She was named after love,
and letters were exchanged
between lovers in her name

Poets found their muse
when she visited their hearts
and I was one of them

But my love never
reached her heart
like hers did mine

And so she left,
when my stubborn heart was
aching to be laced with hers

She left,
and my eyes were searching,
yearning for her

Dear Heyam,
I swear on love letters
and you
For it is the last poem
I write about you

Mother gave
me a blade

Mine was pink,
hers was purple

It was a useless sharp thing
that’s always in my drawer

One night,
I reached for the blade,
and it felt like my
mother’s embrace  

Every time I used it,
I was being released
from all my pains

Thank you, mother

There is such
loneliness in
my heart, and
it consumes me
each deathly night

Weeping I laid
and waited for
the tears to dry,
but they remained
on my face like
a wound that
won’t seem to heal

Joy overcomes me
born out of agony

Still I am burning
underwater,
I cannot be saved

When my soul departs,
alone,
know that I am glad to go

I am yearning with
an ache for something
sharp to caress my arms

A drunken god has
spoke you into existence
A stolen diary that told you,
it’s a sin to return this body
even if its weak bones
couldn’t carry the weight
of your heavy heart

I know I can speak myself out of it
With a blade in my hand
standing on the edge of the stage,
I’ll wait for the Almighty to sober up
and watch me steal his role

After twenty years of rehearsal
I’ll play god,
lights will go off,
and curtains will close

Your followers will clap in awe
at my convincing performance

As I bow before them
As I fall before you

Anxiety wraps
itself around me,

like a coat that
doesn’t fit me

like a lover that
doesn’t love me

like a fire that
doesn’t warm me

I am on a diet
from sharp knives

I have been fasting
for about two months

Here is my clean
untouched wrists

But what if I got thirsty
for a drop of my blood?

What if I got hungry, and swallowed
all the knives in the kitchen drawer?

To be kissed
by your eyes

To be touched
by your voice

To be held
by your lips

To be tangled
by your hair

The thing about
a sunflower and I

Is the sunflower would
wither if the sun stopped
kissing her every morning

And just like the sunflower
needs the sun to flourish,

I need you near me
for I bloom by your kisses

And just like the sunflower
worships the morning sun,

I worship your
cold almond eyes

Let me whisper
my last goodbye
between your lips

Oh, won’t you let me
bury this poem along
with our dead love

And pour my salty tears
upon your naked shoulder

This morning,
I’ve shed the heaviest tear
after twenty-one years
of deadly silence