theft* ...............
Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 2:57 PM UTC
01:52 am
have you ever asked yourself like why you so lonely?
01:53 am
or empty?
that maybe you give too much of your essence to people and never leave any of you for yourself
01:55 am
i know i do
02:05 am
and like that's maybe why i get so attached to humans
*because in them,
i find myself*
02:07 am
i need to change, because things shouldn't be this way
02:10 am
but it's hard sometimes you know, when most days you don't leave the house because you feel unworthy of the space you take up
02:16 am
so you'd much rather disintegrate into soil because you've become all too familiar with people stepping over you and admiring the outcome of your beauty but never the roots of your pain
02:19 am
i spend so much effort watering people in order for them to grow and hardly get enough sun shine to feed my own soul
02:25 am
because i don't know how to do anything else but care for everyone but myself
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 8:14 PM UTC
I want my words to be beautiful.
Beautiful like yours.
I want to see ordinary things,
Find the magic in them,
And put the magic on a page, for everyone to understand.
I want to have a way with words.
I want every poem of mine
To become a masterpiece.
Just like yours.
I am not broken.
But you are.
You see the world through pain,
And pain makes the colors brighter.
It makes the value of feelings
Climb higher.
Sometimes I wonder
If I should be broken like you
If I want my words to resonate
Like yours.
Sometimes I wonder,
If it will be truly worth it
In the end.
I wonder what it will be like,
To cut myself up to pour out the beauty inside me.
Just like you.
I imagine that you
Raise the blade
Slice your feelings open
And write your masterpiece
In red.
Aug 18, 2015
Aug 18, 2015 at 2:45 PM UTC
It is my theory
that we are all connected.
From the thread around your finger
to the ribbon on her wrist
and the rope tightened on my neck.
Every action has a consequence,
because when you pull on the string;
something unravels.
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 10:50 AM UTC
Saying goodbye
To someone you love
Is like reading the final page
Of an amazing book.
As the last chapter ends
You begin to notice
Just how beautiful
And perfect
The plot always was.
You appreciate the joy
And even the pain
As you read and thumb
Through every page.
Finally understanding
The moral of the story,
You realize you've reached
The end of this journey.
Although the last sentence
Is the most difficult to read
Another great book awaits
Once you turn the final page.
Eventually you may stumble
Upon yet another great find.
Or maybe you'll return
To the book you left behind.
You may just discover
Once all is said and done
That this particular book
Was your favorite story
All along.
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 12:35 PM UTC
Hey Mom?
I miss you.
Like a lot.
I miss dancing in the kitchen
To Madonna and Meatloaf.
I remember singing under the paper lantern
From the dollar store.
You bought it just for me.
I miss your strong, muscular embrace
And your scent of cloves and earl grey and earth.
I miss your long, silky hair
Just like mine.
I cut it all off last week.
Some days,
I just wish I could talk to you,
Talk to you about what hurts
But you hurt.
Just to remember hurts.
You're gone.
Hey Mom?
If you're still in there,
Beneath all the alcohol-infused blood
At the bottom of the cavity in your soul maybe,
Could you peek out from behind the curtain?
If only for a moment.
Could you give me some signal
Some kind of hope
That beneath it all
My mother is still here
On this earth
That she isn't lost to me forever.
That the woman who cherished me in her lap
Swaying me back and forth while I cried
From bad dreams or heartache
The woman who taped up my broken arm
And taught me how to make the best spaghetti
My mommy,
Who taught me to sing with beauty
And shared her green thumb secrets.
Please.
Please.
Don't be lost to me entirely.
Please come back.
Hey Mom?
Jul 10, 2015
Jul 10, 2015 at 10:39 AM UTC
People who fight
their battles alone
either lose the battle
or lose themselves.
Jul 10, 2015
Jul 10, 2015 at 7:53 AM UTC
men ask us
"what is a **** culture?"
when a woman's "no"
enters through the mind of a man and comes out as
"convince me"
**that is a **** culture**
when i cannot walk down the streets at night
without my keys between my fingers
**that is a **** culture**
when a victim is blamed
and a criminal is sympathized with because
"he had such a bright future"
**that is a **** culture**
when he was an adult and i was a child
and you dare to ask me what i was wearing
**that is a **** culture**
so if you're asking me
"what is a **** culture"
i will tell you
*it is our ******* culture*
Jul 6, 2015
Jul 6, 2015 at 10:41 PM UTC
I set an empty plate on the other side of the table
I’ve been expecting her all day, the least she could do is show up for dinner
I pour her some wine, I know she hates red
I write a card and lay out some flowers in case it’s something I said
It’s growing late so I lay out all of the dishes
I eat alone and my hopes diminish as I play our song with no one there to hear it
I even made mashed potatoes, her all-time favorite
I put the wrapped box with her name on it where I know she’ll see it
I end up drinking both glasses
Hell why not the bottle
Another year has passed and I can’t bury the sorrow
Of the choice she made not to wake up on the ‘morrow
Is it my fault she left?
She said I just wasn’t enough this time
But I tried my best
I’ve never been able to get the guilt off of my chest
Jul 6, 2015
Jul 6, 2015 at 10:19 PM UTC
There is something beautiful about two sad people who agree to hurt each other.
Something comforting.
It is a comfort only very damaged people understand- the tacit agreement to cause pain, and to receive it.
Pleasure is for people who have what they want.
But for those of us who are starving, ours is best peppered with suffering.
Being with someone who understands that carries its own worth-
I don't want you to make me feel good.
I couldn't stand it if you did.
I don't want you to touch me gently, or ask if I'm alright, or stop to look into my eyes.
I am starving, and so are you: I want your teeth.
I want you to make me hurt. And I want to hurt you.
I want you to hurt me because I'm not him, and I want to hurt you because you're not her.
We want to see each other suffer because we are starving and we need to feel that someone else is.
Don't hold back. I want you to lower me because I'm too good for her.
Don't love me, don't caress me. Dig your nails in. Drip candlewax on my stomach.
One step down from torture is all I can stand in the way of human connection, when it isn't her.
Punish me for looking at her like a baleful puppy tonight, even as you waited in my room with your soft skin and your sharp teeth.
There is nothing you can do that will be too violent, too brutal, too sadistic.
I don't want to be loved right now.
I am too raw.
I want to be touched. I want to be ruined. Leave marks. Smear lipstick.
Lower me because I am
Too
****
Good for her.
Let this heart know on no uncertain terms that its needs don't matter.
Help me **** it. Help me pin my demons to the bed and make them writhe, and I will do the same for you.
Let's exorcise our loves tonight and banish them to hell.
Let's tell our skin that it is irrelevant.
Let's say **** you" to the things that bind us. I will cut your heart out for him.
I will kiss your scars, not to heal them but to remind you that when you put them there you fought for something, something we both fight for now.
Hurt me. Fight her. Do it for her.
Do it for her because I'm not good enough to hurt.
Do it for her because I'm TOO good to hurt.
Crush me.
You could boil me alive and it wouldn't make up for her, so at least leave me bruised.
I will give you what you need, and you will give me what I need: not love, but contact.
Please,
Let my heart know on no uncertain terms that its needs
Don't
Matter.
There is something beautiful about two sad people who agree to hurt each other.
Jul 6, 2015
Jul 6, 2015 at 9:12 PM UTC