Oh no,
he did it again,
undressed another woman,
as she begged him no,
while her head spun to a different world,
she pushed him away,
her fingernails grasped at his skin,
she whispered,
“please…. stop,”
but he didn’t listen,
not a single soul would listen.

She’s all alone,
stripped of her dignity,
her spirit pushed down the drain,
as he entered inside her,
her heart beat faster,
but her body was numb,
she couldn’t feel her arms,
or her legs,
her fingers lost all touch,
and her voice screeched with pain,
she’d never cried so much yet felt so little,
as her body stopped,
and her soul tried to escape to a better place.

But truth is it doesn’t always happen in this way,
with a firm “No” and attempt to get away.

Sometimes he’s kind and sweet,
or powerful and famous,
he’s your teacher, mentor, or friend,
the love of your life,
or a one night stand,
and you uncomfortably say “No”,
“Maybe not now”,
“I don’t feel like it”,
“Maybe you should go”.

Yes,
sometimes we scream “Please No”,
but other times we drown under the waves in our ears telling us it will end soon,
or
we fall into the sound of our body begging for forgiveness for letting another human take a part of us away.

As he touches you,
and you pull away,
after the hundredth time you’re so weak,
so violated,
caving like a prisoner pushed to the edge,
laying numb and senselessly wishing for your last breath,
as your body is fumbled,
and your heart tumbles,
your honor and morality thrown to the floor,
stomped and spit on as your words become worthless to another person's soul.

Drugged or drunk,
sober or young,
you’re futile,
as your body becomes his,
and what once belonged to you is stripped,
and slathered in pain,
then thrown aside like a bad book and never looked at the same,
but his life doesn’t change,
and all the things you used to love become a reminder of what once was.

The feeling of his hands on your hips,
imprinted on your skin like a tattoo you can’t laser off,
a lifetime of what should’ve been,
but will never be.

“What can I become when his face is all I see when I think of;
love, lust, or even my own sanity?
Where does the healing begin when my body’s just become an empty limb?
What will my friends and family think?
What can I say when the world won’t even believe the rich who’ve paid the same price of insanity for the man who took their dignity?
It took him just a few minutes for me to feel this pain everyday,
So who’s going to believe me when I say by raping me he took my life away?”

50,
50 bodies,
50 dead bodies,
50 dead bodies lay still,
50 dead bodies lay still on Jumu’ah,
50 dead bodies lay still on Jumu’ah because who they pray to,
50 dead bodies lay still on Jumu’ah because who they pray to was not the same as the white man,
50 dead bodies lay still on Jumu’ah because who they pray to was not the same as the white man, but Allah has given them the highest place in Jannah.

Neither we or Allah will forget these 50 martyrs,
who's blood was shed by a white man with no love in his chest,
the white man who thought he could,
but will never win.

Inna lillahi wa inna ilaihi raji’un.

Like glass shards,
pieces of you have stayed within me,
stuck in the crevices of my skin,
stabbing pains all over my body,
a canvas of unknown scars,
you’ve stained me like a ***** sheet,
just a tragedy,
of course you had to leave me,
you got what you wanted,
but now you’ve left me with open wounds,
no thread and needle,
did you ever even want me to heal?

With each grain of rice I think of you,
when they told you they would no longer give you food,
“Get out”,
“Get out”,
but there’s nowhere to go.

You fled home to save your children.
You left everything behind because of hope,
and here the world has left you,
in torment,
and alone.

I don’t know if you pray, but I pray for you,
each and every one of you.

My blood has boiled to the brim of my skin,
burned my bones,
bled me dry,
now I can’t feel a thing,
but the weight of my shoulders drifting down on me.

You see,
anger runs through my veins like oxygen,
laces across my body,
tangles me within its grip,
I don’t dream because sadness runs my night routine,

Oh,
how dare this body let me sleep when there are human beings suffering?
I may wake up when the sun comes up,
while someone's child may never see daylight,
so who am I to sleep in peace,
when lives are taken away daily.

And who am I but a lost soul,
begging for a kinder world to wake up to.

A generation filled with hate,
fueled by our elders,
every decision lies in their hands.
The perpetrators of our demise,
is not ourselves.
It’s the world that’s been created for us,
what a surprise.

A generation filled with pain,
depressions an epidemic
that others don’t always understand.
A world created for competition not salvation,
or finding inner peace.

A generation filled with love,
society has taught us to suppress.
Who's the best? Who's the most powerful?
Redefining love to something people can barely express,
swimming in an ocean of fear;
fear of rejection,
fear of failure,
fear of ourselves.

A generation filled with so much,
That was always told:
"it’s not enough".

I didn’t even blink when everything around me started drowning,
maybe because I was already knee deep.

You can’t prevent the inevitable.
They say you can fight it,
but that’s a myth.

You’ll survive it,
but only once you’ve given up.

Haven’t you heard, “if the current takes you out to sea, don’t fight it, just let yourself be.”
Sometimes life’s that current,
and the only thing to do is let yourself be.

Stop punching walls that don’t exist.
Yelling at ghosts won’t change the past.
Hurting yourself won’t make anyone love you more than they do.

There’s only so much people can give,
and not every flower will be yours,
and not every heart will be yours.

Don’t break yourself down to make the pieces fit into someone else's puzzle.
I don’t need to remind you how long it takes to rebuild yourself
every time you breakdown.

We’re no ones sacrifice.
We’re no ones weapon.
We’re not here to drown in oceans of our own tears.

People are constantly changing,
hell, I’m changing,
and I can’t stand it,
the earth is moving,
stars are colliding,
love is found and love is lost,
some cry while others die,

and I'm losing everything,
my friends are in the mountains, while I'm drowning in the lake,
my families across the ocean, that I’ve been trying to overtake,
and I still don’t have a place to call my home,

I sip my tea, and smoke one,
I’ll call it a day since no one called,
I’m not the same, and that’s okay,
I'll grow into a better me,
step by step,
one day I’ll learn to just “be”.

I can’t handle confrontation.
I’d rather let anger seep through my veins,
till my blood boils to the rim of my skin,
and bursts from deep within.

I’d rather keep it all inside,
stitched through my body,
a story of the untold,
hidden behind crevices of my disheartened soul.

You see anger swims through my body like fish in the sea,
but why should I confront a feeling that’s a part of me?
why should I tell you; I’m upset, I’m angry?
don’t you see we all handle pain differently?

Your heart is shallow,
your ego an ocean of ignorance,
I could dig myself a cave in your smile,
and still drown in your selfishness,
be deserted by your shallowness.

Your heart is black,
your ego grim,
I tried to grow flowers in your soul,
but it was too dark for them to bloom,
I can’t believe you let our garden die,
right in front of my own eyes.

I’m scribbling through life,
sketching scenes in my own eyes,
floating through the streets trying to survive,
as the world just goes by,
the day to day seems to mesmerize,
in a place so full of light.

My minds living a lie in this city full of smiles,
facade of growing roses,
in a world of sleeping hope,
how do you ignore the painful screams knocking on your borders,
when mother-earth is begging for some order?

Walking down the street,
grabbing your coffee,
I wonder if your mind wanders the globe each day like mine,
wishing you could change people’s lives,
making it easier for the oppressed to survive.

And like the devil you appeared again,
scratching at my back;
till my aura turned into a bloodbath
of all the memories I had with you,
and my soul became a graveyard
of all the thoughts I’ve had of you.

I’ll grab the stars,
one by one,
tie them to your wrists,
each and every one of you,
so you never forget the light in your eyes,
and the sparkle when you smile;
reminding the world how beautiful it is to be alive.

I’ll grab the highest mountain peaks,
one by one,
tie them to your feet,
each and every one of you,
so you never forget how far you can reach,
and how far you’ve climbed;
reminding the world you have survived.

I’ll grab the strongest winds,
one by one,
tie them to your backs,
each and every one of you,
so you can soar above the sky,
and start a new life;
reminding the world you’re just an angel,
whose wings were cut before you could learn to fly.

We are raised to make life complicated,
form our lives into maises of accomplishments and disappointments,
labyrinths covered with hurdles,
constantly accompanied by stress,

but why did no one ever teach me gratitude,
for being able to feel the wind on my skin,
and sun on my back,
rushing sensations all over my body,
how beautiful air sounds blowing through the leaves,
entering my lungs,
oh how grateful I am to breathe,

rarely do we take a step back and see,
we’ve create our own destiny,
fueled our own misery,
taught our children how to learn and listen,
but not how to be thankful for living.

My mind is a graveyard,
of memories I’ve put to rest,
sometimes I’ll drop off flowers for the ones still banging at my chest,
but I’ve learned the more I visit them,
the more they hurt,
like ghosts they’ll haunt me,
till I dig them back up,
God, why do I love playing with zombies that never even loved me?
people who care for you don’t make you dig up graves,
just to bury themselves again,
but truth is,
zombies aren’t real,
and neither were your apologies,
because who apologizes by digging up dead memories,
instead of planting flowers on their graves.

My hearts been pounding to a beat I’ve never heard before,
maybe I’m finally learning how to accept myself.

Humanity fears itself,
differences are seen as failures,
and scars are seen as damage,
but I’m no broken house,
I’m just under construction.

My windows may be broken,
the walls scratched and peeling,
but sometimes love can be an adhesive,
that holds each dangling piece, just in the right place.

My house is built of scarred wrists,
and old insecurities clinging to my grip,
attached to weak crippling hands,
with nails beat to the bone.

My house is made of skin so thick,
it was cut with sharp objects till it bled dry like weak prey,
but love turned my gashes into scars,
and I still stand here today.

My house is a jungle of wounds,
wounds that fought back and told me to heal,
scars that cut deep,
but have finally sealed.

Humanity taught me about love,
how not enough of it exists,
and how its the only thing we can truly give,
so it’s become the glue,
that made my crumbling house into home.

Physically I live here
My veins weave through the house
My limbs dig into the sheets
My voice lingers through each room,
yet I barely feel my own presence

Spiritually I’m on another planet
My heart races with the stars
My soul showers in rainstorms
My eyes dance with galaxies,
but my mind wimpers for a better tomorrow

It’s a choice,
to stay in my own head,
I’ve found solace in my daydreams
discovered a world beyond mine,
but I can never stay there for too long

I get lost in the thought of another life,
because I can’t seem to come to peace with mine
I climb the tallest trees
Just to get close to the sky,
so maybe I could spread my wings and fly

If humans could turn into earthquakes,
I think I’d destroy the world with my shaking hands,
and reluctant thoughts,
my indecisive tapping feet,
and all the worries I carry under my sleeves,

If humans could turn into tsunamis,
I think I’d drown the world with my broken heart,
and pain sliced wrists,
with thoughts of others suffering running through my head,
a vicious cycle,
a story with no end.

I haven’t written about myself in a while,
maybe it's because I think of you every night,
my pain is nothing compared to that in your mothers eyes,
I never wanted a woman so strong to cry,
the ocean she crossed with you; filled her eyes to the brim,
she never deserved to be in pieces again,
I’m left speechless every day,
because no one deserves to live this way.
but who am I to feel a thing,
when you’re the one suffering.

I’ve scarred myself by hurting you,
I refused to eat your food,
speak your language,
hold your hand,
and live life in your way.

I just wanted to fit in,
to be accepted by the others,
be liked,
be invited,
be laughed with not at.

I never realized I was abandoning myself,
until I stood on my own feet,
searching for myself,
searching for meaning,
searching for a purpose to live.

I never felt so lost,
as I do today,
trying to remember,
trying to recreate,
trying to find myself again.

If I added up all my scars,
across my arms and over my hips,
I could stitch them up,
into untold stories and engrave them on my skin,
so everyone could see,
the vulnerability within.

If I spread my wounds across a canvas,
purple, blue, red, and other hues,
creeping on rippled fabric like stars in the night sky,
I’d create galaxies,
with craters, suns and moons,
constellations of healing wounds.

My mother never smiles,
but her soul is a garden filled with joy.
Her eyes shine like a full moon,
glistening at all the darkness in the world.

She yearned to be free,
her soul tangled in the roots of oppression,
while her eyes were haunted by images of discrimination.

As a child I wondered why?
Why does my mother never smile?
She’s so beautiful like the stars in the sky.
Even roses are jealous of the redness blushing beneath her eyes.

I think I even yelled,
“Mom, why are you so unhappy?”
But I was just a child,
I didn’t see the love that filled her bubbly brown eyes.

My corrupted character debilitated her spirit,
believing she was,
    ungrateful,
    unhappy,
    and cold,
as a tundra and I was a palm tree,
but really we were both tulips,
and she was just teaching me how to bloom.

She’s a hero who never received her praise.
Depicting her sorrows through colors on a canvas,
meditating herself to solace.
She knew how to leave this world behind,
for the sake of her own mind.

As I aged,
I suffered,
I spiraled into multiple dark holes,
    I blamed,
    I begged,
    I screamed,
with silence taped across my mouth,
“Why am I so unhappy?”
But unlike my mother I always smiled,
and it was always a lie.

This taught me the limits of a smile,
and why my mother didn’t need to smile,
because a smile is often just a lie,
she expressed her happiness on the inside.

I fell into a pit swimming with fear,
battled demons I thought were my friends.
I’d assumed sadness was a punishment,
but it became my reward.

My mother taught me I didn’t need to smile,
the sadness helped illuminate the good in my life,
and it was okay not to always be fine.

My mother exposed me to my soul,
how tender it is and how harsh I am.
Depicting the reality of what life is,
since I only saw it as a sin.

I have been practicing love instead of anger,
but how do I digest the pain my parents silently suffered,
or the losses my mother still reminisces each and every year,
tell me how can I respond with love when they taught my family self-hate,
to hate their home and hair,
to hate their skin and the clothes they wear,
how do I forgive generations of suffering,
and how they made my uncle a martyr,
brainwashed him to die in a war that could’ve been prevented,
how do I forgive the domino effect of life, that made their great grandparents **** mine?
love runs through my veins,
but anger lives within my blood,
I guess I saw it in my mother's eyes,
you can still love without forgiveness,
but it will take room in your mind,
build a home of sadness,
you’ll pass on to your child.

My body has carried roses on its skin,
let the thorns dig into my flesh,
I never felt a thing,
I smelled the heavens though,
they smell like red roses glimmering in the sun.

I touched Allah and he said I haven’t bled enough,
he put 10 roses on my back and told me to fly,
but the thorns had cut my wings,
“Allah I can no longer fly.”
“Haven’t I drowned enough stones and carried enough flowers?”

He didn’t see the pain in my eyes,
because the pain was not enough for him,
every rose he made me deliver showed me deeper suffering,
my pains never been enough,
my pain will never be enough.

He just wanted me to see how deep, bad truly seeps,
into the blood of innocent people,
washing over their every inch,
no sin could ever break them,
when there’s nothing left to break.

My mother's’ an angel,
God sent her to give light,
to fuel a fire in our hearts,
and shine down like stars on gloomy nights.

In her soul flowers bloom,
red roses intertwine in her curls,
while beauty grows in her healing soul,
faster than I’ve ever seen before.

One day I hope to glow like her,
and open the doors she’s been pulling at for years,
clear up the sky,
so the sun paves her way,
no warrior deserves rain during her glory days.

If I hug you tighter, will I imprint you in my arms?
So I can carry you with me,
past the heavens,
past the rain,
past the pain.

I’ll hold your every ache on my back,
till I turn to cosmic dust.
When I seize to exist,
is the only time you can leave me in the mist.

I know that’s selfish of me,
but you I truly need.
Don’t forget you’re the one who told me my mind plays tricks on me.
You’re the one who told me to go grow on my own.

You said you’d always be there,
and I’m not letting you go,
before I let go.

One day we’ll shine down with the stars together,
and join the sun feeding all your favorite roses,
but till that day the soils are our home,
no matter where the other goes.

How do you live with pain that’s not your own?
the tears I cry are not for me,
with an aching in my chest that wakes me up at night,
to remind me not everyone will see tomorrow’s light,

How do you live with pain that’s not your own?
but consumes your whole body, mind and soul,
till you don’t see your life as it’s own,
because your heart beats to someone else's tragedy.

My fingers are soft as snow,
and my heart is tender like the sea.
If you dissect me you’d see,
I am weak.

You’d try to,
bleed me out dry,
and try to remake me,
recreate me.

Heal me head to toe,
pulling glass shards out of my soul.
Restitch me piece by piece,
glue the parts back into me.

Then maybe you’d believe me when I say,
“It’s so hard to pull myself together when I fall apart.”

You can’t run from depression,
that’s why you feel like this again,
It’s a never ending labyrinth,
you’ll never find your way out,
a circle you’ll try to escape,
captious day after day,

It’s hopeless to try and flee from the pain,
the torment continues,
an incessant nuisance of despair,
you’ll wish away with every birthday cake,

Prickling needles that you can’t seem to numb away,
you’ll fixate yourself on;
flowers, the ocean, the color purple,
“I’m happy,” you’ll say as you braid your hair,
wiping away memories that trigger you every year,

Depression causes vexation,
you’ll pray to a God you don’t believe in,
wanting to escape,
but it returns some days,
a pattern you’ll try your whole life to vanquish away.

Watching the colour drain out of someone’s face,
like ice cubes melting shades out of your coffee.
Branches falling off your favourite tree,
foreshadowing its winter death,
but you pretend you don’t know.

Watching someone you love fall over the same step each time,
like they see a ghost every time they turn left,
so they keep turning left,
And they scream “Why is it always going wrong?”

Watching your brother beat himself black and blue,
like the kids used to do at school,
And now all he recognizes is his beaten back and bleeding knuckles,
but he is so much more than the pain he holds in his hands.

I’ve been watching you break bridges with your voice since I was a child.
I’ve been watching you use fists to communicate since I was a child.
I’ve been watching you self-medicate since I was a child.
I learned from the best,
don’t you see?

Watching you love a woman made me angry,
maybe I knew all along she’d only leave a knife in your back,
after you stabbed her in the front.
At least she saw you coming right?

Watching you break down made me fall apart,
maybe I was hoping I’d become strong,
but watching you suffer felt like being suffocated.
Yet you were the only one suffocating.

Watching you not exist in my life the way you used to took a part of me away.
It’ll never be the same again.
Do you remember all the days we spent doing nothing,
but doing nothing together?
I felt so alive.

I’m watching myself search for you in everyone I meet,
just to get some pieces of you back.
I’m watching myself run away from the person you are,
but I’ve been stuck in quicksand since you left.
I’m watching myself drown as I realize how quickly life changes,
and how quickly it ends.

I can’t love myself,
but I still need to be okay,
because all I need is to survive,
and love won’t always get me by,

people leave in the coldest ways,
and one day I’ll want to leave myself,
and break my own heart,
because loving myself was a joke to start,

I won't drown in self hate,
but I refuse to live in a trap and deprecate,
maybe now the sun and moon could agree,
and let me live somewhat happily.

I am a shapeshifter in these unfamiliar lands,
fitting myself into crooks and edges of photos I’ll never belong to,
forming myself into images of what the people want.

I am an outsider to the only world I know,
scrambling at pieces to create the perfect picture,
stitching memories to build the perfect home.

I’m a foreigner in my own skin,
searching for a way to express myself,
craving for a place to find myself and call it home.

I keep thinking;
if I look at the sky long enough,
I’ll have to see a shooting star,
and all my wishes will finally come true,
my heart will burst into a thousand butterflies,
while my body erupts like a volcano,
and all the anger trapped inside my lungs collapses like meteorites onto the earth,
the pain pulsing through my veins will dig itself beneath the soil,
finally leaving my body as its own.

The sea is begging for mercy,
the moon echoes its pain at night,
each sunset - a mantra to mother earth,
“You can do this, you’ll survive.
The soil, the trees, the ocean to the highest peaks,
an army against the thieves,
who took this land and made it bleed.”

The ocean,
oh it looked so blue,
shades of colour swimming around like clouds around the moon,

The water,
oh it looked so clean,
but it was just the sun's reflection making it clear,

Underneath the waves lay a graveyard,
a promise of death,
a promise of extinction,

Tombs made of plastic,
slathered in oil,
steaming with toxic waste,
and all the people know,

The damage is unfolding faster than we are evolving,

The turtles are ingesting plastic as if it were their only meal,
begging for their fins to just be free,
so they can dive through the sea,

The seals are tangled in nets, lines and lures,
plastic bags and packing bands,
till they're tied to their grave as if life were just a brief phase,

The seabirds skim the ocean waves for fish and squid,
yet plastic is their only catch of the day,
leaving them broken inside and out,
and dead on the beaches we claim are our own,

The whales are submerged beneath the sea,
eating most things that they see,
plastic, plastic everywhere beneath,
not giving them much time before they can no longer breathe,

The dolphins are gliding through the sea,
taking what they can to eat,
plastic as their only meal,
tearing them apart from within,
leaving them starving for weeks,
till the grave is the only thing they see,

Us humans are so weak,
we can’t see how deep the pain seeps,
but when nothing is left for us to eat,
and the rich have nothing left to steal,
we’ll end in the same graves as all the lives we could have healed.

And I’m ******* in ropes,
oh so many ropes,
knotted in pain across my body,
tangled under my skin,
tickling my veins,
oh the blood rushes,
it rushes through,
I feel so much,
every prickling touch,
but at the same time,
I barely feel a thing.

What would it feel like to delve my fists into the wall,
and not feel a thing.
Would my heart burst into flames or flowers?
Would I gush out blood or glitter?

I’ve always said that I feel nothing.
I am numb and I am fine,
but my heart is filled with butterflies,
and they feel every lie.

I’d never want to stop feeling.
Numbness is a dark place,
and my heart is so much kinder in the sun.

I’ve never really seen myself smile,
or maybe I forgot how.
I’ve been stuck in a storm for as long as I remember.
Black clouds guide me from above,
sometimes I see the sun peak out,
but I’m blinded by its path.

So I linger under the darkness,
and wonder what it would be like, to be the wall,
And not feel a thing,
to blend like milk into the blandness of everyone's day,
and eventually disappear.

My bodies soaked in victimhood,
like a holy bath,
I am baptized in it,
you can smell it on my tattered limbs,
and on my crumbling bones,
blood stained on my hands,
I can’t seem to wash it off,
I’ve scrubbed my body with satan’s hands,
to get the evil off of me,
but I’ve been tainted by my own insanity.

My heart feels numb,
I’ve lost all motivation for anything I’ve ever done,
or maybe it’s just laziness,
God, I’m irritably bleeding out my gums,
biting down my lips till,
gashes, gashes.
What have I become?

Knuckles bleeding,
but I’m numb,
I didn’t see the cuts increasing,
my fingers might fall off,
along with my mental stability,
which has run off.

I can’t think anymore,
I just don’t care anymore,
gashes, gashes,
my wrists are bleeding,
I didn’t see the self-destruction,
but I’m halfway in my grave now.
What have I become?

For the day when I slipped,
and saw the world stripped,
to its bones and down to its knees,
I saw the world for what it was and could ever be,
that day the butterflies flew out my stomach and burned to ash,
as I replaced them with bullets,
and an angry glare,
my heart had broken,
falling like dust into thin air.

I beg for forgiveness,
as I sin every night,
but I can’t bare looking at the world each day,
knowing it will end,
maybe not for me,
but for someone else.

You praise your troops for fighting for ‘your land’,
while telling your friends “we need to get these migrants off our land”,

but you seem to forget how your land was made,
out of bloodshed and tears,
through the death of indigenous,
they took a place that wasn’t theirs,

and you fail to see your own contradictions,
because who fights for your land,
not just Americans,
but also the same migrants you’re begging off ‘your land’,
an army of the poor and struggling,
not the ‘real Americans’,
you claim to be,

you seem to forget,
no land can ever truly be yours,
when you take it out of someone else’s hands,
force down the faces that nourished it,
and destroy a home you had no right to grab.