I strip the hours bare,
unclothed of bread, of sweetness,
leaving only the pulse of hunger to keep me company.

The body resists—
it bargains, it pleads—
yet I refuse its theater of need.
What I shed is not only flesh,
but the gravity of years
that pressed me into shapes I did not choose.

Appearance is a fickle mirror,
yet effort—
effort is a blade.
It cuts away the veil,
exposes the raw scaffolding of discipline,
the scaffold on which I rebuild myself.

I do not chase beauty.
I chase silence—
a silence where appetite bends,
where control is sharper than desire.

And when the fast has passed,
I emerge—not lighter only in form,
but steadier in the knowledge
that absence itself
can be a kind of creation.

It’s gray and it’s me
I’m a transparent manatee stretching at the seams
Covered in fat, shiny leaves that turn upside down
Strike me with a boulder and pop my skull open
Like a balloon filled with tears and lotion
Bury me naked in a closed casket
With heaps and heaps of violets

I used to be told that I carry the burden well
Sometimes I look at the animal and try to identify it
Other species’ features float through my mind and once a month I see a resemblance
But nothing really classifies me for long
What’s the point in cooking the way you always wanted to cook
If even to you it tastes sort of bland

The one who stood up here before
Who couldn't take it any more
Went through with her plan.

What would be my legacy?
Just like me,
I could turn the statistic
Into a curvy figure too—
Not a straight and slender one.
But being realistic,

I find the strength to turn away
And face the world another day
—A continuing man.

You looked in my eyes, and still you lied
I asked you why — you said, “You rushed,” and tried to hide
Living your dreams with girls on a screen
While I stared at myself asking, “What does this mean?”


Was I missing something? Am I the blame?
Then I whispered, “No… I walked into this flame.”
I saw your style from the very start
But I let you in, and you broke my heart


How can you stare at me and still pretend?
Say, “I love you, I’d never cheat — I’m not like them.”
But if you knew you were wrong, why hide it deep?
Wait till I’m gone, while you lie and creep?


This ain’t just about you — it’s about our name
Our roots, our values, our family shame
Arab blood was raised on pride
On loyalty, not this love that hides


We’re taught to give with all our soul
To stand for honor — that was the goal
But even the purest hearts get torn
Even the strongest queens get scorned


So what made you think, Huda, you’d be the one
To be loved right, while the rest get none?
his world don’t care if you’re loyal or kind
Even good women get left behind.

A compliment,
Or a jab-
Slowly,
Tearing my mind.

Good thoughts,
Stripped away,
Replaced with
Horrible ideas
Of how my body should look.

The mirror becomes a threat.
Words like hourglass,
Skinny and thin-
Swirl and boil in my head.

Obsession,
How could I?
Look like them?

The rush slices me open-
Spills my guts

Working out in my room
Starving myself
For the summer ***
That never felt like mine

nothing but a scrap
of paper from a make-up catalog
saying,
“Real Flawless™”

but here i am,
unable to stop
thinking
about what it markets to me
what it asks of me
what it stipulates to be
true.

“Real Flawless”

modern day doublethink:
“my body is mine but
Yours
to look at and
Yours
to judge and so i shape it
to the eye that is
Yours—
i am proud though i make myself
small”

“Real Flawless”

mandatory affirmations, prayers more like,
repeat repeat repeat
how much i love myself even
as i consume comparisons
and then calculate the calories.

“Real Flawless”

the only reason
beauty is pain is
because it tears
us in two.

Beneath the arch,
        among the branches,
      the maunder of her eyes
           finds noir in an afterimage,
every reflection is unique,
    explicit and indivisible,
        every reflection is her,
      there she looks close
       for gracefulness,
            in the essays of her skin
               and their brazen transparencies,
         she enters into her body fable,
      the shape of her resembles
           the tenor viol: where it widens,
                  where it narrows,
                where it digresses
              and monochromes,
           she reflects a fragile geography,
             a soft cargo, but
               an inkling of hurricane,
             rendering the fault lines
          beautiful and strong,
       in supplication tomorrow's explorer
will disturb the patterns
   until she's become her own lullaby