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Noura abdulla Jul 2019
Tell me what they have told you about seas, the lost ones,
The ones they keep romanticizing,
Kept sugar coating its depth with love metaphors and tumblr aesthetics.
I've been under the water for years
And let me tell you it is not poetic, it is not even scientifically provoking.
So when i tell you I'm drowning I'm not making significant love confession or some movie pick up line. When I tell you I'm drowning It means I'm out of daylights
to occupy,
It's been days since the last time sun broke through my skin,
It means I’ve been wasting too many lungs on acid smoke and stolen identity,
It means I spilled the half-water left in the cup.
Thick layers of wreckage, fatal survival attempts, and letters of grudges to  your last forgotten birth-day.
I would have set fires to lead you back home, or enough to burn it
I would’ve set flames and birthday cakes
I would’ve lit fifteen candles and spelled your name and sang you a'happybirthday' without sounding like the apologies they never left.
But you know what they say about gasoline invading waters
it's been ages since fire last gave up her fight.

[FLASH-BACK]:
it's your mom first homemade in 3 months, it's baked mac and cheese with chicken, your favorite, you say thankyou as she sits down and puts more macaroni in your plate, sober than ever.
Your dad steals a smile to his plate then to you
it's been so long since this dining room were alive you could almost swear that walls were cursing you names and chanting foreign prayers into your ears
but the taste of normality is much better than hospital waiting rooms.

[FLASH-FORWARD]:
Count to fifteen, and fell yourself with objectless activities to avoid becoming,
because it's better sleeping away your reality than acknowledge it, isn't it?
Between Your Father's empty liquors,
And your Mom's Xanax ,
count to fifteen.

[REWIND]:
the noises calls out of the bathroom just like the one on your thanksgiving
Count to fifteen,
This is not what you think it is
Count to fifteen.
It is what you think it is.
Count to fifteen.
it's never your fault
Count to fifteen.
psychiatrists say it'll pass.
Too Much statistics to put faith into

[PRESS PAUSE]:
Plates are empty, again
Packed Bags under your eyes beneath thick walls of unsaid iloveyous, chocked up on a family dinners.

[PRESS PLAY]:
Now it's just you and your dad again
They say it's for the best,
They tell you everything will be okay
And You tell your friends you're fine,
because why other wise?
That the earth isn't swelling, that you aren't sweating, that you prefer long sleeves even in the hot summer days because why not, right?
Like big cycles of lies and vice verses of irony.

But for all what’s worth, may my words give you the lifeline you need.
And may you let die to let regain to let life breathe you again.
876 · Jul 2019
“Hometown”
Noura abdulla Jul 2019
Today I visited the town we first met
It felt strange and persuasively calming,
I mean i wanna say i feel happy by the familiarity of the overall (seeing the landmarks, those tiny colored waterfalls near the mall back when i was a kid, my not so favorite school, all those aligned streets in slick rythem that led me home every time I thought I lost track) but see it surprisingly hurts because all I could think about when the sun hits my eyes is how i can blindly remember the way to your front lawn as if it was mine.
It hurts because I know i can drag my feet to your home in this right very second, I could find you in a pitch black evening by the way your feet strikes the earth, and I’d catch up to you and I’d tell you about how I’ve been since you blocked me from your contact list and how i now prefer iced coffee over hot drinks and how i no longer drink orange juice because it causes me heartburn and my well to live curls up in fragile shells and under my finger nails like small rice i hate it because I’m my own wide awake walking ******* menace.
and I miss you.
The thought of you missing a year worth of new findings and updates makes me linger on meals, and under cold showers; because all i wanna do is tell you how it turns out I’m allergic to hair dye, and henna, and pretty much any outsider element that touches my skin for more than thirteen minutes in total.
How I like my new short burnet hair, and that my sister had her first babygirl which makes feel old and I still don’t know if I love it or hate it yet.
and that I grew found of  black coffee, and
how badly i want to adopt a cat as if my life depends on it.
And I AM Angry.
I’m ******* because I wanna ask you how you doing, and how your life away from me been treating your codependency, has it mend you well,
Has my broken glass of memory still hunts your comfort zone.
i want to let you know I still like my Oreos and cereal with cold milk, and I like the way music hold me right back from the end edge of living every night after two thirty in the morning.  and how much i hate how the moon is plain still, and is not as everlasting and it makes me teary eyes for a quarter of a second, and the weather treats my mental health,
I’m ****** because I feel prisoner in my own bone cells and mind frame, and body image and people’s ******* expectations.

I render my mind games into hoping some kinda nature element manipulate you to text me back or persuade you enough to withdraw
Baby, if I’m still in a place to call you that,  if i told you I’m at our favorite place in town would you meet me half way?
because I am really sick of being an afterthought.
Noura abdulla Nov 2021
Concepts  👁‍🗨


(the light at the end of the tunnel was somebody else's iPhone)


39 • Speaking the language of the ocean as an Opening Statement oath

38 •  house where gathering on lunch tables is the validation of love I've been taught everything but home

37 • I'm less of a city than id like to be I’m
more categorized i never asked to

36 • It's raining and Thunder storm never fitted my skin this completely  
And —

35 •  yes I'm using too many personification because you know what, The sky is the only one took me in its basement when gods condemn me and my family turned my bedroom to a storage room-
And —

34 • no You can't be as dead as a poet lost herself trying not to pull the trigger every time her hands stopped writing

33 • I wore the moon as a guilt dress and called it mine. when gravity traumatized the earth; it never was okay not to maintain your skin

32 • love shouldn't be this futile mathematical formula, it was either give it all your cosmos or leave its atoms be.

31 • The worst case scenario saying that you cared

30 • Blaming your sign or your daddy issues doesn't facilitate you a permission to justify yourself. domestic violence is never a family matter

29 • Using metaphors like translating love confessions to French, and addressing the lavender's scent on someone else’s sweater. facing the music and call it by its first name was never an option,  securing your handful of cards, clenching them tightly in your fist and never on the dinner table is all your upbringing taught you.

28 • promising not to repeat your parents mistakes only to become one with every time you improvise your toxic behaviors, your mood swings, and hunted past lives on people believed in you that you cast away 'till they walk out of you heathens

27•  she didn't.

27 • She kisses you homes and family members and your childhood playground ‘til your lungs is overflowing with fireflies and graduates

26•  you say “thank you” she said “it’s the god work at best” and man if getting her god's approval is such a tired game

25• I prayed for him 5 times a day, it’s been 5 years and he never answered me back

25 • Contradictions never made sense

24 • I hate the lake and i hate the house and I'm never in between?

23 • Leaving parts of you every time you leave her bedsheets is not a love story

20 • Fights and Interfering ihate-iloveyous like they were the same thing

19 • Trapped inside a voicemail
and made up tweets on happy endings and cursive curses,

this is not supposed to rhyme.

18 • Turning kitchen into dance floor half past eight AM  —her legs move to the music and her body hits you like a soft iceberg before its shape fit into yours now I don't know about you but I'm singing a holy ******* hallelujah on that ****

17• Using the same words fighting on who came up with it first

16 • If religion were to transform into human figure: sun lays inside her mouth, lavenders roots inside her ribcage both beautiful and suffocating.
- Moving the weather in reverse she reinvents clouds so catastrophic and put rain into being; that, my friend is the only miraculous evident  i'll ever worship. You see, the sun bends every time she shake the sky graceless only then she smiles and only then, atheism was irrelevant

15 • Love letters on cold rooms, Empty tea cups, crossed calendar, fake engagement rings and lovers who never came back

14 • tic-tocks, January 12  stuck on 3 minutes phone call ******* I'm doing it again !

13 • I'll seal my will to the seven seas and go down with the ship hopping you're the sailor

12• judging the book by the way it let's you go doesn't let their parents reject you little less

11• too many boarders in our town yet you come up with creative way to make death prouder than your dad ever will

10 • Matching cuts, different motives, Immortalize me a kiss and i'll pretend I'd refuse

9 • Turning heart into cereal box and Oreos and chew on them like love taught you

8• Ran out of blocks to architect so i run on empty vows on strangers lips that fades by the time sunlight knocks on the window

7• she texts you, then she texts you not.
she tweets your slangs and quote your favorite song lyrics and you Turn her notifications to on off on off on off on on on on !

6 • Too many plans too little swimming pools.

5 • turns out placing rings on people's finger doesn't help you keep them  

4 • Blackhole inside a blackhole inside a tunnel you wish it was more physically harmful than soul abusing i thought I've known better                
    
3 • breaking your surface to one and your heart for two Making love to visual screens  and screenshots it's not supposed to make sense, but you probably know what i mean

2 • Wearing funeral black since last   Thursday noon and Sunday                                           morning seeing you wearing the same    breaks my heart.

   1 • Remember when I counted down til the day i meet you when we started texting, isn't it ironic now that I'm counting our poem down to an end , I'd laugh but I missed the punchline since that 12th of January
436 · Jul 2019
“Broken Creators”
Noura abdulla Jul 2019
until your lights come undone
And the sun deport its creators
And seek you instead;
Every person you came to love was already dead and they shoved their corpses and broken teeth down your throat like a blackhole branch and nostalgic chaos
cremating all the bodies they’ve occupied, but still it tasted too familiar to your common sense that  you let it.
Or is it okay as long as it's spoiler free, and less relevant to your story standards, and case scenario?
218 · Jul 2019
“Mirror-Man”
Noura abdulla Jul 2019
The sky is almighty,
and your bedroom is not the color of burning, and your skin feels like skin again
but the sheets still smells like disappointment.
It's only then when mirrors start calling you names but yours.
The face on the other side of the mirror looks right at you,
the way your father does,
The face on the other side of the mirror looks nothing like you,
and you wanna break and smash every piece till your knuckles go numb and your reflection is covered with sour blood.
No, this is not a poem.
Coughing sorrys and mourns on
all the things you could've saved
is never poetic.
It is coating sadness in a paradox
It's a table for one, at holidays
Or maybe it's just the pills you chewed on to sedate your self-accept to sleep last night, or the night before,
or was it the night you divorced your self-approval made all the versions of you that would've still been prouder an extreme you.
So you bandage your knee and do not look at the sky for invitation.
The sky is not happy about it either,
but sky let you be,
because you're not your own story's Cinderella,
not the protagonist,
not the shoe,
not the ballroom,
not even the wedding bells when the curtains closes.
your only must is to make sure it never clicks to 12 O'clock.
Your only job is to enjoy the view from the backseat and stay at serve every time they think you should.
just like what the guy on the other side of the mirror says:
"drink your tea and never stop saying thank you no matter how many times it burns your tongue."
and it burns.
and you vowel thank you, and sorry, and pardon me, and it's my bad, and I'll do better I promise."
You shove it aside and shame it off.
You sink it in and drain your mouth.
You shrug it astray, until your shoulders start to cramp and gets heavier with every namesake hour and you just want to go home.
And it's alright until it hits you:
all this content was your own household in satires and poor metaphors.
You almost wanna crash every windowsill and picture frame or **** yourself trying,
Before you toss back up your apron and practice the mirror man words.
only this time you mouth them to the sky in reverse.
And only this time sky does not let it go.  
Only this time the sky publishes her response.
Only then you're no longer the seeker underneath.  
You're stuck inside a mirror,
you are the mirror-man now,
watching the world from a glassware and telling people to drink their tea and say thankyou no matter how it burns their tongues.
Noura abdulla Nov 2021
Get all dressed up and go to their front door and and wait for a good solid 30 minutes then go back home
* Buy movie tickets for two and go/watch it alone
* Reserve yourself table a month prior valentines’ day on the fanciest restaurant in town, and don’t go. Stood yourself up
* Get drunk on upbeat music with depressed lyrics so you justify your weird crying while dancing
* Play their favorite song and sing it in the shower loud enough it feels like they sings it back to you in reverse and then louder enough til it’s like they’re singing it with/to you then halfway through turn it off mid sentence
* don’t correct yourself when mistaking a their first name for another while flirting, let the cringe and discomfort settle in, rent free, let it have a seat, let it invites itself to your dinner and eat your full set course meal, sleeps in your own bed, sends you wandering homeless.
* Keep reading their horoscope.
* Wear their colone before you go to bed
* Name your first child by their first name
don’t try this at home
131 · Nov 2021
[SAYS MY MIRROR]
Noura abdulla Nov 2021
Your skin is my favorite color.
your coffee breath has the morning best delivery speech That's ever been planted in by your lurid lips in advance.

This is me attempting to make you roll your eyes but think about it twice before you sleep, this is me sharpening your crayon box, and scissor teeth, and sharp edged tongue.

don't get me wrong love,
I'm not complementing you,
i feel sorry for you.

No offense my love,
but it's not me, it's the sky and how it revolves through your windows like it owes you a favor and i hate it.

Don't get me right my beloved,
I'm not jealous,
I'm idolizing the nature around you and re-spot objects that decorate itself and resolve around your biceps and neck corners, And the way you do and undo thier gravity (I know my syntax is not adding up‪,‬ trust me I did the math)
but see the trick is to be smooth enough to lure you but not enough to draw you in.
to manipulate your actions to synthetically pre-match my consequences.
to be sensible enough to make my heart inviting, but too self-indulgent to tiptoe around yours.
I do want to love you in this poem, I promise I tried my best, but I'm too invested in hyperboling this piece of paper enough for people to fit me into their narrative of conversations and to canonize my willing to take down god and seed him back into the sun's belly.
To disappoint every hurricanes' appeal for redemption.  
You say overthinking is overrated
you say paradox ain't supposed to rhyme but you still look at me for consent???  
I will not be there for the funeral, but I'll be there enough to sing the gospels and fold your obituary inside your favorite book.
I will cry only behind doors and bathroom floors and say I'm only there for the free food.
You shame my morals and disgrace my substance.
“i gaze no expect” i tell you,
“long too less, mourn no more”, right before you tell me to
“Manufacture your dignity some respect and grow the **** up”

— The End —