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jay Dec 2019
his name is gabriel. he has the greenest eyes
i’ve ever seen, the softest hair i’ve ever touched,
and a voice that, in a world where we’re gods,
can awaken wilting flowers and move the skies.

and i’m always listening to gabriel’s voice;
at first, it’s back in our local highschool,
where miss razan silences us and asks us
to close our eyes so we can listen to gabriel’s soul.

time passes and we’re grown ups,
local boys turned men,
secret lovers hanging onto an edge.
and i still hear his soul.

in sunday mornings, before the choir arrives,
we meet at church, he sits on my piano,
sings about heaven and god, while i press the keys
and lean up to kiss his lips when a note goes wrong.

right next door is the nightclub we work in,
i pour drinks, and gabriel sings of worshipping
a better god. angry drunks call it blasphemy,
but i believe that he is just loving me.

i wake up to his green eyes, bed hair, his family,
prayers under his roof, love over the roof;
things are getting worse at my house,
and i hope my stay here is temporary.

and it is, because his mother kicks me out
the day we hear the news. gabriel isn’t alive;
angry that he sings of worshipping a different god,
they force him to meet their own god in the skies.

time passes and he doesn’t grow,
local boy forever young,
a widow without a proof of love,
but i still hear his soul.

i get lost in the streets of beirut,
finding myself seeking every corner
his laughter and words and lyrics once lived in,
but i never hear his voice again.

only his soul.

i don't know what happens to me
but i know that people sing his songs
and his soul lives on and on,
and they forget the real story —

leaving both of gabriel and me in a dusty alley
between the church and nightclub we fell in love in.)
jay Dec 2019
i’ll kiss you in a protest
and they’ll know:
kisses as sweet as ours
are worth fighting for.

(and they’ll forget
what their protests
were once against.)
jay Dec 2019
some days i leave my bed shaking in anger, for i haven’t slept a blink the night before. and how can i sleep, knowing that this world is burning and i, a ball of fire and wrath, can’t do anything but make it worse?

and gods know i want to make it worse. gods know i want to explode and watch as this world eats itself and burns out. gods know i want to end this world.

but then, when i’m done thinking about it and about what gods know, i find myself shaking harder: how will i destroy this world when my beloved is a part of it?

(what do i do?)
jay Nov 2019
put your finger on the trigger, aim, and let it rain.

cross your fingers and say you do it for the earth.

shoot until bullets turn into petals, and until the ground’s thirst is quenched. shoot until the metal burns hot, and your skin starts to melt. shoot until pain breaks every promise you’ve ever made.
jay Sep 2019
you told me i’m the ocean because i look calm and beautiful on the surface, when in reality all the danger lies in the depth, in the tides and the currents;

and you told me my danger is bred by anger, for there’s so much anger in me and it’s aimed at the shore; the world, and at my waves for being so reckless; at myself for being so powerless;

i kissed you on the mouth so i can swallow your words and drown them out; then i told you you’re the sky because you give me waves and blue;

i told you, with your winds, you give me motivation and reason, and with the rest of you, you give me the colour blue. they think i own it; they don’t know i took it from you;

and there’s also the moon, a big part of you, one i gravitate to. but you don’t know that yet; you think it’s always daytime; you think we’re always blue.
jay Aug 2019
you’re a siren and i’m a sailor. i’ve seen this before, and i know how it goes. yet, i still let you break my walls and lure me in with your sounds. i let you take me high — higher than i’ve ever been — and put me down on my knees as you please. you’re a siren and i’m a sailor, so i’ll beg and beg and beg, over and over again; use me while you can, you know i want you to. toy with the wind and drain the sea, before the game changes and becomes real, before my ship crashes and i’m too far gone to be the sailor you’ll miss.
jay Aug 2019
i’m trying to write a poem but —

the last words you said are the only ones that come to my head
it’s been months since i last wrote; i blame you but it’s my fault.
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