Hey, darling, did you see my heart fall out from my chest, walk backwards, trace that air kissed pathway and look for my heart dropped, lying like a trash, toffee wrapper in front of that rose hued walled café which serves the blueberry coffee with Irish cream that you love the way sea loves the shore, pick it up love, hold it in your hand, and walk backwards, you are one of those people who never leave a novel in the middle, please don’t throw me away, I am not stale yet ,but yes I am delicate like a flower, pour water and place me in vase, will you dear? I know you have had a chunk of it, its little filthy filled with bite marks, girls with dewy eyes and hair colored brighter than spring and darker than winter stole away my summer, but will you trace it and breathe your crimson colored fall leaves into it, they will burn brighter than the candles at Christmas.

Hey darling, walk backward to the starting point, when we met for the first time, at that Mexican restaurant downtown where you always drank Sangria with slice of mandarin orange on the side, I was the glass that you sipped through, did you notice I was scarred on the rim, your tongue slipped through, and deepened the cut down the surface, funny how I was never able to pierce your tongue and you trampled all over my heart like way rivers trample over the rocks in between the course of their flow, walk toward, to where you placed my heart in a vase, darling please wrap it up in bandages and kiss it ,I sleep wrapped up in your quilt for the last time in your queen size bed, please darling, fit my heart inside my body with half of yours attached to it like the planktons to the sea floor .

Hey darling, I have a heart big enough to forgive you, for I know you hold your breath inside your lungs for too long and never sing out the lyrics you write every night, darling, wake me up, trace the skin covering the rib cage, fold your hand into mine the way origamists turn sheets into work of art, and lets walk forward, walk forward giving into a start of a new season.

As a child I did not know whether it was the act itself or the knowledge that I was the receptacle for malevolence and cruelty that made me so vulnerable. At first I thought it was God's punishment for something I had done. I took an inventory, desperately seeking the deed that triggered the retribution. But I could not identify a single act. Even my accumulated errors, transgressions and unkindness’s did not exact the cost. Then I understood: if I could not isolate a deed, or pattern of deeds, commanding the punishment, it must be me. It is not what I did. It is who I was...a fundamentally, intrinsically and irredeemably bad little girl. I negotiated my adolescence and early adulthood with the mathematical symbol for "less than" (<) attached.

I would like to be able to write that I am no longer negotiating my adulthood with the same mathematical symbol attached. But that would be a lie. It is pervasive. It is formidable. And if I do not keep it contained, I am so afraid it will be debilitating….I've been down that road a time or two. At times it has enveloped me, penetrating my pores and drowning everything essential and vital inside.

Undisturbed, it is docile, sated. But aroused by even the slightest hint of beauty or strength or grace it is a painful reminder that I am...somehow...contemptible...that I am still fundamentally, intrinsically and incorrigibly...what? Flawed, imperfect & bad? You may say, "But we are all flawed and imperfect. And our flaws and imperfections make us more interesting...more truly beautiful...more human." And perhaps you are right, but this inexorable deprivation makes me somehow subhuman... less than human...permanently broken. I am a receptacle for malice.

I skillfully deflect praise directed my way, an effort to soothe the inescapable conflict inside. Moderate praise induces a subtle twinge of embarrassment; more effusive praise incites the consuming and agonizing feeling that I am irreparably damaged, hopelessly broken. It has contaminated, compromised and diminished every accomplishment, soiled every success. People sometimes tell me that I am humble and that it is an admirable trait. But the modesty and humility they identify helps me to mask the mortification stirring inside. I have gotten so good at hiding it from others that I have nearly learned to conceal it even from myself.

At least that is what it feels like...right now.

Writing poetry kills me inside now,
Because I used to write it for someone I loved.
Now that he hurt me,
I have to start loving myself again.

all angels
have demons
demons that breed
that feed
on angelic hues
every angle wing
feather by feather
plucked by demons
temptation is
unavoidable
the sultry taste of
evil
is tempting to all
seductive, even
and that is why
all angels
give way
to their
demons

sometimes my apathy falls
like a silk robe to the ground,
and once again I stand before you

naked.

ashamed of myself
I try to cover the monster that you ran from.

I walk on the sands of the hourglass
for our time has ended.

there is only one set of footsteps
because I needed you to carry me
but failed to realize that you were not strong enough.

I sit alone on the beach
unable to listen to Best Coast
because that would make me cry.

I hug myself
and feel very
very small.

the gentle waves of memories
lick at my feet:
your unimpressed face when I laugh at the way you mispronounce words,
or just your face
or just the way you could make me laugh
your disgust when I joke about your **** ***,
or just your ***
or just the way we could joke about that.

it almost makes me smile
but you are the only person alive who knows my tickle spot.

the way your fingers comb from the back of my neck
to my bangs like a fisherman's net,
a feeling the sea breeze wants me to forget
as it tousles my hair violently.

the shore has too much of your face.

I dive into the water to cleanse myself
of the haunting absence of your presence

but I am too small.

my thoughts and your words surround me,
and in my attempt for closure
I am nothing more than closed.

cleansing nothing at all,
I drown in this baptism
as the distorted and unfamiliar
waters of the past soak my lungs
emptying me of breaths of hope
filling me with waters of desperation.

I am sinking into the darkness of depression
my chest compressed like the lungs
of a deep sea diver with no chance of return.

She was a simple girl
Heart fragile and frail
Searching in the world
Happiness without fail

Determination in her soul
Her strength she had a few
Facing people who are cold
Colder than she ever knew

She kept going through life
Even if she was being judge
With words as sharp as a knife
She did not hold any grudge

Your eyes are the color of chocolate bars. I want to see if your lids really peel like candy wrappers, but you won't let me touch you. So I fidget with my hands and think that perhaps the smell of peppermint on your breath runs all the way down your throat and into the pit of your stomach. And if I reach the pit of your stomach, I'd probably find butterflies, but they're all dead. Your body is poisonous, after all. I'm very well aware of this fact. But if clenching my stomach in crippling pain is going to keep you flowing through my bloodstream like cheap ******, then I will drink you in twice as fast. You are a better way to die than anything I can think of off the top of my head. Undress, slowly, and in the fraction of a blind moment when you can't see me as you're taking off your shirt, imagine that I am already dead. And, when my dress pools around my feet like rainwater, take satisfaction in knowing my autopsy report will place my cause of death as your silhouette in this poorly lit room. Send me to the grave covered in love bites and lay me on the bed like you're trying to lay me inside a coffin. Bury me under your weight, our bodies resting in anything but peace.

If I had a million hearts,
they'd all be yours.

being in love with me
means you've agreed
that each and every of your remarks
will be portrayed in lines of my poems
exhaled as air of my every breath
to be let out as sighs and gasps.
the thought of you will run through
my tangling veins
engraved not in my skin but my bones
even when my body is crushed
you'll float as fairy dust.
your name
will be hummed in the melody
of my dearest lullaby
you'll be the reason i sleep;
you're the sweetest of dreams.

being in love with me
tells that you've agreeed
to be loved by this very being
that carries the definition of imperfections
till the day all seas have gone dry
till the hour all birds refused to fly
till Death greets us both
like old friends meeting at coffee shops

being in love with me
might not be one of the wonders
because i am a bird with a broken wing
a crashed airplane
a forgotten book
a rejected mixtape
an ignored museum
an unwanted company
to many
a nuisance

all that i can assure you is that
when

being in love with me*
the least i can do is
love you as a whole
in spite of your broken heart
your past
your flaws
your everything

      *- Qdri M (17/10/13 01.06AM) -