my balcony has never been safe.
the heavy breathe of Beirut clouded my space,
the neighbors and the dog and the endless chatter,
and your tiny little window across my room.
it felt relieving that neither mine nor your window was ever opened.
(we were in this together, side by side.)
and in the spring,
i saw your wedding dress;
a white gown sewed by ancient Gods history forgot of,
made of magic,
made of light, and suffering.
your face was a little puffy.
(yet as delicate as your hands in the winter.)
it feels threatening now that your window will never open.
it feels suffocating to see your dress hang there still.
Jun 27, 2019
Jun 27, 2019 at 6:51 AM UTC
i heard you like bedtime stories:
once upon a time,
there was a rose.
she wore silky white dresses,
drank tea with lots of sugar,
read about Greek philosophers,
spoke in a dozen different languages.
it wasn’t until the thorns began to grow on her that people feared her.
a statue, she stood, in the town’s market.
“un peu de tendresse,
un peu d’amour,
aimez la belle rose!”
would you like to save the rose?
would you like to be her?
a yellow rose?
(make friends out of statues)
or a red rose?
(love every drop of life)
possibly white?
(kindness.)
“la tendresse me sauvera.”
but it was tenderness that wilted her.
Apr 14, 2019
Apr 14, 2019 at 1:24 PM UTC
if i had a piece of me left,
i would have at least given it to my mother.
Mar 26, 2019
Mar 26, 2019 at 2:25 PM UTC
international women’s day is not only to celebrate strong female leads, nor only to appreciate the accomplishments of the likes of Harriet Tubman and Ada Lovelace. they have both contributed to history, changed the course of life, and allowed us to live in the world we live in today, among other women who have fought and have proved their place in this life. these women fought stereotypes, and marked their names in history.
but today is also for the weak women; for the immigrant mothers who are separated from their loved ones, for the exploited workers in Bangladesh, India, etc..., for the women being trafficked on the borders, for the young girls forced into early marriage, for the women harassed and silenced in fear, for the ones you hear about daily but only in theory.
let’s celebrate women as a whole, because this is much more than achievements and titles, this is a fight for rights, rights that exceed historical achievements that occur once a decade. here’s to more titles, to more love, to more understanding, and to equality.
Mar 8, 2019
Mar 8, 2019 at 3:29 AM UTC
i’d do anything for you.
i’m afraid it won’t be done right, though.
if you ask of me to love you,
i might stab myself.
if you ask of me to take care of you,
i might stab you.
if you ask of me to touch you,
i might strangle you.
if you ask of me to rip my heart out,
i might break my ribs and lungs.
and blood and bruises and burns and scars;
all for you.
but once you ask only;
are you in love with me?
“yes.
a thousand times, yes.
but only in the afterlife.”
Feb 20, 2019
Feb 20, 2019 at 2:05 PM UTC
you burnt me whole
with your picnic candle.
(were you that eager to touch her?
and how does it feel, smooth unharmed skin?)
i am melted wax on dewy grass,
and i have to feel each one of her toes sinking into me,
with her screams growing higher
echoing somewhere in the core of the Earth,
(beyond the moon as well, she had aliens at their knees).
you spilt something,
you whispered her name over and over and over.
she spilt something,
she made me swallow it.
(you used to do that)
strawberries, cherries, vanilla ice cream, and chocolate sprinkles;
i ate your leftovers along with the ants.
you’ve woven me into her;
“how thoughtful! no one has ever bought me sunflowers!”
i barely remember the color yellow.
she has her finger down my throat,
i no longer whisper your name when i sleep,
but i whisper hers.
i lucid dream about her wearing my shoes,
over worn sneakers, if you care to know.
i untie hers and wear them
only to take them off
(take everything off),
drip honey all over your body
and melt into your arms.
i am wax again,
on dewy grass,
covered with sunflower petals and melted ice cream.
it is still her hand in yours,
“i love the grass, it seems comfortable on days like this.”
Feb 17, 2019
Feb 17, 2019 at 2:17 PM UTC
it reminds me of the mid August heat
of his old decaying teeth
it reminds me of the smell of paint
and music that makes me happy
of ukuleles
and faint bird chirps
of sumptuous velvet by my bare toes
and icing on cake
of cereal and sunday mornings
and mom’s freckles in the sun
of thunder and lightning
and mattresses pressed against my back
of the gold he embellishes me with
and old recordings on tape
of ee cummings and maya angelou
and a time were it was easier to live, but harder to survive
of Cleopatra and reigning women
of God and answered prayers.
yellow reminds me of elation and euphoria
and a field of sunflowers aching for me to dive in.
Nov 18, 2018
Nov 18, 2018 at 9:14 AM UTC
their feet clicked along the marble floor,
blue, gold, and embroidered flowers
covered every tapestry of the castle.
click, click, click
chants rose in the air,
statues of past kings judged the dancers,
diamonds fell from ring fingers of maids,
my presence embellished by the eyes of the admirers.
click, click, click
the horologe matched the tapping sound of the guests’ footsteps,
my time was running out.
click, click, click
an angel whispered,
“time was never real.”
click,
click,
click,
(only this time, it was only my feet.)
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 8:20 AM UTC
their house was covered with leather flowers,
and honeysuckle wet with dew.
the scent of lavender and honey mixed into the air,
the milk they had gotten earlier to drink was spilt all over the garden,
the window sills were bright yellow,
the door white, the walls caramel.
the sheeps they herded were sound asleep,
the butterflies were as colorful as the scarf they wore every day,
and the birds chirping welcomed every stranger.
i spied on them long enough to realize that they’re not hiding anything.
peace can be found;
but only in the mist of the forest,
in the bottom of your heart,
the roots of your roses.
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 4:06 PM UTC
i spoke to God of you.
he replied and described you as one of his angels;
Raphael, Nathaniel, Gabriel, you.
your soul ethereal and eternal,
ever serving God.
and daisies and sunflowers rounded your halo,
and i kissed your broken ribs that your red bandage hid,
and the blood pouring out of my eyes watered your roses;
(do not worry, it didn’t stain).
God sighed,
“he was the angel that left.”
Jun 19, 2018
Jun 19, 2018 at 2:54 PM UTC