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habiba Mar 31
Turn your head,
Fist your hand,
Forget the bed,
Make a stand,

Tis your play,
Stop, you'll slay,
Resist the urge,
To break away

You have naught to lose,
You know you'll bruise,
I urge you still
To make a move,

Deep breaths,
Steady steps,
Jaw, set,
How you want to be met,

Grind your gears,
Prepare to steer,
You are far more,
Than all your fears,

You were born for this,
A sum of all that Is,
A tiny little spark,
That tears the world apart
habiba Mar 2019
The Wisdom of the slave Philosopher;
It's not that you don't want it,
It's that you don't need it.
You shall carry no burden.
Watch them fall.
habiba Feb 2019
I am that which must always overcome itself.
Every morning I will wake up and tear down what I've built.
habiba Feb 2019
I see it as from outside a window,
Myself walking fast, head bowed,
Life happening all around me without sound,
Distanced even then, not sure I know why
The paces of development grow hazy around that line.

My heart was soft,
My head curiously empty,
A balloon floating along,
Not certain where she might belong

It was the best of times,
I still go there in my head,

I don't remember the feel of the wind on my face,
But the feel of the wood I sat on in my classroom
The urgency every time the bell rang for lunch hour,
The acrid taste of isolation when I hadn't enough for the tack room

It was the best of times,
I still go there is my head,

My friend had a bag of coin in the desk nearby,
I saw her put it there and,
I took it, I don't know why,
They found me out, hung me dry,
From then on I tried not to pry,
Kids really know how to crucify.

It was the best of times,
I still go there in my head.

When my child's eye was pure,
Boys hard-wearing, still demure,
I used to think I would never be self-assured,
I'm still not,
Confrontation ties my insides in a knot,

But I live for those days,
When Saturday mornings meant cartoons,
Followed by hilariously misguided cooking attempts at noon,
That would get you later whooped past sense
All your friends watching from the fence.

It was the best of times,
I still go there in my head.
habiba Feb 2019
A bright dot within the grey background of low slung houses

She kicks up no gravel as she walks

The silence of a graveyard but with homes

White cars in front like grave stones

Thoughts are the wind on desert land,

Empty and idle versus gaunt and bare

Rubbing against each other; friction, no heat.

Outside this desolation footsteps echo,

Their rhythm reminding her of the ghetto,

The fear turns you watchful as the gecko,

Breath rushes out, see the little heart beat

Dust from the gravel clogs her nose.

She feels the shadow rushing,

It clamps from the back (there was no shushing),

Her hand in a grip nearly crushing,

Stale breath in her ear, a chokehold on her neck as they were struggling

A sting in her eyes she wasn't disposed to crying,

But as she felt the shadow grab hold she stopped pushing,

Knew he had won as sure as the gravel on which she was standing,

False entitlement we shall not allow,

So he took the bill upon which she'd been avowed,

Mother preferred she'd vanished along with that legal tender,

Yes, you can never trust these nine-year-old suspect spenders.
childhood memories, urbantheft, suburblife
habiba Sep 2018
Between the edges of my frame, all is bare for you to see,

The inside of me is forced to abide your scrutiny,

I cannot close my legs, I've lost control of this part of me,

There is judgement in your stare, but I am not outside looking in

It is a shame that you carry opinions when all I feel is one word,

And you all would know it but for the glass wall in front of me.

And the stone wall behind.

Listen to her voice, from the depths of her darkness,

Where all things will lie, in the everlasting fastness,

The intangible whirling that crosses her back,

The soft coolness that penetrates it and soon goes back,

On top of which all things come to her for their nap,

For when awake all they do is take from her womb,

It is their tomb, it will also be their doom.

Your blood flows warm inside you but you feel the ice under your skin,

You know the feel of her skin, thus recognition shouldn't perhaps wear thin,

Why do you assume intelligence, takes the form of the loud spoken?

We are not even remotely beholden.

You sound like a braying ***,

I really should not give you a pass

The human condition;

Let me give you my fear, this is how I care for you.

habiba Jul 2018
In a coming storm, there is little in the way of shelter,

In an angry sea, there is little to hold on to,

In the middle of an accident, nearly all will pelter

On a raging horse, do you know what to do?

The daunting expanse of unconquered land wants to make a fool out of you.

Do we then come together to see one another through?

Wrap me inside the carpet and roll me near the fire for I am cold,

The task requires that I shun warm comfort in favour of the cold unknown,

My bones rattle incessantly at the thought,

Whence hideth ye, my religious swathe?

It is a new cup that shakes in my hand in a froth

I am beset in my own skin, utterly fraught.

Laugh at the vicissitudes of life!

Muse at how the ingeniouses are rife

I know that you inveigh against it every once in a while,

With great gusto and all of it in a pile.

Woe betide she who looks at it with stars in her eyes

The floor is not solid and the walls are not thick, walk as if everyone lies.
optimism, life, stars, eyes
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