I went for a run today
to test out my lungs, my back,
my once-strong core
Here, miles from home
the streets offer no reference point
So I run not knowing what to expect

Every foot-strike
echoes back the memory
of several falls--each,
with their own, signature pain

One year

One year
Nestled deep in these muscles,
these bones
I dig in, hug my spine
and keep running

I continue through
a cemetery trail
It's quiet, pretty
There is nothing to know
of the lives
beneath the stones I pass
But they are my markers--
Increment by increment

At the centre of the cemetery
A path, lined with Texan flags
slopes up towards the exit
Above it stands a great
Lone Star

I fix on it,
As the billowing, spectator-flags
wave me out

I wave back
and leave the graveyard

When you see her cry
     you get a rag,
a gentle delicate cloth.
                                        Lovingly grasp her hand
                                               and dab its tip;
                                       dry each tear as they come.
                                                           ­                               And ask each drop
                                                            ­                                   why it'd leave
                                                           ­                               such beautiful eyes.

  If she wishes
to be in the sky,
  tell her to go.
                              Take the sun ransom,
                              and replace its shining
                                    with her own.
                                                            ­          So you can see her every morning
                                                         ­                          and wish for her
                                                                ­                  return each night.

When you see her scars
  both visible and non-
    touch each gently.
                                             And remind her
                                       that each and every hurt
                                            she has survived,
                                                       ­                                 has only made her
                                                                ­                   that much more unique;
                                                         ­                              that much stronger.

  Show her that she
  is a special person
and is worthy of love.
                                     That she deserves the love
                                            she fears to give...
                                            show her so that
                                                            ­                     one day after you're gone
                                                            ­                      she can find the strength
                                                                ­                    to go on without you.

    Tell her that while
she might not be a goddess
far above worldly desires,
                                          that she is amazing,
                                         for just being herself
                                    for being that beautiful girl
                                                            ­                   who thinks herself damaged
                                                         ­                         when in truth she's just
                                                            ­                    a different kind of beautiful.

   And finally, love her.
  Like a boy loves a girl
Till she finally remembers
                                            that that's what she is:
                                          not a scar, not a goddess,
                                             not a star. But a girl.
                                                           ­                         That deserves to be loved.

At times  I think home is were the heart is
And then I think home is were my heart is not
It craves for something much more then the warm feeling of a home with empty feelings

You said it's just rain..
I said no, its the angels crying from above trying to wash off all of the dirt from the outside of the window pane.
You said it's just rain.

You said it's just the sun..
I said no, its a bundle of hot energy shining its rays of sunshine through the glass windows to make your skin glow.
You said it's just the sun.

You said it's just the moon..
I said no, its a luminous planet that knows the night's secrets & yet still returns every night to guide us back home.
You said its just the moon.

You said it's just the wind..
I said no, its a breath of fresh air moving through your clothes and tangling in between my hair & dancing with the wind chimes.
You said it's just the wind.

You said you missed me..
I said no, I miss you more like the waves miss the shore. I miss you more like the stars lost in the void.
You said you missed me.

I said I love you..
You stayed quiet.
There was nothing left to say but stare blankly into your eyes and say, you're right.
It is just rain.
It is just the sun.
It is just the moon.
It is just the wind.
& its true, I will always miss you more.

I call you forward to witness thee,
The nightmare, crimson reality,
Red soaked sheets,
A story of once an innocence, now is gone,
Torn away from my flesh,
I ask you this, where is my choice in all of this,
I have had snatched what is mine, robbed, I seek justice but there is no answer.

My cries, cries fall on silent ears,
Through the years, my cries are also now silen-ced,
I have become a story to myself,
When I now tell of my tragedy, I don't cry
Nor do I give that bitter, characteristic laugh,
I look hollow and stare hollow and feel hollow.

… People think that I’m shallow.
I am fine with that,
When has it ever been my choice?
I cry and scream and no- one helps, and passers-by snigger as they go.
...’’She got what she deserved, she had asked for it, what, dressed like that!’’
‘’She should thank her stars, that someone wants her anyway!’’

After all, ‘**** is a kind of... love.’

That’s part of the irony…

I don't feel that loved.      

- Felinely, Aisha.