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Fatıma Nov 2019
The city is melting in the screams
In the dead of night,
From thick skins to thin skins, 
So accustomed to fearful, bloodied scenes 

As you walk through or past 
blinking in the putrid smokes rising up like an atom explosion  
compelling you to gouge your eyes out 
or rip the flesh off your bones 
You're knocked out in a floundering hill of carcass 

I was there 
I was scared 

Unidentifiable in the crowd adorned with courage
As my people should be 
They targeted me anyway
Emptying the barrel of a dozen revolvers
Hundreds of black-clad Darth Vaders 
besieged my space once taken to be safe 

Gone are those days entrusting 'law and order'
unmasking itself as a little less human 
cutting innocent lives shorter and shorter 
learning that it's after all a shape-shifting demon 

"When I grow up I want to serve in the plice
Fools, you see what they want you to see 
A provocation or condemnation 
And they give you a taste of merciless damnation 

My people play no part in the conflict 
And yet. The demons in blue and green 
orchestrate and construct minefields to **** 
And yet. We don't plan to forfeit 

I say 'We' on behalf of journalists 
I say 'people' on behalf of journalists 
also happen to be People with Emotions 
Finding middle ground when the earth under your feet 
crumbles. Living in Commotion

Power-hungry bodies are dark voids during a war 
because money buys protection 
because status breeds greed 
Empowered bodies are overcome during a war 
because all they feel is pain and fury 
of measures shaking them to the burning core 

They fired shots after shots 
manhandling our right to exist 
Our weapon of choice is the pen
we'll show them
tyranny is so close to its end
Fatıma Aug 2016
every attempt i try to forget all that we created
together in memories infused with sugar and salt,
water and flames, love and enmity,
I fail.

I fail and fail until my world comes crashing down in fear of losing a jewel-
Encrusted with the gleam you inhale me with,
Reflecting on my sun-dazed skin
to cement our enmeshed bond.

A voice.
An image.
i’ve never met your gaze, your deep gaze
but I can.
Yet you disillusion me with your ignorance and

i ask, “are you deserving of my love?”
“No”, says my wits
“Always”, says my soul.
  Mar 2016 Fatıma
Mike Hauser
it is my
intention to
collect the world
old and new
and store it all
in my garage
all the ends
with all the odds
one piece
one treasure
at a time
until the world's
entirely mine
then i will sit
with all i've got
and enjoy the world
in my garage
Fatıma Mar 2016
I’ve been distant with myself
from what i want to do
places i want to go.

a flicker of flame burns in my flesh
calls out to the ***** moves i make in chess.
its not really me but the
devil wooing me to digress.
God is with me. I’m safe.
but these voiceless words devours my heart
unable to feel anything but below par

believe me, this is the longest war theres ever been
me versus me
not as loathing as the Russians and Americans
The sole vigor of wanting to win
comes from my faith in our Creator
till it plunges into the darkness once more.

never-ending, this **** in the mind
i won’t stop. i won’t stop before its defeated
the Duality of myself turning into a single voice

i won’t stop.
current disposition
Fatıma Jan 2016
My Monday morning blues receded early
I owe to your touch, a generous touch of
Your dainty words formed as a garden
Painted with care, with love, with you.

The pavements track your footsteps
Those same light strides, ever so careful not to trample on the delicate sprouting life
Growing from concrete. They remember you.

The recluse river we used to reach out to
when either of us needed to disappear
Far from the world of overwhelming events of hostility, hate and harassment.

To sit and mull over bandaids to these ailments you believed could recover. See,
my intent was to just listen.
Listen to your wise whims of hope of this
Plagued world you incessantly unearth.
Beautiful, I thought.
The look of benevolence on your hands as you spread to the vastness of the dimming sky.
The pitch of ambition in your voice as your lips curve and unfurl to the strength of the pacing tides.
The glistening light of beauty in your eyes as you passionately look into mine and see nothing, but admiration.

Now bringing back those golden moments isn't viable or a breeze. Time has torn a rift between the vivacious vitality of Us.
Closing my windows and stargazing your Touch can only relieve me of my painful sighs.
  Jan 2016 Fatıma
Everybody has their thing,
The thing that makes them unique,
That, even when stifled by the mundane
everyday routines of mediocre living,
Undaunted, unaffected, bravely remains.

At times, we forget our thing-
We are made to, or make ourselves believe
That some other things are our thing,
Like, you know, 9-5 jobs, paychecks,
Project submissions, career graphs,
Shallow relationships, fake smiles,
Fake compliments...

Yes, I agree, they sometimes force themselves onto us,
But what we need to know is, that they're not
what our lives should revolve around;
what we should dance around, is that quality,
that precious thing that is ours,
and solely ours to own,
And, though worldly lies and trivialities,
Come and go away, as they please,
Our thing, crystal and true, faithfully stays.

I lived that feeling of fulfillment today,
Letting it win the tussle with the to-study list,
Letting it down the vague guilt of procrastination,
Letting it break free of the web of this and that,
that life ties us into-
I embraced my thing, and let it run untamed,
And now I'll read it, edit it, love it- my poetry,
And ponder over its name.
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