i sigh and it sounds empty
like when you jump but there is no fall
when you scream at the top of your lungs but no sound comes out
i sigh and it sounds as hollow as my chest
the biggest cave lays here
it goes on for miles
out of the deepest of my soul
into this world
i sigh and it almost sounds as silent as the moment you decided to never wake up again
as silent as the second after you sighed your last sigh and the clock stopped ticking
as silent as we were because we were all holding our breaths,
hoping we could hear you shifting your eyelashes and lifting your eyelids
as silent as the moment when i knew she had gone but i still waited for months right next to a phone that never rung again.
i sigh and then it hits me
i sigh and i can hear decades, centuries,
milleniums of pain
i sigh and i hear the sigh of a thousand others that were here before me
lived through this
sold their soul to this feeling before me
i sigh for them
i sigh for what's lost
and for what's yet to come
i sigh,
i sigh a sigh so deeply it could be our anthem
as if i'm lifting an empty glass saying
cheers;
we are empty but we are still here
we might have lost some but we will never be defeaten.

we kiss,
and your mouth is an open wound
a parralel universe
you say it stings
it hurts
i taste like years of being alone
i taste like sadness,
the sweat of other men
i taste like your mother
when she was 17
you ask for more.

my father has claws
where his mouth should be
an empty dessert for his heart
his eyes, the dead sea
his hands, crushing everything (his daughters) to dust
when he talks, the whole world shrinks
when he walks by, he demands everything around him to stop,
and bow down for him.
the women in my culture kiss his knees
and toes,
they wash his hands
they wash his hands so proudly and they sing
as if allah would bless them for doing so.
they wash his hands
the same hands that were once wrapped tightly around my neck.
i look up, i thank god i am nothing
like them
i understand; it's in his blood,
it's in theirs
i understand as i pour out mine.
and with every drip of red
i'm drifting furter and further away from him, from them

farewell, north africa.

his body is like a book you know by hand, and you can keep reading it over and over again and never get tired or bored with it. every page is a small surprise, a victory; i look at him, and he's mine. i look at him and i deserve this. god, how i deserve this.

i held way more love than he could ever
accept
embrace
live with, eat with,
sleep with
i held way more oceans in my chest
than he could ever swim trough.
really, i think i did love him
but often forgot my love is poisonous,
like acid
slowly burning holes and scars on the bare skin, melting away everything beautiful to the root
if you are not strong enough
for a hurricane,
cemetery of old wounds,
bundle of fears,
woman,
like me.

i say forgive me,
for i am only loving the same way my mother does
her words cutting like knifes
her love intensily and always too deeply.

we lay in bed that night as i share my dreams with him,
i count 217 stars and 94 new beginnings
before i pour out my soul
he looks at me like he does not understand
he looks at me like i am not a person
he talks to me like he is a helpless
bird of prey
asks me if i can shrink myself to the height
of his knees
and the size of zero
he is a whirlwind of all things i love and hate
and love.

i ask him
my dear, did you forgot?
not nearly a week ago you tried to split my head in half because there was too much of me.
haven't i warned you for the craters, cannonballs, swallowed cities
buried inside of me?
for the splinters at the end of my fingertips when i come closer and touch you?
my words; little explosions
building a home in my sweet mouth,
a danger behind each teeth
blackness hiding underneath
each breast
the raging storm that goes under the name of my love

he shakes his head, tries to shut me up
asks me how long i will be
setting houses on fire with that mouth
later on even hows me his fists.
i tell him if he like his women mouthless
he should've sewed my face.

it's in the morning when he leaves.

on the fifth day i show off my body to other men, every part ever explored by his hand, every spot, every piece of skin he's ever touched, i give away
as if it does not belong to me anymore.
my lips are now just a lonely reminder of his mouth,
a memory of his taste
my fingertips a painful reminder of every corner of his face,
every story he has ever told.
i look down, my ******* look like fallen towers, my womb's a
lonely island
my thighs a half-way open door
my body a garage sale.
an older man with liquoir on his breath and anger in his eyes
touches my thigh,
i cry
i clench my jaw, i think of his mouth. i bite my lip
we ****
i taste iron, i taste blood
my teeth are sharp and remind me of the way it felt when he left.
i close my eyes, i keep him alive.
i almost feel him
"do you like this, baby?"
the man asks
do you? i ask him in my head
my heart hurts, it aches
i say yes.