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When parents fight,
And tirelessly bicker,
It’s like I can hear the trumpet of doom,
And suddenly it’s the Day of Judgement.
Whilst the children are silently sitting,
In the room nearby,
Tears caress down my cheek.
I wonder curiously,
Why are we cursed,
To live through an endless civil war?
We are a family,
We are one,
But we breathe through an aura of grudge.
Why is my life battles upon battles?
Bad news upon bad news,
And a hundred questions answered with no.
And why am I the only one coping through this endless thunderstorm,
While the world around me is sunshine and eternal rainbows?
Nobody else seems to have a family like mine,
So why am I ill-fated?
I clearly never asked to live,
But somehow I’m here.
One is always right,
And one is always wrong.
I’m forced to choose sides,
But how can I choose sides,
When I don’t know who’s right or wrong?
I have to love both of you,
So how can I hate one of you?
I’m confused,
I keep wondering when it’ll be over,
And thinking soon it’ll get better.
I keep living in hopes that one day it will,
But I’m scared,
What if it never will?
The people with inferior pasts lead the most fruitful futures.
I’ve been waiting,
I can’t help but ask when will my present transition into my future?
And will I ever?
Everyone seems perfectly unbroken,
Except us.
Why aren’t we ideal,
Like the families on TV?
We’re encompassed by stainless aces,
All my cousins live without realizing,
One of their cousins is missing,
And one of their cousins is dying.
They will never realize.
I’m broken,
The children,
They’re broken!
When will you realize?
Even the once broken pieces are now shattered!
Nobody cares for this war we silently battle,
Nobody cares to offer assistance to help us fight,
Or even ask!
I have nobody but me to comfort myself,
And force myself to put an end to the desperate sobbing,
And look as if a hurricane never hit.
I’ve worn a mask everyday,
Even before Corona.
A smile will show them I’m okay,
A smile will show them I’m not weak,
A smile will show them who I’m not,
Because I don’t want to be a burden.
I am a burden,
But I can’t display it,
So I hide a whirlwind,
With a mask,
A smile.
March with your head,
Instead of your heart.
I can’t contain myself,
The storm is too strong,
And I’m obviously broken,
In a gazillion pieces,
Like broken glass lying on the kitchen floor.
You dropped a fragile glass on the floor,
Now I’m right in front of you,
Why can’t you see me?
It’s like you think I’m not riven,
Or do I blend in with the linoleum?
Why aren’t we fixing the broken pieces?
Why are we brushing them away?
And why would you throw them away too?
Broken pieces aren’t meant to be in the trash,
They’re meant to be fixed.
It’s not just my heart that’s in pieces in front of you,
It’s everything.
My brain’s broken,
I can’t think anymore.
My heart beating rhythm is missing,
It’s broken.
With your bottomless fighting,
Everything is broken.
Instead of abandoning the broken pieces,
Why can’t we fix them?
Dismissing the broken pieces don’t fix them,
Broken pieces remain broken,
Unless you fix them.
I’m broken,
But I continue my life even when I want to die,
And nobody knows.
“Please, I can’t breathe.”
This is America.
No, it’s not about freedom,
Quite the opposite.
It’s about class and privilege.
We’re put into boxes,
Divided by the colour our skin.
We are the dividers,
The masters of segregation.
An explicit bolder between the rich and the common folk.
The rich being imperceptible,
And miles away from reality.
The common folk,
Constantly manipulated,
And obsessive,
Over the lives of the rich.
Profits made by the rich off of common folk,
The common folk too naive,
Too innocent,
To understand the devilish scheme.

“The knees on my neck.”
When a flattering appearance overshadows a hideous soul,
That’s when you know,
You’ve uncovered the hidden code to privilege.
The conventionally beautiful create the definition of beauty,
And beauty becomes an unattainable standard,
Unachievable beauty produced by counterfeit beings.
Something you must meet in order to be desirable,
To be accepted,
To be beautiful.

“I can’t breathe officer.”
Dear America,
We’ve had enough,
Of your senseless propaganda,
Affirming to be a paradise of the free.
We’re tired of all your preaching,
About love between your people.
When all I can see is white bread,
School shootings,
And racism.
Are you too foolish to accept,
That racism is unlawful,
Applying to everyone,
Of every race,
Even if you're a **** police officer?
Are you still going to regard it as something we can easily ignore?
How can we not learn from what’s been done in the past?
Why are we letting history repeat itself?
This country,
States it’s fast forward,
Ahead of the game,
But it’s still a century behind.  
Why is it so hard to free ourselves from bias?
Why have we normalized these biases we’ve been taught towards people different from us,
Instead of discovering where it originated?

“My stomach hurts.”
On the tips of our fingers,
We’re encompassed by racism.
We listen, enjoy, and relish the people that actively chant derogatory terms,
Racial slurs,
And racist jokes.
We continue to support online personas who spit nothing but dirt from their mouths.
We don’t stop to raise our voice when someone around us makes a racist remark,
But why?
Are you too afraid,
Of defending an innocent community?
Why do you lower your voice when your ears cannot lie about what you just heard?
Is it the fear of your own community that stops you from defending another?

“My neck hurts.”
A guiltless black child,
With a life of opportunity ahead of him,
Grows up amongst the grace of his family.
He is loved,
And fear never invaded that love.
He goes to school,
Encompassed by hundreds with a lack of melanin.
He’s different from them,
Though he’s a human being too.
The love he received from people begins to dwindle.
It’s funny,
Once your an outsider in someone else’s home,
It doesn’t matter whether you’re a human or not,
The eyes fail to see beneath the skin.
They won’t stop to see your sorrows,
Or question why you came there,
But rather attack as if you’re an intruder.
Everyday he finds it difficult to appreciate his coarse hair,
His coffee brown eyes,
And his beautiful black skin.
His schoolmates fail to love him like his family did,
Their perpetual reminders,
Of his clashing differences every day.
Their exclusion,
Their remarks,
Their physical aggression,
Is enough for an innocent black child to quit loving himself.
All his thoughts follow a stream of untouchable wishes.
You know a child has been broken,
When they want to change their brown eyes to blue.

“Everything hurts.”
A country that fought a war for racism,
Still has the rashness to ask whether racism is passable or not?
That innocent black child grows to be a man,
A loving man,
That despite his differences,
Carries on with life,
Because life goes beyond the skin.
His naked eyes had seen the alienation of this paradise land,
He knew the hidden truth,
But kept silent,
Because why believe a black man?
He knew.
The world had cornered his community for centuries.
Fear of colour,
And of differences,
Was what drove people to make irrational decisions.
He was the innocent black child,
Who’d grown to be a dignified man.
But a world that holds hatred in their palm stronger than love fails to see the good in different.
If the world were colourblind,
There would be no such thing as racism.
But if the world were colourblind,
How would we learn to celebrate our differences?
Would we still fail to see human in every human if we were blinded by the colour of our skin?
What’s so terrifying,
So strikingly odd,
About people of colour,
With a bit of melanin in their skin?
What surges people of privilege,
Some white folks,
To **** us?
That black man didn’t want to die because of the bitterness of another human,
Nor did he want to see a white male destroy him,
Suffocate him,
With his desolate leg.
And you said this was okay?
How is it okay?
Arrest the man,
The voices of millions demand you arrest the man!
And put him in jail for a lifetime,
So he can learn to struggle for the price black people pay for a community’s unjust privilege.
This is the story of millions of immaculate black people.
How can a first world country called America,
Still have a third world dilemma of racism?
How inhumane could one be to watch another human die?
How beastly vile of a creature could you be to let the black man die when clearly black lives matter?

“Please let me stand.”
In every race,
And every religion,
There are bad people,
Just like there are good.
But when one bad human,
One bad individual’s action,
No matter how big or small,
Outweighs all the good of the world combined,
For centuries,
That’s when you know,
Is a stronger emotion than love.

“They’re going to **** me.”
How could you approve racism here?
How could you let the colour of your skin,
Something beyond a human’s control,
Be a crime?
We can’t stop talking about this,
Not until racism is cleared from our name,
Not until we’re labeled a paradise by not the government,
But the people.
And not until the innocent black child begins to love himself again.
We’ll continue these conversations,
Until one day,
Racism is deceased,
Instead of guiltless people of melanin.
Be kind in your words,
And actions.
We are the manufacturers of racism,
We wrote our mistakes in a ballpoint pen,
Take accountability,
And let’s erase it ourselves.
We may never diminish its mark,
But if we continue,
It will fade away.
A quick double tap, click, and share on Instagram is not enough.
Better yourself as a person,
Discharge yourself from bias,
Straighten up from your bundled ball of fear,
And pointedly call the racist person out.
You won’t look stupid,
I promise.
Strike these conversations as much as possible,
Save the innocent black child,
Make him feel loved again,
In this foreign land of despair.
He didn’t deserve to die,
Along with a million others.
After all,
They were just innocent,
They were humans.
Justice for George Floyd and all other victims of racism.
It was my choice,
And my choice only,
To wear it.
When you spat at me with your foul words,
Your words become trivial,
Because you have no say in my life.
You fail to see the illuminating beauty of my hijab,
Because to you it’s just a filthy, pointless scarf.

My hijab is more than just a silly scarf,
It’s a veil worn for chastity,
And my protection from an evil and worldly life.
I cover up to please my God and no one else.

Though a costly decision,
People I loved let me go,
And I was a centrepiece for name calling and contempt,
But I would sacrifice anything for my God.

I may have no hijabi companions,
But I remain standing strong when everyone else is silently sitting.
I withhold a story behind my scarf,
And I’ll be standing there,
I’ll always be the elephant in the room,
But I chose to be instead of running away from it,
That is called bravery.

I have a freedom of expression,
Of practicing my religion,
And wearing my hijab.
Nothing will make me stop,
Not even your stupid words that run free on your tongue.

I’m not a terrorist because of my hijab,
And I’m not a ***** head because of my hijab.
I won’t mould into your words.

My hijab doesn’t stop me from being beautiful.
I shouldn’t be judged for the beauty of my appearance,
Because I’m not a display in a museum,
I’m a human.
I should be judged for the beauty of my character,
And my gracious spirit.

I’m not defined by external beauty,
I am defined by the beauty of my powerful knowledge,
And all the good that I do.
Because outer beauty does nothing but amuse,
But intelligence moves you.

I am beautiful,
My scarf may limit surface glamor,
But my hijab never fails to radiate beauty.
The person who I loved ceaselessly,  
And cherished without end for being my best friend,
Was the sunshine of my life.
You would laugh with with me,
And radiate like the sun’s beams.
You would tell me all your wacky stories,
While I’d listen to your heavenly chitter chatter.
It was like we shared the same mind and spirit,
Our souls dense,
And heavy,
From carrying the burden from our pasts,
But we’d always tell each other everything,
And ease our hearts by laughing at our past journeys.
The only person,
Who I could dribble my every woes to,
And who would never judge,
My weary hardships,
We were entirely alike.
Your wonderfully glistening face,
Reminded me of the sparkling sun.
When I felt frigid and aloof,
I’d shiver from the dreadful breeze in the air.
Tears would caress my cheeks,
And while they’d freeze into crystal icicles,
I would gradually come to you,
The sun.
You’d make me feel warm,
My sun.
With your company I would feel warmth,
I felt at home.
You would warm me with your cordial little jokes,
And your jubilant laugh,
You were my sun.
But just as the sun shines,
And glares in the blazingly blue skies,
Amongst dozens of pillowy clouds,
The sun always goes away.
The sun falls,
And blue skies turn to a flaming red,
Like blazes of fires,
Similar to Hell.
And red-orange skies turn to pitch black,
I’m lost amongst the dimness of my home,
And there seems to be no light switch.
I couldn’t find you,
The sun.
Where did you go?
You’d left,
For another night,
A tediously long night.
It’s nightfall.
The sun is gone,
From my life.
When you left,
My skies of blue,
And your glistening beams,
Which brought me delight,
Also left,
For the night.
Without my sun,
How can I remain merry?
Who do I laugh with?
Smile with?
I have no one,
No one,
To share any of my bliss,
And if I don’t have you,
My sun,
How can I even have bliss?
Why did you leave?
I’m left with nothing,
But the pitch black darkness,
Of witching hour.
There are billions of burning suns up here,
Microscopic and twinkly,
They’re so far away.
How do I reach for the stars,
When my sun was there to warm me from the ground?
Even if these stars,
Can bless me with any affection and warmth,
I don’t want it.
Only my sun,
Can give me warmth.
Just like the sun comes for a brief stay,
The moon comes too.
You left me sun,
You set from the west,
And disappeared.
I miss your glistening rays which brought me warmth,
And your joyous laughter,
Up in blueberry skies,
Amongst dreamy clouds.
You left me sun,
The moon can’t replace you.
When I feel cold,
I can’t go to the moon to feel warmth,
Because when I do,
I feel colder.
There’s no happiness or glee,
There’s no warmth from the moon’s absent sunlit rays,
There’s no laughter,
Or smiles,
Just stillness in my pitch black skies.
I need the sun to feel happy,
Why do the ones I love always leave me?
I am a magnet.
I yearn for the sun,
But whenever I get near,
I’m forcefully driven away,
From your warmth,
And eternal elation.
I only attract,
The people who cause me heartache,
And endless despair.
I only attract toxicity.
I still love you,
My sun.
When will you return?
I’m waiting for you to rise into the pitch darkness from the east.
When you ascend,
The dark will vanish,
Your radiating beams will transform the night sky,
And cover it with a beautiful blue sheild,
Of endless dreams.
Tell me,
When will the night end?
217 · Jul 31
Ode To Another Breath
Sweet sweet relish of death,
Unparalleled to another breath.
Drawing in a promising life,
And untying the blackened knots of hopelessness within.

Another second to cherish the beautiful gift of life,
Like your palms unlatched for the birds to perch and chant a melodious tune.
With every bare breath,
We tempt the true beauty of life.
147 · Sep 5
A Poet’s Dream
Devouring precious words,
Extraordinary text,
Once hidden in a treasure chest,
Inside of a stranger’s mind.
The crisp scent of a new book,
A collection of poems,
The key to someone’s mind and striking soul.
You force yourself into the marshy boots of a young girl residing on an ancient farmland field,
You feel the sunlight soaking your face,
As you pluck strawberries from the leafy shrubs,
And ride a horse across the endless meadows to taste liberty.
You inhale the air of their world,
That lives exclusively in your mind.
A world of ecstatic glee,
And shed distressed teardrops for all their little world’s sadness.
You’ve teleported into a different realm,
Following the flow of beautifully chained words,
And letting your imagination run free.
You are living in the life,
A poet once dreamed.
I remember everything that happened that night.
It was vague,
But the sounds of talking furries on the TV is still definite.  
We were together,
United as one merry family.
But everything changed that night.
I still remember everything.
The naive kindergartener could never possibly forget what happened that night,
Even ten years later.
I was loved by a family,
Two affectionate parents,
But internalized hostility was the trespasser of their relationship.
The fights,
The squabbles,
They meddled with the blessed aura of our family.
But how would someone know how badly an event can damage someone?
Someone so young,
All they’ll ever do is hate,
Without realizing the broken pieces.
They’re invisible to them.  
They can forgive over and over,
But none will ever forget,
I was in the middle of 2 human being-like creatures,
Lost in a battle field of fury.
How could you not see me?
How could you not stop what you were doing when you saw me?
How could you continue to push her?
To punch her until her teeth bled.
But why?
Just why?
Why would you do what you did to me too?
I was the middle.
You tugged my arm,
She tugged my other.
Both reaching for me,
To have me for their own.
But didn’t you know,
I was only 5 years old,
I didn’t need just one of you,
I needed both of you,
To grow.
I didn’t want to choose who to fight,
I loved both of you,
But love ends when your forced to choose.
I screamed.
I am the middle,
You choose to keep me for yourself.
How could you do what you did that night?
To me,
To her,
To yourself,
But most importantly,
She’s had enough.
A woman seeing her child in pain is not weak when she searches for help,
She’s not vulnerable,
She’s a warrior,
Willing to risk her life for her child.
That is a woman.
She dials the forsaken number.
The time ticks,
You think it’s a joke.
A knock on the door and it feels like a movie.
A blue suit,
A gun?
Who are these people?
They walk across the kitchen floor like they own authority over our itty-bitty town house.
They sit on our sofas, they look so odd.
I was so confused.
A lady greets me and amongst chitter chatter, I take her to my play room.
We talk about Dora The Explorer and all my favourite cartoons,
Like she’s my friend,
But I know she’s not.
She’s only here to take something from me,
I wonder what.
Time passes and the blue suit aliens walk across our linoleum in ******* boots.
No shoes in the house,
Seems like they don’t know the rules.
My mind clouds for a split second,
This still picture becomes a movie once again.
They open the door,
I see hand cuffs.
They take ahold of his hands and seal them together.
They’re leading him outside.
My mind is fogging again,
They’re supposed to take something from me.
They leave our door, but not empty handed.
They didn’t take my toys,
Or my DVDs,
They took something so much more.
With locked wrists,
His face forces a smile.
He’s smiling at me,
Is this a dream?
Why is he smiling?
Where is he going?
The blue suit aliens walk out the door,
Dragging a prisoner they’re taking to space.
He continues to smile,
Walking out our door.
He’s leaving his own house,
With locked wrists,
Swollen eyes,
Dragged by blue aliens,
And a big smile on his face.
I hear her sob,
Why is she crying?
Certainly no one is dying.
The aliens dump him in their space ship,
It’s like a car, only with flashy lights.
He waves at us from his seat in the space ship.
At that point I guessed,
He’s been abducted by aliens!
I can’t wait to tell everyone at school!
Even as the space ship flies away,
He’s still waving.
I wonder when he’ll come back from the moon.
The door is shut,
She collapses to the floor.
I’m confused once again.
I peak through the curtains.
He’s gone.
He’s gone.
He’s gone.
1 day passes,
He hasn’t returned.
Maybe the trip to the moon is farther than I thought.
2 days pass,
She’s crying more and more.
Maybe he’s buying us souvenir’s from space!
3 days pass,
Something’s not right.
Suddenly a family reunion,
There’s shouting, crying, begging.
I’m suddenly being dragged around again.
To the space station, oh boy!
There are blue aliens everywhere!
There’s begging, pleading, crying all over again.
3 weeks of visits to the space station,
And begging, pleading, and crying every visit.
I begin to think of the moon again,
Seriously, when is he coming back?
I lose interest in playing with my Barbie dolls,
Something isn’t right,
But I don’t know what.
That day was another blur,
A knock on the door,
And scampering to the window.
I peak through the curtains,
It’s him.
He’s back,
From the moon.
He’s smiling,
That smile.
The aliens were no where in sight,
Not even the space ship,
How did he get here?
She smiles in delight at the sight of him,
But her eyes show unclouded sorrow.
His eyes are bliss,
But his smile is forged and weak.
Again, I was in the middle.
We didn’t talk about that night ever again,
But I had a hundred unanswered questions.
There were no souvenirs,
And no tall tales from the moon.
I was told to forget that night,
But I never forgot.
For years the memory still replays in a corner of my subconscious,
Being the middle,
And your fragile smile.
Why did you do what you did that night?
Why was I forced to choose sides?
Why did you smile when you left us?
The blue aliens,
They took you,
From us.
You can’t expect us to forget,
Because I remember everything that night,
Everything you did still haunts me today.
You didn’t go to space that night,
Nor were there any blue aliens,
Or a flying space ship.
Dad, what if I told you I know,
The abuse,
The 911 phone call,
They were police officers for God’s sake!
A police car,
You were arrested that night,
The handcuffs,
And that smile.
Why were you smiling?
I know we bailed you out of jail!  
But how can I forget?
How can I forget what you did Dad?
Is it really that easy?
To forget?
It’s tormented me for years,
And it continues to haunt me.
I’m permanently damaged!
You are my ghost,
That never fails to scare me when I’m around you.
I’ll always carry that memory,
And you’ll always carry that smile.
52 · Apr 24
Miss Misfit
Freakish, fearless, faithful, Farzeen.
Clever, diligent, organized, creative.
Who is able to make her friends smile like delightful daylight on a mournful, morbid, morning, her family howl hysterically on road trips to Chicken World, solve a math equation as quick as the peregrine falcon, make embroidered frames, brilliantly vibrant like glaring streetlights in the dark, dim night, and create joy.
Who loves making crochet clutch purses and DIY wall decor, painting majestic scenarios hung up on her bedroom walls, homemade biryani, who could forget kabuli pulao, and the songbirds of joy.
Who fears the dread of classroom presentations, the humiliation of academic failure, the judgment of this subjected society, oh her heart, racing as it screams to be heard, but never joy.
Who feels content enclosed by the 4 walls of her sweet, sweet home, at peace baking coffee cake in the kitchen at 2 pm, empty when missing a kindergarten bestie or a faded childhood memory from Pakistan, misplaced and consumed by the routine, traditional life, attempting to escape and discover the true beauty of this lifetime, and a whimsical joy.
Who wonders how it all started, this life we so effortlessly waste, what would occur if her ground was seized and her destiny diseased, what is yet to come, an unforeseen thunderstorm, or a sunlit day gladdening the spirits from above, and where it all went, her childhood joy.
Who dreams of touring soaring waterfalls, remarkable ruins, swimming in the turquoise sea of the Maldives, watching the radiating sunset in Santorini Greece, obtaining a reckless career as a family doctor, and joy.
Reckless, remarkable, rare, Rashid.
51 · Dec 2019
Anonymous Grief
Farzeen Rashid Dec 2019
A lonesome girl,
Cursed by life.
Her eyes veil mysteries,
And she maliciously grips a knife.
Her aggression in the form of a knife,
Lay by her at the hush of night.
The gruesome darkness at witching hour,
Casts a spell of overdosing devour.
A swamp of her own apprehensive emotions,
Like a wordlessly wild, deserted ocean.
The cascade of satisfaction under every breath.
While viciously planning a sudden death.
They spat at her face and told her she's worthless,
Didn't they know that she's been down feeling hopeless?
They made her existence an eternal hell,
And eventually down this rabbit hole she fell.
A knife, fiercely sharp like her majestic mind.
Her wrist, delicately fragile like her heart; hideously blind.
She hears the sirens of her heart,
Her veins bleed ink, and everything falls apart.
Her thoughts resemble a psychotic,
One cut wasn't enough, oh how so idiotic!
Her soul shrieks for sweet sympathy,
Every uttered word breaks down in a howl dizzily.
Her pain is freed,
She watches herself bleed,
Her heart stops its beating rhythm, so oddly.
Her melancholy soul leaves her wounded body.
She quit her life,
By a kitchen knife.
Another suicide down in history,
And her name still remains a mystery.
45 · Aug 26
She was breathing the Autumn wind,
Beneath the twinkling star of daylight,
Easing her soul,
And leaves painted with stripes of fire,
Fusing the relish within her.
But when the abominable drew near,
It came like a blizzard.
The star of daylight grew dim,
And flakes of colourless dust tumbled from the skies.
The deplorable hour knocked her,
Striking on the skin of her flames.
The leaves began to fade,
And her soul lost its colour.
She was a fragile leaf dangling off of a tree’s upper limb,
The crummy times had hit,
And she toppled from where she once sat beaming at the sun.
She is the colour of a dying leaf,
In the frigid weather of winter.
41 · Feb 12
Society Is Dying
Society is dying.

Frantically chasing trends.
Western beauty codes,
A seclusive chaos.
No diversification.

Initiating an identical demeanour,
Endeavouring to embrace imitation.

Artificial beauty.
Milky skin,
Sapphire eyes,
Slender physique,
And blind followers.

How can a counterfeit being,
Inhabit authentic beauty?

This is society.

We learn to accept the clone,
Yet reject the exclusive.

The manufactured beauty,
And the forged duplicates,  
Cloak conspicuous insecurities,
This judgemental society permitted us.

We yearn to fit in.

Some are fortunate.
Masked replicas,
Conceal misplaced beauties.

Some are unfortunate.
The offbeat,
The secluded gems.

When you crave to be a conventional Sarah,
Bear in mind,
You are uniquely radiant,
Whether you believe it or not.

Don’t be that girl.
This is your life.
Don’t live someone else’s.
A repeated sequence,
Has no value.

Don’t linger your life like it’s a sequel to the primitive film,
Pursue your life like it’s the revolutionary novel,
Where you’re the initial author,
Decisions planted upon your creativity,
And everything is your design.

Society is dying.
I can’t bring myself to raise my hand, I just don’t know why.
When I know all of the answers in class, maybe I’m shy?

Walking down the streets is a daily challenge,
All the stares are causing me mental damage.

Why is it that whenever I’m on the sidewalk I always think,
The people in the cars are always watching my every blink?

Are they really judging me ruthlessly because I just can’t tell,
Whether it’s all in my head or I’m actually living a Hell.

I want to dwindle and escape from the truth, hide away from this society.
I’m exhausted and stale from feeling insecure, it’s people, they cause me anxiety!

In primary and secondary I was notably different,
Making me feel alienated and prone to the snickering.

I was the only hijabi amongst a school of 600,
And the only hijabi amongst my own family and my kindred.

I was the alien in a foreign planet at school, the only girl who wore her traditional cultural dress.
And it didn’t help that my family was always stylish and up-to-date, being the outsider caused so much distress.

I had fully destroyed expectations,
For a stupid Pakistan vacation.

I was neglected and so very hated,
I felt like a useless object, rejected.

The repetitive cyberbullying added another layer of self hatred,
My life was an absolute mess and my confidence had completely inflated.

I always wondered why I had trouble speaking up,
And why the thought of socializing gave me goosebumps.

All my life I’ve been living under constant torment,
No wonder I’m feebly timid and unconfident.

You unusually asked me, “why are you so shy?”
I have a story, but this time, I will choose to lie.
39 · Feb 22
The Lesson
Life can be the sunshine.
In the crystal blue heavens,
Souring, kaleidoscopic, feathered creatures.
Along youthful, grimy, joyous sparrows, Perched upon sacred hallow timbers,
And the haunting melody of the shallow, brilliantly blue stream of eternity.
The cascade of jubilation,
Where imagination is infinite,
And tremulous but grateful smiles spread affection.

Or life can be the rainstorm,
The wretched overcast days are bleak, dry, and colourless.
Billowy thunderclouds erupt of a helpless tsunami of tears,
Caressing against your skin,
Delicate like a kiss; un-promised.
The ferocious wind,
Whirling your distressing emotions into a murky puddle,
Descending a drain; neglected, forgotten.
The spiritless butterflies flutter upon tattered, broken wings.
A figure standing at your wooden doorframe,
Drizzling of rain and tears,
Gifting you an inevitable gun,
In the shape of a ravishing rose.
Where your tormented heart can perceive what your eyes cannot,
You withhold a story behind your grief and desolation,
And all you can do is fake a smile.

The most faint, grateful smiles veil the deepest mysteries,
The most charmingly timid eyes have bawled the most tears,
And the most affectionate hearts have suffered the most pain.

Life can be a problematic, narrow highway,
But ponderous routes frequently lead to sensational destinations,
And precious things fall apart,
So exceptional things can fall together.

An impeccable life can be heaven,
And a deplorable life can be hell,
Yet no wonderfully blissful sapling can sprout to heaven,
Unless it’s roots extend downward to hell.

Life can teach merciless lessons,
But you’ll be keener once you know,
That even crimson fragrant roses need both sunshine,
And a drop of relentless rain to grow.
39 · Feb 6
She was the flower,
In the garden of weeds.
38 · Jul 13
Gandhi Glasses
For 9 years,
Age 5 to 13,
I wore Gandhi glasses.
They were rectangular,
And wire rimmed.
They were my favourite colour,
The colour of a marine freshwater fish,
They were salmon pink.
I wore them everywhere,
In company with my twin braids,
My metal mouth brimming with braces,
And my jazzy kameez.
To me,
I was beautiful.
I was truthfully my authentic self,
And that made me contented,
And so incredibly proud.
To the subjective society we live in,
I was a nerd,
And I was ugly.
To all my cousins,
And even my best friends,
My glasses made me look like an old,
Brain dead grandma.
To them,
I was old fashioned,
And to them,
I wasn’t cool enough,
Because I didn’t follow the latest trends.
The constant exclusion,
As well as the snickers about my outward image,
To all the unusually lengthy stares,
And the nonstop mistreatment,
Was what lead me to quit walking,
And drop to my knees,
Under a murky raincloud,
Showering me with plummeting self confidence.
I patiently waited each year,
For the annual eye doctor appointment,
And prayed my eyesight would drastically change,
In hopes for just one thing.
The day finally came,
When the optometrist declared,
I needed new glasses.
I was sure that on that day,
My life was going to change in the best way possible,
And I was going to be accepted in society at last,
As not an exclusive,
But just another copy.
Societal pressure had fogged my mind,
And the pitter pattering rain,
From the stormy cloud of crashing self confidence,
Was mercilessly bathing me.
I fell for all the stupid things people said to me,
Treading on the heals of popular trends,
Was like walking into a an inescapable trap,
Surrounded by poison ivy.
With my possessed mind,
I bought the trendiest glasses,
The ******* boring ones,
And I spent everyday wearing them,
And gradually,
I lost that feeling of uniqueness.
That feeling,
That set me apart from everyone else,
Had completely vanished.
I felt painfully uneasy,
And for some reason,
I didn’t have the same high regard for these new glasses,
As I did for my pink Gandhi glasses.
I felt like I was invisible,
Everywhere I went.
Bit by bit,
I began to blend into a group,
A group of people that all looked the same.
I didn’t feel like I was my own person anymore,
And most of all,
I felt empty,
All the time.
36 · Jul 12
Fool’s Gold
The people who we thought were our blood,
And our supposed treasures,
Never to be abandoned,
Turn out to be nothing but iron pyrite,
Foolishly mistaken for gold.
It’s funny how these assigned individuals,
Who we’re tied together to so tightly by a single string,
Are meant to be family.
Hiding behind masks,
And fake personas.
The label given to people who shouldn’t mean anything to me.
But the mistake starts with mine,
I still don’t know how I was so blind.
Why were my expectations for you,
Above the clouds?
Why were they so high?
And how could I be so naive?
I sacrificed everything,
Just for you,
Because that label,
Deluded me.
I came to your home,
With a massive heart,
Jammed with all the love I’d packed,
To gift you.
You let me into your home,
And you snatched the love I garnered for you.
You waited for just the right moment,
To vanish.
Scampering to someone else’s home,
And losing all my love,
On the way there.
And when you arrived there,
You snickered,
And ridiculed me,
Leaving me empty,
And alone,
Inside of your bare home.
Why does it seem like nobody truly appreciates us?
And why does family always turn against us?
Why do you laugh at us,
For weeping,
And displaying all of our suppressed rage,
When you were the oppressor,
Our silencer,
All along?
Instead of acknowledging our outrage,
Why do you wait for us to leave,
Once we lose the courage to keep fighting,
Only to pretend to go to sleep,
And instead,
Lock yourself,
As well as everyone else,
All my cousins,
In one room together,
Pretending to sleep,
When you’re really chattering,
And snickering,
About us,
And all our hurt?
All night,
You were gossiping about us,
When we were crying ourselves to sleep in the other room.
How could you wake up that morning,
And talk to us again,
As if we were made of stone?
How can you think that your deep seated hatred could easily be disguised as family love?
Why are you talking s*,
About the expression of the unheard?
We are the unheard,
And you are our silencer.
You can’t fling us into a bottomless pit,
Then question why we’re continually sobbing,
Once we’ve desolately climbed out of the infinite trench.
For 3 and a half years,
I was walking with my eyes shut,
But now I can see again,
This cruel world,
And I can finally see what you’ve hid this whole time,
Your true character.
You made me believe that we could rely on you,
And that you’d never go against us,
But now I know,
That not all blood relations are sincere.
The truth will only come out,
Once you stop walking blindly,
And finally open your eyes,
To see the world once again,
The unfiltered world,
You were afraid to see.
At first I thought these relations,
We’re tied solely by a string of love,
But now I know these relations,
Are tied only by bitterness,
And alienation.
It’s only for the enhancement of our own lives,
That we cut the string that held us together,
Because if you can’t acknowledge the hurt,
And suppressed emotions we’ve carried all these years,
And in turn talk against us,
In the depths of the darkness,
“I hate you”,
Will put you in your place.
You threw us into an unending pit,
But we are strong fighters,
To be able to reach the light at the end,
And now we’ll put you in your place,
And throw you right into that very pit,
To where we’d felt helplessly alone,
So you can experience our pain.
Mama always told me,
God never lets go of the people that cause you extreme ache.
So take it as a sign from God,
When you’re falling into that pit,
And you regret everything you ever did.
35 · Jul 14
Striding In Solitary
Striding in solitary,
Underneath the Lions Gate Bridge,
And along the coast of the Pacific Ocean.
Back in the summer of 2016,
On a summery blue-sky August day,
Whilst silently admiring the picturesque ocean,
And the lovable sea otters,
Inducing fulfilling ripples in the water below me,
I have an urge to escape.
Halfway around Stanley Park,
I pass a thousand trees,
And couples jogging,
All whilst following,
The demons ahead of me.
I gaze at the sun,
Reflecting onto the murky green-blue sea.
I glance at the playground,
Clogged with dozens of high-spirited howling children,
Scampering through the sprinklers at the water park.
How I wish I could be those little children,
Flying freely into the water,
Their faces soaked,
And drenched,
With nothing but pure bliss.
Oh how I wish I could be a fascinating sea otter,
Adorable enough to capture the attention of everyone near the shore,
All whilst holding hands,
In a sense of sincere unity.
Even in the water,
They never let go,
Of family.
Oh how I wish I wasn’t walking in solitary.
But I wasn’t alone.
3 cousins,
Hundreds of miles in front of me,
Leaving me to walk all alone,
Behind them.
Why do you invite me,
Just to neglect my presence?
You didn’t turn around to say a single word to me.
Would’ve saved me that day.
That day I deserved to be happy,
To celebrate BC,
Our province,
Without any mental pressure,
But on that day,
I was sobbing relentlessly behind you,
While you 3 were barking of laughter ahead of me.
I could cry for eternity,
But I don’t sell my tears to earn sympathy,
To those who don’t even notice my frown.
You show no remorse,
And no acknowledgement of my discomfort.
Am I not human to you?
You didn’t even turn around to look at me.
The starry-eyed and irritably naive,
Pre-teen 12 year old girl,
With that optimistic outlook on life,
Why on earth did I think I was worthy of never ending happiness?
You crumpled my dreams,
And all of my unrealistic fantasies,
Of an ideal August day.
With your back faced at me,
You didn’t bother to turn around,
And see the tears on my face.
Nobody even spoke to me on that day,
I’m not worthy of happiness.
I was the only one that day,
Wearing a modest hijab,
And a long kameez.
On that day I wore a silky white butterfly hijab.
That hijab,
I’ll never touch again,
Tucked away in my dressing table drawer forever,
For the fear of reminding me,
Of striding in solitary.
Despite the exclusion,
You kept glaring at my kameez,
With crude eyes.
I couldn’t control the horrid feeling of alienation,
I needed to flee,
I needed an escape from it all,
So I run to the washroom.
The washroom,
My saviour,
Where I’ll cry,
All alone,
And wipe away my tears.
I’ll walk out of that washroom,
And pretend like nothing happened.
I’ll disguise my tears,
But I’ll never let you see the expression of ache on my face,
For walking miles ahead of me,
While I was alone,
I’m just a waste of space.
Whether I’m walking alone near the coast of the Pacific,
Or I’m sitting on a sofa companionless,
At a wedding in silence,
With nothing but a cushion in my hand for comfort,
No hand to hold,
Like the otter.
Staring at the ground,
Containing the waterfall behind my eyes,
While my cousins in the kitchen are cackling.
I’m just a useless waste of space,
Wherever I go.
Striding in solitary,
With tears running down my face.
I’ve always been told to walk in uninvited,
Tell my story,
And don’t wait for an open door.
I find that very hard to believe.
I’m fine being by myself,
Alone in a crowd,
And quiet amongst the clique.
Maybe to you I’m a loner,
But I’m a loner who’s happiness doesn’t depend on others.
I’ve tried to walk in uninvited,
And tell my story,
But only then did I decide I was better off waiting for an invitation.
I’m better off alone in the crowd,
But if I am,
It’s like I’m a beat-up book on a bookshelf,
Amongst pristine, mended books with their glossy bindings.
I’ll stand out,
But be broken.
I’ll wait for years,
But never be chosen.
Even though I have a story to tell,
I’ll always be abandoned and alone,
Because no matter how many times you’ve been told otherwise,
They always judge a book by its cover.
35 · Jul 23
This is a song I wrote about the corona virus and my personal experience with the 2020 quarantine so far from the viewpoint of a teenager. I wrote this song in 1 day and I’m very passionate to say that this is my very first song I’ve ever written. It was so much fun to write, I just love that I’ve picked up this new skill considering how much I already cherish it. I sampled this song off of the Disney Pixar song “Lava”. I hope you enjoy and I hope this motivates you to keep going, even during these strange times.

“Quarantine” By Farzeen Rashid


I haven’t seen my friends in so long,
It’s been 4 months, thought I’d write this song,
To remind you to be strong,
When you’re home all day long.

On Friday the 13th of March,
Was the day that we diverged.
We had our last normal day,
Before a virus was on its way.

I still remember staring at my phone,
With wide eyes and a woeful groan,
I’d never felt so alone.
One million corona cases,
2020 is all but aces.

Online school was pretty lonely,
I didn’t ever feel quite *****.
But all the Microsoft Team calls,
Reminded me of the school halls.
I’d always get so overjoyed,
Though I’d be dimly paranoid.
If I turn on my mic by chance,
That would be an awkward circumstance.
Did I perhaps forget to mention,
I couldn’t ever pay attention,
During all my online tests,
Even though I tried my best.

Either way I’m happy we survived,
Even when the ****** hornets arrived.
I’ll wear my mask when I go out,
And sanitizer with no doubt.

This year has shown us reality,
Of unjust police brutality.
I’m genuinely hurt and torn,
I will stand and I will mourn,
For the murderer of George Floyd,
Racism never had a past void.
Black lives matter and should be free,
Why don’t you see?
Open your eyes humanity.
I dream a place of equality,
With a stable economy.
I frankly can’t wait to grow up,
Once we’re no longer locked up.
To make this world a better place,
We’ll unite as the human race.

I can’t wait to tell my kids,
I survived a pandemic.
They’ll ask for stories and I’ll say,
Something stupidly cliche.

For now let’s take time to reflect,
About everything we used to neglect,
Like socializing without caution,
And not scrubbing every so often.

I’ve learned a hatful of new skills,
More than I thought I ever will.
From sketching to poetry,
Crochet and embroidery.
Theres so much you can do with this time,
It doesn’t even cost a dime.
Practice all your old hobbies,
Maybe write a fun story?

I thought I’d never say this but,
I miss high school quite a lot.
I can’t wait to go back and see,
All my friends,
And be carefree.
34 · May 14
Take Me Back
Do you remember, the stars, the moon and the dazzling night sky?
And the joy of our childhood, can you hear it?
All of our giggles and the overbearing question “why?”
Can you take me back? To when my heart hadn’t split.

Can you take me back to the twisty slides that gave us electric shocks?
How about the grassy soccer fields where we’d attempt cartwheels?
Maybe hogging the swings at recess and lunch from the primary flocks,
And of course the boy next to me in scimatics, the first crush feels.

Not long ago, weren’t we flying high?
When we were tumbling, wailing, and souring on the monkey bars,
Instead of staring at the night sky,
Wondering what it’s like to be amongst thousands of stars.

Weren’t we alright? Fine?
Back when we were nine?

Why did I change?
Isn’t it strange?

Where did it go? When my burden was playing the recorder in grade four,
And cleaning my metal mouth, brimming of brackets, wires and braces.
Take me back to kindergarten when a pink eyepatch was my internal war.
Oh those weekly visits to the dentist in Delta of all places!

Remember the excitement of the orange flavoured freezies on sports day?
What about the tech kid who’d set up the projector for the substitute?
When reading out loud from a textbook was the most stressful part of the day,
And the Terry Fox runs in the autumn rain, dancing in my pink rain boot.

All the stupid memories of dodgeball, somehow I can only remember getting hit in the head.
All the petty Madrasa drama with the fam jam, cradle toxicity granting fear.
The erratic looking erasers we’d buy from the scholastic book fairs and the books we never read,
And grade 7 graduation was supposed to be the most magical time of the year.

How can I forget my first deodorant? Foolishly using it as a designer attar.
My first broken bone, oh the pain! That soccer ball sure knew my weakness well!
All the car rides to our cousin’s house watching the moon, thinking it was following our car,
And all the school nights, crying myself to sleep thinking my life was Hell.

Still the days were sweet, a haul of silly bands and rainbow loom,
A hundred and four days of summer vacation to look forward to,
The joy of hearing the ice cream van music from the playroom,
Being able to sleep when the lights went off, oh childhood, thank you.

The days were so awfully easy, recess was a tedious game of Manhunt and the deafening laughter from Red Rover.
Recess on rainy days was the awaiting of getting picked for Heads Down Thumbs Up, why haven’t I been picked? This is so lame!
Yes recess was our saviour, an escape from an awkward classroom crying scene and the getaway to friendship poker.
Now my days are an everlasting duel of boiling self doubt except my self doubt wins each and every game.  

Summer isn’t the same without a typical Vancouver riot for the Stanley Cup, curse Boston the traitor!
Or an afternoon road trip to Whistler in the sun by the lustrous sea.
“I can see all of the Lower Mainland!” we holler with relish at the top of our lungs on the Hellivator.
And the PNE popcorn, the overbearing desire to be free.

If only the distance between us was restored,
And we could click a restart button, this year gone from history’s record.
Long Krispey Kreme drive-tru lines and a toilet paper hoard.
All at the cost of a worldwide pandemic, oh dear lord!
If only it would bring back our summer, so very unexplored.

Being a child was so easy, the Saturday afternoon cartoon marathons made us laugh for hours on end, no responsibilities.
Baba’s pocket money was plenty to buy me my first iPad on News Year’s Eve,
The feeling of dread practicing for a second grade spelling test with Mama, making me question the school’s educational abilities.
And my first chapter book, enabling me to a world of the make believe.

We were blooming like sunflowers, a glorious life of exploration ahead of us.
The bittersweet yet sappy puppy love sensations of an aloof crush, only we didn’t even talk.
And the first time sitting on the benches in assemblies, no more numbing on our butts.
The jubilation on my first day of high school, oh boy, soon you’d discover the beauty of punk-rock.

An ocean of new emotions,
Don’t bottle them up.
A rainbow of discoveries,
Sometimes you won’t find what your looking for at the end of it.
And a pure heart, untouched by the miseries of reality,
A child at heart.

It was the school trip days we’d snort, howl, and roar in the school bus, even after the driver told us to shut up.
The drizzly mornings we’d gloomily wait in line under a massive umbrella for the bell to ring with soggy textbooks.
We’d play Capture The Flag with our neighbouring class, yelling “we won!” in the faces of rivals as the sky cleared up.
And no matter what they’d say, I’d always try to jump inside of my Dora The Explorer jungle fantasy story books.

Innocence is a tribute of the past,
Only children possess.
As we grow old,
We lose that purity because we believe we’ve found something greater.
But how much greater is it?
With the innocence of a child,
And the maturity of a teenager,
A child remains joyful,
And a teenager becomes miserable.

Take me back,
To the stars,
The moon,
And the dazzling night sky.

We’ve been told,
From the old,
This pain isn’t pain.
We have not survived world wars like you,
But we’re battling internal wars.
We may have not permanently broken our skull from the battles or had scars from the ridges,
But we are broken on the inside and our scars are planted on our wrists.
Invisible bleeding happening all the time,
The only difference is they were intentional.
So who do you think is more strong and broken?

Take me back.
34 · Apr 14
The Power Of Words
Jittery palms,
And her trembling cry.
Dynamite bombs,
Buried in her mind.

Her name is called amongst dozens,
A face of panic and blazing flares,
Heads spiral the classroom buzzing,
A still nightmare of alien stares.

A room of baffled strangers,
Oblivious of her brilliant whizz.
Of judgmental teenagers,
She overlooks who she is.

Secretly an unknown prodigy.
Her dreams, only a mirage under the desert sky.
Words strike grimmer than poison ivy.
Her insecurities shatter her spirit, bull’s eye!

Her limbs mutate to noodles,
Her arms, spaghetti, as she fumbles with her script.
Standing in front of oodles,
She wishes she was dead, entomb her in her crypt!

She contains despair,
The butterflies in her gut with their foul disease.
They smothered her flare,
Yet she could make a wildfire from a pure breeze.

She begins a delicate mutter,
They instruct her, “speak loudly!”
She trembles and begins to stutter,
And tears her script so proudly.

Her words, released,
Like a beautiful carol.
Her tongue, unleashed,
Spread strings of words so rural.

A melodious harmony,
Of magnificently tied words.
A sacred message certainly,
Spoken from a humanly bird.

She retreats to reality,
Her words have been a discovery, witnessed.
Once brainless faces of thirty,
Are now a serene painting of interest.

She silently parades back to her seat,
Long ago, alien eyeballs.
Now praise from the bookworm to the athlete,
And strayed eyes in the school halls.

Her life, regifted,
She was of songbirds.
Destiny, shifted,
The power of words.
34 · Sep 27
Summer Nights
It's currently nightfall.
The sky is like a pitch black movie screen,
With a sprinkle of stars scattered across the gorgeous night sky.
The sounds of trucks and cars gliding along the concrete roads are perceptible,
Despite being hidden by the fence that separates my backyard and the open world,
Sleeping soundly on the opposite side.
It smells of greenery's raw essence,
The shrubs and mint plants snoring,
Dreaming of unexpected summer rain showers.
There are pauses in between the car’s clamour,
Where the world is completely silent,
And I feel nothing but my breath to accompany me amongst a peacefully sleeping Earth.
The air begins to feel chilly,
And my cheeks lose their warmth with my palm against them.
The streetlights flicker and blink their tiresome eyes as a plane with red and yellow lights hovers over the night sky.
I stare at it in awe,
Almost like a UFO was spotted,
Loaded with foreign aliens,
Visiting Earth for the first time.
Suddenly the stars begin to fade,
The shimmer above blends with the dim black sky,
Then like a distant nightmare,
The sky erupts of tears.
I feel the tickle of a midnight down pour soaking my face.
As I hurriedly dash towards my porch door,
I stop to admire the dazzling scene of a summer night.
33 · Jul 18
The Faucet
The faucet.
You sink your hand under it,
Awaiting its soothing sprinkle of the sea,
To wash away the dirt from your palms,
To purify yourself,
From the filth that lies in your hands.

After engaging in hundreds of sins,
And wrapping yourself in dirt,
And worldly evil,
You’re no longer polished and clean.
You quest after repentance,
From the Lord,
The well-wisher of His mercy.
You lower yourself,
To foresee,
The syrupy showers from the Lord,
The Almighty,
You ask for forgiveness.
You beg to be cleansed from all the grimy sins you’re plastered in,
And every time you descend yourself,
You’re always given that water from the Lord,
To become pristine.

But you never stop coming back to that faucet,
Because every time you’ve cleansed yourself,
With all the water,
And all the repentance,
You always scamper back,
Because you never seem to stop befouling your hands,
Or staying away from evil.
33 · Apr 6
Cybernated Demons
November first,
Twenty thirteen.
She made a choice,
Established upon her Deen

Her felicity blossomed in and out,
Yet apprehensive jitters induced a doubt.

Afflicted of their repellent gaze,
Daunted of their erratic appraise.
Within a clutched mentality,
She anxiously cackles at her rationality.

They claim she is oppressed,
In truth she is expressed.
Her hijab makes her strong,
She knows she is not wrong.

Undeterred by salt water emotions,
She conceals a somber explosion.
Visibly a simper,
Camouflaged a whimper.

Her decision was heavy,
Though she knew she was ready.

Risking entirety,
For singularity.
Veiling her glamor,
To please her Master.
She was still beautiful,
Yet society was questionable.

She is unique.
They are deceit.

Society damaged her.

She is broken,
Accused of religion.
Dimly soft spoken,
Due to her religion.

Cybernated demons torment her,
Trapped in a kingdom of torture.
He was the ultimate silencer,
Her detrimental enforcer.

She sat there sobbing companionless.
A territory brimming with masses,
Attentive of the digital clashes.

She was a smouldering fire,
Deserted in a hellfire.

Still they snickered at his immaturity,
The ignorant class clown’s insecurities.
No indication of guilt,
For the monster he had built.
The egotistical wannabe,
The striver for popularity.

She was mismatched.
Her paradise sealed and snatched.
They ridiculed her devilishly,
So she reformed her identity.

But from the depths of her facade,
She knew.

You can’t erase the colour of your skin,
To please society.

You can’t discard your heritage,
To please society.

You can’t dismiss your identity,
To please society

You can’t torment someone for something they can’t control.

Perfection is an illusion,
Of the eternally damaged.
A diseased scheme,
To condition beautiful creatures,
To conform to fabricated ideals.

To smother a candle’s flame,
You dim the entire room.

To scratch off someone’s surface layer gleam.
You create a deep rooted scar.
That blackens their glistening heart.

A story about a bully,
Written by a victim.
32 · Sep 3
Colony Of Ants
You’re like a colony of ants,
You disperse all over the levelled grey tiles,
And dumbly pry about in meadows of green grass.
You cluster around my feet once I’ve paced onto the chilly surface of the tiles,
And tickle me annoyingly when I’m barefoot on the turf grass.
At first you don’t look as though you would bite,
Like other creepy-crawly bugs.
You appear itty-bitty,
And undisputedly friendly.
So innocent enough to trust,
Comfortably rest on the ground,
And contentedly loosen up.
But then came your colony,
A swarm of ants each with their own secret weapon.
You bothered me with your insulting remarks,
Bruising my heart with every strike from your spiteful tongue.
Using me for your individual gain,
And shoving me away once you were done for the day.
Your jealousy had turned me into your war zone,
Where you’d fire bullets recklessly.
You came as a disguised friend,
And bit by bit,
You unveiled to me everything that sailed under false colours.
The colony of ants,
They came.
Crawling onto me irritably,
I’m wailing helplessly,
Unable to achieve victory,
Because whenever I push you away,
Stomp on the flock of ants,
They never die,
And you never leave me alone.
Now I’m shrieking,
For all of eternity,
Because I have ants,
Trapped in my pants.
31 · Jun 29
Tears Connect Mankind
You can be a murderer,
Even without plundering someone’s heartbeat,
Scaring the ghost out of their body,
And hearing silence from their heart.
You can **** someone,
And they will be dead,
Even as they stride,
Blissfully on Earth.
You don’t have to ******* their pulse,
For them to die.
You have murdered dozens,
Without snatching their breath away,
Or a lavish funeral,
And that makes you murderer.
Your eyes,
The gate to your soul,
And your twisted heart,
Stone rock,
Chained and tethered,
They are just too ignorant,
To see the people you’ve hurt,
Are slowly,
Painfully dying.
You carry a gun,
And you shoot with your tongue.
Your gun fires a type of poison,
A cancerous poison,
Spreading to the head and heart,
Of every victim.
Maybe it’s your eyes,
They must be blind,
Because every time you shoot,
You don’t see the shooting star,
In the night sky.
Their soul,
And flown to heaven,
By a shooting star.
Yet they still reside,
Walking on Earth,
With both their feet,
They stand soulless.
In their eyes,
The treasure behind their gates,
Is gone.
They are bear,
And empty,
Its true.
They’re dead from your shot,
But they can still smile at you.
Because survivors don’t lie on the ground,
Their bodies,
They live,
They don’t die.
But their souls,
They do.
No matter how vile,
Or maliciously evil one may be,
Everyone cries.
The number of people you’ve killed could double,
And the guns,
They are present in everyone,
But tears,
And sorrow,
They connect us,
The string of mankind.
Why does the survivor smile at you?
Because you are more than their murderer,
You are a human,
And all humans cry.
Your tears are made from regret and remorse,
The sorrow and suffering will never escape you.
If only you hadn’t turned away from the wounded survivor,
And maybe realized they were in pain,
You could have acknowledged the torment,
Because every human has a sad story,
Even you.
Your tears could release your pain,
And all your wounds,
And the hurricane of regret.
Why do you not want to free yourself,
From the burden in your heart,
From all the people you’ve hurt?
Murders cry,
And when they do,
They will be freed,
From all the torture,
They’ve given themselves,
All the years,
They were lost.
You could escape from all the labels,
And the madness could finally end.
You will remain a murderer,
Until you recognize what you’ve done,
A bandaid could never heal the wounds,
Than what your tears can do.
It’s your release.
Once you realize you’re a human,
And not a rock,
You’ll bleed with all the survivors.
Cry murderer,
31 · Jun 11
Second Best
I want to be the legendary first,
To be number one, clearly not reversed.
To pursue my dreams and rise above the rest,
As soon as I get the chance to do my best.

All my life I have been neglected and damaged in a manic,
I would gaze upon the upper-class, yearning for their dynamic.
It wasn’t their enormous house or their social skills that I wanted,
It was the love they got, even after breaking hearts they were granted.

I want to elevate my status and show them my value,
So they can look up to me instead, if only this was true.
Underneath ten thousand layers of optimism, these fantasies won’t become my reality,
Because when two people of different statuses share the same dream, only one scores victory.

When a person of importance does anything of value,
They overshadow the unlucky and everything they do.
We are all human and we should all be equal,
But society treats us as less than people.

Why are we told to stand out from the crowd?
When standing out will only bring me down?
When the privileged class achieves success, they’ll stand out, and everyone will be in awe,
But when the underprivileged achieves success, they’ll stand out, but only be seen as odd.

I can’t be the first to win, that’s life’s unfair competition.
I have dreams but I’m not the only one with the ambition.
I always know there is someone up there, higher up in the sky, they’ll cloud my rainbow,
I might as well never reach the top of the social ladder, but I will learn to grow.

Even if I don’t gain the love I want to haul,
I have big dreams and I will accomplish them all.
A beautiful black bear,
Its fur, as dim as nightfall,
And its face like the midnight moon,
A shaft of light and never ending hope.
It wanders amongst a forest,
Ringed by greenery of the landscape.
The birds overhead chant an alluring melody,
As the bear merrily strides by,
Beneath their wings of hopeful life.
The evergreen saplings giggle,
As the bear of pitch darkness enters a deluge,
An enchanting stream of eternity.
With its fangs as sharp as the glow from the miday sun,
It garners a salmon,
Splashed with a hue of flushed raspberries.
After devouring a salmon from the nearby glistening stream,
It gobbles on hundreds of ripe berries,
Whilst grinning at the beaming sun, Soaking in its rays of gorgeous light.
It smiles at the scene of Mother Nature,
Like a treasurable painting displayed in a museum,
Stripes of hope by paintbrush bristles.
Sensing a gust of wind create ripples in the water,
With trees dancing and butterflies pirouetting,
The beautiful black bear feels content,
To be within a scene of nature.
Thank you mother Nature.
31 · Jul 21
A wonderfully bright hijabi,
Who wore clothes alike to a saree.
Daily injustices,
For holy practices,
Made her lose her true identity.
A good friend is not someone who makes doubtful mistakes that you need to forgive again and again.

A grassland skunk is lonely, so he goes out looking for a friend.

A good friend is not someone you need to impress and regularly receive a ten out of ten.

“Wanna be my buddy?” is returned with scurrying fear on end.

A good friend is not someone who asks for things and expects gifts every now and then.

“Get rid of that grim stench first!” said the earthworm in its soiled den.

A good friend is someone who loves you for your prominent flaws.

“I won’t eat you or attack with my spray, I don’t mean to offend.”

A good friend is someone who stays by your side when hardship draws.

The skunk just wanted friends, he retreats home for a lonely weekend.

A good friend won’t let you go, no separation and no pause.

He flings to his den, but he’s stopped by something, ready to contend.  

A good friend is someone who’s seen the worst but stays just because.

A lonely wolf. “I’m not gonna eat you, I just need a good friend.”

A good friend is someone who’ll share a smile out of pure love.

Anger, fear, and a stench so strong, he sprays the wolf, the story ends.

I love you isn’t true,
Where I hate you is due.
I guess you can’t change the role the system assigned you.
30 · Jul 18
Beautifully Ugly
The mirror will shimmer,
When it sees your rapturous face and it’s graceful glimmer,
But the hearts of many will shatter.
Oh the impeccable humans,
They will shiver,
With full body quivers,
When they recognize everything you do,
And say,
To hurt someone.
Beautifully ugly.
A mirror reflects what you look like on the outside,
And your actions,
They reflect what you look like,
And who you truly are,
On the inside.
Do your eyes ever settle,
On something so still,
So intangible,
That your heart of a boulder shatters to grains of sand,
And that mind of a battlefield suddenly transforms to an empty ocean?

An ocean of nothing,
Nothing but a dot.
That dot is an island,
A burning island of flames.
You’re furious,
But you can’t combat a puny flame when your eyes force you to look,
To see what a filthy society can do to someone so colourful,
Turn them to black and white,
They bleed ink.

Why is it that I can’t see the world the same way anymore?
After what the world did to you,
Your colours faded.
I can’t see the colours of the rainbow anymore.

The walls,
They have ears,
And curtained windows,
They have eyes.
Maybe your life was written short,
Nobody lives after the word death is written in their fate.

This life we scorn,
Is a blessing we fail to cherish.
I get to stay here,
It’s my home,
But someone else left,
To find a better a home,
Because it wasn’t safe for them.
Now they’re in a better place,
A better place they can call home.

Every second,
I’m given life,
And every second,
Is a new future to celebrate.

Out temporal world is a clock,
That beating rhythm in your heart is time ticking.
Tick tock,
Moments fade away.
One day the world will stop,
The hands of the beholder will strike,
Your heart’s beat will thunder until,
Your life has ended,
And suddenly it’s time to go.

But sometimes you’re the beholder.
You’ll cut the strings yourself,
The strings attached to the eyewitness’s hands.
You’re a puppet,
Played by an ultimate force,
The master of your destiny.
It is He who decides when the strings should be cut,
When the puppet should be let go of,
Out of the puppeteer’s control.
But you cut the strings yourself,
And you fell,
Like a dead puppet,
To the floor,
A figure so calm.

They wandered the earth leaving invisible footprints.
They were a speck on earth,
But their battles,
They were fierce.
Notably vast for the earth to grapple.

You see,
Life on earth is unfair.
The earth can only juggle a few plenty of people at a time.
You might’ve been unlucky.
The earth couldn’t juggle you,
And eventually this cruel planet let you go.

They too juggled their struggles,
Like bulky stones.
They held them in the air for as long as they could,
But eventually they just couldn’t hold on anymore,
And let go,
Everything crashed.

I’ll graze upon their names,
On grave stones.
And wonder what gave them the strength,
What despicable force,
Resulted in the last breath?
That last breath.

Is it regret,
Or relief,
In that moment between life and death?
Tell me please,
Because when I see your dead body,
I freeze.

You’re someone different,
Someone I never knew.
Your colours are no longer distinguishable,
Why didn’t you tell me, anyone?
Your ache now clouds the rainbow of your shortened life.
Your colours perished and a marshland overtook you.
You’re black and white in my skies of blue,
You’re no longer a rainbow.
I can’t see the colours of the rainbow anymore.
When will society cheer the gracious spirit,
Over a conventionally charming mask?
When will we stop adoring what we find at the top,
And start loving what’s underneath the twinkle?
When will we fly with blazing wings away from the fire they caused,
Instead of burning,
And crumbling into ashes?
Living amongst society is like balancing on an ant hill of ice,
Ringed by sharks in frozen water.
There’s an ocean of life beneath you,
Heartless predators and weak prey,
Entitled bullies and lonesome victims,
A bitter society and the clash against festive freaks.
Society will tape your mouth for speaking,
Spit at you for existing,
And fire rocks at you for being original.
Society will wander away from your wounds while they’re crisp,
But come right back during the healing,
And grant you what you needed all along,
A hug.
A bare,
Icy hug.
They’ll tell you to love your bruises,
And embrace your wounds.
So you take the advise,
Of a hypocritical society,
And celebrate your freakish side.
But did no one tell you,
That society is deceitful?
Society will return with more stones to weaken you,
More tape to silence you,
And more spit to frighten you.
The formula for perfection is complex,
Even the perfect are injured by society!
If I have to be deceitful to myself,
To please a senseless society,
I’d rather be hurt for eternity.
I’m strong for being bold,
And I won’t be weakened to conform.
Because you need to fall into the water,
Amongst the sharks,
In order to gain your balance.
There are people I should forget,
But no matter how hard I try,
I just can’t.
How can I throw a pebble out the window so easily,
When all this time I thought it was a precious jewel?
I thought of you as someone that belonged to me,
And me only.
Someone so very special,
You were like a rare gem,
Spotted once every century.
I thought you were a dazzling cure,
To complete the whole in my heart.
Your sparkling outer layer was deceiving,
But underneath,
But you were just a rock,
Nothing special at all.
But I still wanted you more than anything!
Did you know,
I prayed for you?
You were part of my prayers,
But was I in yours too?
Can love really exist,
When the only thing I ever said to you,
Was sorry?
And can love really exist,
When your only gesture,
Was for me to leave the room?
Was it worth the effort?
The frankly innocent,
Silent lingering.
The gazing from afar,
And the shy, red faced blushing.
You were the sun,
Beautiful and bright,
So bright,
It was impossible for me to be near you.
So instead of reaching for the sky,
I didn’t jump.
I stayed on my feet,
On the ground,
I distanced myself from you,
And adored you from afar.
You were perfect,
Too perfect.
Your class was what I lacked,
That’s why it was impossible for me to reach you,
But for her,
Anything was possible.
Behind my optimistic filter,
I knew nothing would get my flimsy wings to work,
Because some people are just born with fruitful wings to fly them to the sun,
Not me.
Despite it all I held that one wish high above all disbelief,
I wished you’d feel the way I did for you,
But I was nothing to you,
And you were everything to me,
A tragic love story, agree?
It didn’t end in love,
It ended in a war within.
Do you really hate me?
I thought you were perfect for me,
So elegant,
And so wise.
But I was missing something.
I didn’t belong in the sky,
Like you.
I was meant to be on ground,
And you were meant to be in the sky.
So why chase for something,
When you know it’s inconceivable?
I thought you were meant for me.
You weren’t a gem,
You were a rock,
But also the sun,
And I’ll never touch your beaming rays.
All this time I thought I was perfect for you,
But now I know,
Im not perfect for you,
She is.
29 · May 23
Half Brother
You were ripped apart,
From my mothers heart.

Torn away forever,
Forced from all the pressure.

You meant the entire world to her,
The tables turn, now you’re just a stranger.

Your real mother is forgotten,
You don’t even know that you’re adopted.

20 years of lies, they pretend you’re their real son,
Even though you’re my mom’s son, her forever loved one.

You never returned, it’s been 20 years,
And you still haven’t found out it appears.

That you’re not just an only child, rather,
You have 2 sisters and a witty brother.

My mother loves you, her heart beats twice for you,
You’re blinded from her love, if only you knew.

You’ll never ever read this poem, I know,
But I’ll meet you at the end of the rainbow.

When our universe ends,
And another life begins.

One day is for certain, we will meet in heaven,
When you enter the gates to a place so pleasant.

And you’ll be called in by your mother’s name,
My mother’s name.

That day you’ll know what’s true,
And how much I love you.

Our words cannot express,
What our emotions can address.

All the love I have for you is beautiful.
Still, I’ll persist to love you as usual,

Fear my family and keep the damaging truth a secret from you.
For now you’re just a cousin I only see at wedding barbecues.

Only for a lifetime.
I love you half brother,

I really do.
28 · Aug 22
Within the bounds of our friendship,
I always hear sirens going off in the distance.

On sunset strolls in my compact backyard,
I’m gazing at the tinted sky,
Painted by God with a golden flat paintbrush,
Heavenly skies of a fused crimson and Indian yellow.
The cars beyond my fence bolt in all possible roadways,
I can sense the urban vivacity on the other end of this barrier.
Teenagers wandering along the pavement,
Rattling on about something stupidly silly,
And giggling noisily on the sidewalk,
As cars honk on the busy streets.
The Tim Hortans parking lot is partly empty in the evening,
People exit with hot chocolates and black coffees gripped in their palms.
The August sunshine begins to set in the west,
Behind the steady green traffic lights,
Staining the sky with beautiful blazing flames.
The streetlights flicker as the evening shifts to nightfall,
On my end of the fence I’m touched by rural life.
I’m tranquilly soaking my plants,
Feeding them with a daily dose of garden hose water.
The tree I planted when I was eight,
And my mint shrubs sleeping in the corner.
The ants dance in circles on the grey tiles,
And a dog barks in a distance three townhouses away.
The sky is moonlit,
Sprinkled with thousands of stars.
But on this beautifully serene night,
I can hear a harsh ringing.
It’s getting louder and louder,
I’m making an effort to take no notice of it and admire the nighttime beauty,
But the noise smogs my mind.
Louder and louder,
Like a newborn baby wailing,
A foreign ringing from the distance,
It’s getting closer.
The closer it’s getting the more overwhelmed I feel,
I just can’t take it anymore,
I think I’m dying!
Call an ambulance,
Or 9-1-1!


Through the complexities of our bond,
All I could hear,
Were sirens in a distance.
They were oceans away,
And very faint,
Yet I looked the other way,
And covered my ears.
I let this toxic relationship ruin me.
It got louder,
But I kept choosing you over the constant warnings,
And all the ringing alarm bells for help.
You had already destroyed me,
And that’s when I could hear the sirens the most,
When they were so utterly close to me.
But it was too late,
And long over-due.
The sirens grew faint,
And suddenly,
I was helplessly stuck,
In a toxic friendship.
28 · Jun 27
The hellfire within controls me,
The streams of lava rippling alongside my organs and bones,
They boil and bubble viciously,
And they erupt.
My DNA holds a dash of helpless magic,
A mutation in its sequence,
Coding for lava,
Instead of blood.
Blood and lava are interchangeable,
The angel and devil twins,
No one would be able to tell mine is lava.
Your words,
They are the catalyst that kindles the flames,
And begins the manufacturing,
Of a volcano in Hell,
Of fiery anger.
I can’t control it,
I can’t stop the erupting,
Of this volcano.
These sizzling tears of lava,
Escape from my eyes.
I can’t control it,
I can’t contain it,
The anger that explodes from within me.
How do I make it stop?
The lava,
Dripping from my eyes,
Burning my skin.
The lava,
That comes out of my mouth,
In the form of expression.
All the foul words that I’ve exploded,
I didn’t mean to say.
I’m screaming,
Bawling tears of lava.
The lava of rage,
I’m melting within it.
I am a volcano.
28 · Sep 1
Departing From Home
Pacing onto crisp pavement,
After years of childhood bliss.
One step towards my destiny,
Nudging the past to the rear end of my mind.
Sixteen years of breathing,
At last I’m venturing away,
Away from home.
Trickling into the streets of this suburb,
Like water through the gaps in rifts.
Gazing at the lines of houses,
Resting like brick statues before the very eyes of a sunset like fire.
Observing a hound bark at me from the drug addict’s wrecked home,
And men smoking cigarettes,
Just another evening in the suburbs.
Ambling away from the clusters of several children,
Giggling on tricycles with a trail of bubbles following,
And playing with their toy water guns.
I’m departing from the glee,
Because I’m off to grow up,
Fleeing from my early days,
And pacing on the unswerving sidewalk,
To a grinning future.
Marching by the alleys I used to scamper through as a child,
And all the houses I’ve witnessed been constructed from scratch.
I’m eager to leave it all behind,
And race towards my world ahead.
The mourning crows cry as they devour waste from the garbage cans,
The looming cars move steadily into driveways,
Unravelling with families gone to grocery stores.
The sky is brimming with thousands of erupting fireworks,
Of flames and amber explosions.
The crows are chanting a deafening song,
Perched on blinking streetlights.
Reflecting on those past memories,
When they were just my present.
Flopped in a booster seat in the back of my mother’s car,
On my way to elementary school,
The ABC’s embedded in my head,
Back in 2010.
Smiling at that house at the end of the side street,
The one that’s been under construction since 2004.
Oh all the demolished bungalows,
The middle class families and their fixation with building mansions!
Why would they destroy these lovely homes,
Furnished with years and years of a million happy memories,
Just to settle in a vacant house with nothing,
Nothing but work to do,
To make the home a memory aisle.
There’s no point in caring,
Because I’m leaving it all behind.
Wandering on these suburban sidewalks,
I’m walking on a route of golden opportunity,
To an exceptional future.
Trekking away from the immature world of blowing bubbles and untold bicycle bliss,
To a new realm of discovery ahead.
One that entails a ladder to success,
And walking sidewalks to grasp independence.
I can’t wait to go there,
I can’t wait to grow up.
Meet my destination,
And make a new home there.
But what if I turn back,
What if I change my mind,
And walk back to my childhood and my home?
What if I toss my future out the car window,
And sprint back to my home,
Of laughing children playing soccer on pavement road?
What if I quit this journey,
And miss the chances I never took?
The infinite odds keep me striding forward on my feet,
What will my future hold?
I can see a beam of light ahead,
A glow of freedom.
It inhabits in faraway places,
And I can’t grip it if I abandon this journey and walk home.
Still I fear the obstacles along the way,
I dread failing after struggling so hard,
Is it really worth forgoing this adventure now?
I have to walk,
But back at home all I did was play.
All this work,
Is it worth it?
I miss all the beautiful ordinary things,
The tears that caress these cheeks are filled with grief,
I’m losing everything I once held so spiritedly,
My grip is loosening,
Why have I chosen to let go,
Of my childhood?
The thought of this loss is what’s holding me back from wandering alongside this unexplored road,
It utters to me,
Forcing me to turn back,
And walk home.
I’m unaware of where to go,
My feet have stopped,
And I’m inert and tense.
The flames are now peaceful,
And a black screen gently shades the sky.
It’s getting dim,
Yet constellations haven’t been noticed,
Still the streetlights illuminate the roadway.
Do I walk to my future,
Like balancing on a threadlike rod in the sky,
Or walk back home,
Live merrily once again?
I lay my back on the cold concrete road,
The path of survival,
Where cars come and go.
Resting my head to watch the starless sky,
I don’t care about where I’m going.
I’m left bare minded,
Surrounded by two worlds divided.
Soundlessly laying on the road of survival,
An endless route of dreading destiny’s hurdles,
Deciding to remain a child forever.
I know it’s beyond the bounds of possibility,
To not grow,
So I’m choosing to linger for an obstacle,
And let it crush me softly.
When will a car come and glide,
Over my glum doleful face,
Impairing it in seconds?
When will it come,
So I don’t have to breathe for the coming times,
And the memories that **** me for embarking on this journey,
When will it come so they perish too?
The rain has arrived,
Drizzling from the pitch blackness above.
Now heavily it falls from hellish thunderclouds,
My head rests in a murky pool of storm water.
It’s done,
The journey is done.
All the faith I stored to reach the dazzle of my destiny,
Melted by this torrent,
And my irrational wits,
Shoving me into a thick marsh of beaming memories from the past.
The future,
It’s gone.
28 · Jul 30
Inner Essence
The grinning blossoms,
Dance to the bird’s rich jingle,
Perched on evergreens.
The soil fastens their souls,
And frees the nature within.
28 · Jun 30
Liberating Veil
I’m tired of repetitively silencing myself,
When I need to speak up,
About the reality of the veil I wear,
That cloth on my head.

Don’t call me a s* head.
Because it’s not just a pointless scarf on my head,
It’s my protection,
Against a cruel society,
And I am constantly fighting.

I know that for years,
The media has biased millions,
Into thinking that my hijab,
Is some kind of oppressive tool.
For once can we stand up,
And scream our truth,
So the world can be uncovered,
To a finer reality,
Where I can live freely,
Without being told,
I’m tormented,
And oppressed?

It’s the damaged society that is oppressive.
In a world where people,
Men and women,
Establish insecurities,
In the youthful age,
Of adolescence.
In a world where body image,
Generates eating disorders,
And results in intentional starvation.
In a world where people are judged,
By their trivial outer beauty,
Rather than their brilliant intellect,
And alluring character.
In a world where people drive crazily,
To conform to beauty standards,
And billions of dollars,
On cosmetic surgery.

If you think the hijab causes oppression,
Then you are turning a blind eye to the world we live in.
Our world,
This insanely wacky place,
A systemic oppression against women.
Why are we normalizing,
Women’s bodies being sexualized and objectified?
We are more than just mere objects for God’s sake!
Why do we fail to see beneath the surface?

The hijab is liberating,
It’s a form of empowerment,
That you need to understand.
I am fighting a methodical brutality,
Against women.
I am fighting to be seen as more than just an object,
But as a human being,
With significance,
More than what you can see.
I am making a statement,
That I am a women,
Who does not actively seek,
Or need,
The admiration from men,
For my body.
I choose not to be sexualized.
When I’m in public,
My sexuality is in my control.
You have to deal,
With what’s in my brain,
My intellect,
And my character.
I choose for people to judge me based on who I really am,
Not my physical appearance,
Or my body.

You cannot deny,
That we as individuals,
Are treated differently by society,
Based on how we look.
I am fighting against that,
And that is what makes my hijab so liberating.

Why aren’t we talking about the real oppressive situation of women?
Why aren’t we talking about the pressure,
To get plastic surgery,
And to mould into a beauty standard?
Why aren’t we talking about unhealthy diet culture,
Contributing to the rise of eating disorders?
Why aren’t we talking about the fear,
Of not having a perfectly ideal body?
Why aren’t we talking about what really matters,
The real oppressive situation of women?
Why are we transforming ourselves,
To please a devious society?

Hijab is liberating,
And empowering,
Because I choose to go against a deceitful society,
And because I am more than my looks.
That is why I wear it.
28 · Jul 31
What will I feel when I let you go?
Will it be cloudless relief or regret,
When the vibrant paint melts from the rainbow?
Our meshed hands will disengage and yet,
I don’t know if I will ever forget,
Your version of love, tied to utter greed.
You gave me more than I could ever need,
But is heartfelt love immaterial?
I could bear this love and cry till I bleed,
Or flee and be my life’s imperial.
I am beautiful
Is the greatest lie
I am ugly
Are the words that sputter out of my mouth whenever I look in the mirror
I’m enough
For nobody
I won’t conform to standards
I need to in order to be happy
I love myself only because
I’m wearing blankets of makeup
I’ll wash my cloak off and celebrate my flaws when
I’m perfect and have no insecurities to hide
I am myself because
I am happy being a replica
I’m not myself when
I’m alone amongst the crowd
I embrace my freakish side when
Nobody is around and
I don’t listen
When they say I’m ugly
I mould into their words instead
I listen to the people who love me and
I’m allegedly ugly
So no one can tell me that
I am beautiful

(Now read it bottom to top)
We’re farther away than ever before,
Our hearts were attached, now split form the core.

A virus hugged you tighter than I ever did,
Why didn’t I say bye before we were forbid?  

Strangely I thought I would never say,
I miss the good ol’ school hallways.

Homeschooling, online assignments, and open book tests,
Burden, muddled sleep schedule, a quarantine mess!

The four walls of our house is our barricade,
From the outside world we left behind so afraid.

Sometimes I begin to stop and wonder, will I ever be able to see you again?
It’s unpredictable, the roaring 20s and their ceaseless games every now and then.

Each month seems to unfold a new bewildered mystery,
But when will this year bring happy news to please history?

Two months gone, oh what joy! It’s been as long as summer break!
At least we got early mornings with honey glazed pancakes.

Underneath a layer of mixed resentment and bliss,
I’m scared, confused, and tense about life and all of this.

I wake up to risen death rates, the hospitalized, and the terminally ill.
First Australia was on fire, World War 3, its only going downhill.  

What about the awards ceremony and my driver’s license? Long overdue.
Will I still be able to take science AP classes or will that be withdrew?

It’s surely not fair for all the graduating classes of 2020.
Imagine waiting twelve years for a diploma and leaving without any.

So I might have once said 2019 was terrible,
But I’m sorry! Take me back! At least it was bearable!

Though these may be very bizarre times indeed,
Try to distract yourself, grab a book and read!  

We are getting there, oh yeah you heard me, we are certainly getting there!
We can get through this, just have faith and agony will diminish, I swear!

Just keep chanting “we’re all in this together!” or something,
Zac Efron assuredly didn’t sing that for nothing!

Though our fingers might not interlock,
Our hearts are tied with a single knot.

I can still see you,
When you’re not around.

I can still feel you,
When miles apart.

A virus might put distance
But never in the heart.
I’m right here,
Next to you,
The first chapter of our adventure,
The first day of high school.
I was the soft-spoken,
Awkwardly secluded girl.
You were the rationally nerdy,
Tech sci-fi kind of guy.
Sitting next to you in scimatics,
Wondering when the butterflies would die away,
And longing for you to talk to me.

I mark time,
Just for you.
Craving your return,
To abandon the broken ship you frantically entered.
You thought it would sail,
And soar with the ocean’s tides,
But I saw,
From the twinkle of the sun above you,
With your feet planted somewhere you don’t belong.
I know,
That with your feet on that boat,
Amongst a boundless sea,
Your ship isn’t going anywhere.
You don’t deserve that haven,
That land of the foolish minded.
You’re wise but you’re pretending to be foolish,
For the sake of a fruitless fruit,
Wherever that ship is sailing!
You don’t know that you’re becoming a laughable flop.
You’re worth more,
Than them,
Why are you boarding their ship,
Just to crash and give up your whole life?  

So I’ll wait,
For your ship to crash.
When you’re ready,
I’ll be right here.
You’re the only guy I know,
Who kept a pure heart,
Of goodwill,
And kindness.
I never minded,
Our names being mixed up,
By all of our teachers,
Or the teasing from your friends.
The unease kept me silent,
But inside,
I was squealing of merry bliss.
I always tried to gaze upon you,
One last time.
Find out where you were going to be,
Just to look at you,
And adore you from afar.
Our names were always paired,
They were matching.
You’re always going to be,
Right next to me in the yearbook.
I know,
I can sense it in my bones,
We are soul mates.
You are always going to be,
Right next to me,
More than just classmates,
Or silly yearbook and attendance buddies,
If only this wasn’t just a stupid fantasy,
And more like maybe,
If only.

You were changing,
Reshaping your character,
And mirroring their hoodlum style,
While I was loving.
You were moulding,
Into the popular crowd.
Your drive for attention,
And acceptance is alarmingly fatal,
You can’t just jump aboard on their ship of decay!
If only you knew,
I’m watching you,
With eagle eyes,
From the corner,
You’re making a mistake.
That ship will never sail,
Somehow you’re getting it to work,
But I’m praying you’ll learn to swim back to shore,
Once it drowns.
Because I need you,
I want you.

Once you realize,
They were no good for you at all,
And that they were nothing,
But a loss of time,
I’ll be here waiting,
For you to swim back to shore.
That’s the day you’ll know,
You once chased for popularity,
A new name and fresh identity,
But then will come the dragon,
Showing you that not all seemingly good is gold.
His fire will scare you,
Burn down their ship that you were in,
And you will learn to swim,
In the same water your ship was sinking.
That’s why I’ll be here waiting,
For your time to come.
I’ll always be here,
For you.
26 · Jun 25
My Heart’s Vomit
I ***** out my heart,
From my frail mouth,
Because that’s what happens,
When you’re regularly suppressing,
The anxiety you battle alone.
All of your insecurities become habitual,
And your bucket of dreams will be dumped amongst your ocean,
Of failed wishes.
But sometimes I have to choke on my heart,
And push it back down,
To the upper left of my chest,
When I’m uneasy to talk about my emotions.
They’re more than just oceans,
Of salty water.
They’re the puke,
From my heart.
Filled with thousands and thousands,
Of rejected feelings.
26 · Jun 22
Why Did You Stay?
I’ve broken a friend’s heart before.
I tore it,
Delicately frail like notebook paper,
And crinkled it into a ball,
Then shredded it into a million broken pieces.
Suppose I was wearing a shield over my eyes,
I was blinded by the damage I caused.
As the regret clouded my foolish mind,
I thought I could never mend you.
I was pointless,
So I pushed you out of my world,
And I walked out of yours.
My words bruised you,
They made you weak.
I threw you to the ground,
But the stain of shame I wore made it painful to lend you my hand.
I didn’t know how to fix the shredded paper.
You were abandoned on the ground,
Battling the ache alone,
With misplaced pieces of your heart in front of you.
You could have hated me,
I would have let you,
But you got up from the ground,
Without a hand to assist you.
You found the broken pieces,
And collected them.
You mended them together,
With the glue of your beautiful spirit.
You battled a war I started,
You could have hated me,
I would have let you,
But you showed me that what I did,
Didn’t change how you felt about me.
It didn’t brake the string that connected us,
It restored it.
You pulled me back into your life,
And chose me to stand with you.
The stains of regret still exist on me,
I’ll never be able to stand dignified next you,
I’ll stand with my head lowered,
Behind you.
Your heart became like sandpaper,
And coated with layers of armour.
I weakened you with every stab,
But the sword and the blood didn’t change your smile,
Or your beautiful laugh,
It didn’t make you run away.
You chose to stay,
Even after I broke you.
I’m crying out for help and no one seems to notice,
Nothing but my flaws and erratic mistakes.
When he is in chaos and a single tear drop caresses his cheek,
They all seem to scamper after him.
But when I display the lion’s share of tears,
They tell me to shed more,
And that my tears mean nothing to them.
They tell me my work isn’t applauded,
And whatever I do, nothing will change.
They tell me I don’t matter,
That they couldn’t feel gratified about me
I’m not doing drugs, partying, or smoking.
A millions times less problematic,
And still not enough?
I can’t stand the fact that my life orbits around a planet of satisfying my family and cultural conducts.
I can’t stand having to lie to my friends about about going to a birthday party because I wasn’t given approval.
I’m a daughter but not my own person.
How can I resist comparing my family to other families when I feel all alone?
I can’t see anyone in my life going through what I go through so I resist telling anyone how I feel.
They mistaken my tortured tears for sickening snot.
They offer him a glass of water but for me not even a tissue.
Why did you move to Canada if you don’t know what it will be like for your children to grow up here?
First generation Canadians are two clashing children on a teeter-totter,
Attempting to live up to both worlds.
Why is nobody talking about this?
For God’s sake,
Break the stigma!
Oh break it apart,
Let your voice echo!
For the dying girl,
Save the dying girl!
Why does it seem like I’m all alone?
Your tears don’t concern me anymore, because when I was shrieking for your tender loving care and comfort to talk about my mental state,
You ignored it.
Mistaken for the melodramatic and furious girl.
You deserve the treatment you gave me.
The melodramatic and furious boy.
Im ostensibly merry,
But beneath the disguise,
I am divided and bare.
Craving the sweet relief of death,
Because nothing I do seems to fill the hungry belly of an overbearing culture.
I laugh to distract myself from the tornado inside.
They’re my family.
You mock my misery,
Ridicule the bottled emotions I may have unwittingly spilt,
Degrade my emotions in front of the people I conceal hatred for.
A daughter of secrecy and bandaged ache, you question why?
Take a glimpse inside the domestic life.
Squabbling, sobbing, silence, smiles, repeat.
A place of stigmatizing mental illness,
The children, baffled of how to open up about feelings because if we did,
All we’d get is a slap on the face.
When I was bullied,
I longed for help.
But all I got from you was “tell the teacher.”
But father!
What you don’t understand is,
These 21st century kids,
They don’t give a f!
Bullying is worse than ever before,
And you wouldn’t know because you never experienced it,
Nor know it exists.
I can’t just tell the teacher,
Because these teachers you ask?
They don’t give a f
They tell you “bullying kills” but won’t send assistance to the hushed suicidal kid in class.
They’ll ship you to the counsellor so they can purge their burden,
But won’t stop the kids who are causing you strain.
Mom and Dad,
What you don’t understands is that,
They persist to praise the popular kid who bullied you,
Even after you discharge of emotion.
Nothing changes.
I learned the hard way that they don’t ever learn their lesson.
Only you do,
That you should never address bullying to a teacher, because like I said,
They don’t give a f*!
High school here is different from an all girls school in Pakistan, Mom.
Boys are jerks and dreadfully heartless.
This loathsome school is not what it was like 35 years ago, why?
Because it didn’t exist,
And time alters everything.
I can’t leave you because I need you.
Every time you hug me I cry from the pit of my heart,
I can’t help but feel condemned of my feelings.
I love you,
But I just can’t explain to you,
How I really feel.
I open up.
And you tell me I’m an ******* and you can’t feel sorry for me.
You tell me I don’t have social anxiety and neglect my symptoms,
You tell me I’m just stupid.
You tell me you hate me.
I cry out an eternal river of tears and with tears I am writing this,
Here in the open,
Where the commonly sharp can’t see.
Nobody cares,
Not even my once faithful companion that I called my brother.
I loved you before and thought of you as my one best friend that I could pour my heart out to.
Now that we’re not kids and third grade homework isn’t the heaviest stress load we have,
Why have you abandoned me?
But I have to say that I hate you because now I bottle my emotions up.
I can’t tell you anything without you telling me I’m stupid,
Judging me,
Telling me my feelings aren’t valid.
What happened to my once faithful companion?
I’m an *** if I don’t open up and I’m an *** if I share my feelings.
I’m not selfish, believe me!
I’m misunderstood and was made to feel alienated since third grade,
But you don’t understand that because you’re a boy,
And boys are invariably praised here.
Girls have a million expectations they’re required to meet,
Yet they’re still condemned and considered a burden,
And boys do nothing but sit on the couch all day watching YouTube and are praised and adored endlessly?
Every family member I once loved ended up becoming deadly fumes to me.
My cousin, once a girl of magic.
The girl I would go to with all my dilemma that would vanish temporarily with her presence is now someone I get distressed around.
My brother, I thought the funniest boy in the world,
Who I could easily laugh with,
My pill for joy,
Is now someone I avoid conversing with because our mentality and outlook contradict one another,
He who would listen to anyone and believe their credibility,
But would be ****** if I insert my sentiments.
I have a never ending sympathy in my heart for my parents because they’re both weeping for help on the inside,
Attempting to escape from their dreadful past.
I’m a daughter and forced to take sides,
But I belong to both.
You’ve left me confused and afraid,
I can’t seem to bring myself to choose because deep down,
I love both.
I can’t help but cry when you tell me one is better than the other,
Why one is lying,
And why I am just a replica of the terrible one.
I can’t help but die on the inside,
I lose a part of myself when family is brought up in a conversation.
I once loved my family,
But now I don’t know.
I’m confused.
We are so unlike other families and I’m tired of comparing us to the impeccable families out there.
When they say family is forever,
Should I believe them or should I continue with my doubt.
Because I’m aware,
The blood is forever,
But the bond is fragile and can easily break,
And it’s breaking.
I can’t stop thinking,
Of everything.
This despair,
It’s chasing me.
And this heartache,
It’s swallowing me,
Leaving me somber,
With a heavy heart.
My head is clouded,
By the memories.
I’m being walked down an aisle,
Of all the blissful thoughts,
They are causing me painful agony.

I’m being compelled to flee,
The dazzling place I love,
The land I’ve lived,
All these years,
13 long years.

We have to abandon,
The place where we’d take seasonal pictures,
Under the cherry blossom trees in spring,
And amongst the sheer-white landscape in the winter.
How can I wave good bye,
To all the good times,
And all the bad times,
Night and day,
And those embarrassing complex barbecues?
How can I?
To the summers we’d play soccer and badminton,
Under the brightly blue sunlit skies,
Of July.

How can I watch my home,
Transform into a skytrain station?
Hundreds of little humans,
Insignificant little things,
Boarding trains,
On the same grounds we used to play.
They won’t ever see the history,
Of the land they’ll be standing on,
Hidden beneath the station,
Long vanished,
It’s the place I grew up.
I’m sitting in my playroom,
One day I won’t have a playroom,
Because my playroom will soon be a sky train station.
You can take away my house,
But never my home.
This is my home,
You can make us go away,
But you can’t ever ****** the memories,
Or the love it’s ingrained in my heart.

Though it is a townhouse,
A modestly small,
Superficial townhouse.
I grew up being nothing but the shy townhouse kid,
Teased for living in a small house,
Teased for playing in a small backyard,
Teased for not having what other kids had,
My whole life.
My house became my insecurity,
And family,
I didn’t want them to come over,
For the fear of me being tediously ridiculed.
I didn’t want another reason,
To hate myself.

Time taught me lessons,
I was taught acceptance.
I didn’t live in a mansion,
So what?
Just as I began to accept living in a small house,
My small,
Insignificant townhouse,
And begin to establish a fondness,
And beautiful love,
For my home,
We’re being forced to flee.

I once said,
I’d trade my house for anything bigger.
I learned,
That bigger isn’t always better.
No other place we’d move,
No other home we’d settle into,
Will feel like home.
Nothing will ever remind me of the wonderfully picturesque sunset,
Except for the one I can see,
From my bedroom window,
Along with all the thunderclouds and rainbows.
The house,
I once hated,
But now love.

Home sweet home.
25 · Aug 2
Only One Day On Earth
Baby’s cry,
A long day on Earth ahead.
The Earth was here first,
We’re all just its petite pocket sized ornaments.
Together we mould the Earth into a stone,
More beautiful.
People interlacing,
On a floating boulder of whimsical green and blue,
Seeking to discover our purpose.
We all get so wrapped up,
On terrestrial matters.
We do,
And do,
And do,
But never stop,
To cherish the air we inhale fortunately,
To be present on the grounds of the living,
To walk the Earth,
The gift of life.
It’s just one day,
One life,
To celebrate what we have,
Before a messenger of God descends from the kingdom of Heaven,
To usher us somewhere into the clouds.
A relief from all that is impure.
Earth provided,
And we took all for granted.
When we steer towards our graves to sleep,
After a long day on Earth,
We won’t wake up on these turfs again.
We only take with us our sins and good deeds,
Our materialistic affairs,
And all the money we possessed,
Gets left behind.
25 · Aug 4
Blueberry Farm
The blinding sun,
Far off,
Beyond the skyline.
I wish I could be in the vicinity of the horizon,
But it always runs away.
The sun is tumbling,
Inch by inch,
As it glints on the blueberry meadows.
We gaze in awe at the rows and rows of mansions,
The mystical castles,
So oversized and spacious.
We look closely at the frosty vanilla ice cream on the mountains afar.
The blueberries are plump,
Bundled jointly,
Desperately waiting to be plucked.
We collect masses in silence,
And watch the jet overhead dance in the sky,
For some reason I have a TikTok song trapped in my head.
We fill shopping bags of blueberries until our arms are worn out and weak,
Tense the bag will tear,
Scattering thousands of blueberries onto the land.
The pickup truck nearby creates a whopping dust cloud,
Making us sneeze uncontrollably.
We clumsily stumble to our truck,
And bathe our blueberry stained hands with the water from our water bottle.
Oh how I dream I can always slip away,
From this mundane,
Urban life,
And live amongst a blueberry farm,
And watch the sun dip below the horizon everyday.
I wish we could launch all our cellphones into a nearby lake,
And inhale the air of mother nature,
And lead a life in the present instead of pondering in the past.
Departing from the countryside,
And revisiting our conventional suburban life.
Oh how I miss it,
The blueberry farm,  
And the quarantine August breeze.
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