I love this city
its chaos, its cracked lungs,
its bricks that remember more than people do.
Even the pollution feels like home.

But the man next to me wants to eat me alive
because he saw my hand.
Just a hand.
Nothing more.
Yet it’s enough to make him think he owns me.

Thousands of rapes
no one whispers.
But you always know the ******
long before you ever hear the victim speak.

They sell my Prophet’s name
in plastic wrappers,
swing it like a weapon.
The sermons shorter than your temper,
your cursing louder than your prayers.

You talk of God
as if He’s yours to guard.
But the God I know
forgives His children
a thousand times
before raising His voice.

And still, I love every corner of this city.
Even the dirt, even the blood,
even the silence.

Just not the breath of the man beside me,
breathing like he's God.