i cut the envelopes that come in through my mailbox with the jagged edges of my front teeth
women used to chew their umbilical cord after birth
and my mother tied my hair in the same ponytail the entirety of my girlhood
the elastic snapping a couple times a day
because the girth of hair was always too thick
and I envied the women with thin, silky hair
the kind that didn't snap or break
split in two like my lip in the winter
or when hitting the pavement

years later when I became bored with everything
everyone I knew was in love with
I became queen of abandoning all in a jiffy
sobering up and growing up
the more I went up
the easier it became to be simple and dumb

so cut my tongue-tie
leave me in the dark
i'll never be middle class
as you explain poverty to me in your fake squalor
I understand that one day you'll eventually
move back to your parents' wealth
and my sun will be hotter

I'll quit my job and live in between different parks
with similar names and the birds that always remember your
face but they have so many
your head becomes a scrambled egg
you'll listen to my songs
but that's only because
you want to believe they're about you

it's liquid gold
when everyone is defined by what kind of milk they drink

I'll try
I'll try my best
I'll do what I can
I'll see
I'll attempt it

I'll change my self
I'll try to be better
I'll push myself to be what you need me to be

I'll lie to myself
for the rest of time
to try to make you happy,
to see your daughter go to college
to see your daughter make a living for herself

I'm your prize
So i'll try
I'll try to be what you need me to be.
I'll try for you
and
I'll try for me

Because me is more important than you.

You crowd me
You suffocate me
You dress me in chains of gold
You hold me
You kiss me
You surround me in proclamations bold
“I love you”
“I need you”
“You are all I have”
I can’t stand you
I hate you
But I’m your only salve

My mother is almost six feet tall.

5′11 for whoever is curious.

I am barely five feet. 5′1 for whoever’s wondering.

As you can see, my mom is tall and that means that her eight other siblings: Jack, Jackie, Jackson, Annie, Francine, Aimé, Michelle and Noelle are equally if not taller than she is.

On September 6th our pastor called me into her bedroom and there stood the three eldest siblings: Francine, Annie and Aimé like three beautiful angels. My aunt Annie was particularly hard to look at because she is a spitting image of my mother.

Mom. On September 6th people walked inside the house with their shoes on. I know how much you hate that.  Mom, there are people in the living room with their shoes on. Mom, on September 6th I was inside the house and you weren’t there. There are people flying in and out of this home and none of them are taking their ******* shoes off.  As if the ground where your body had lain a few nights before was *****.

Sometimes I can’t even look in the mirror because all I see is you. I see the woman you created. The little girl that you raised. The little girl who would put her head on your lap when the world was being mean to my four feet tall stature.

Mommy. I am so sorry. I was an absolute demon to you. I ignored you just as much as I avoided you but you also have a part in this. I hadn’t woken up one morning and decided that I wouldn’t speak to you or that I’d move to a different city. These type of things build up. They accumulate and yet, I mourn you like the messenger of God you believed you were.

Mom, I am so so sorry.

Today I heard stories of lost love, of hidden pain and misplaced affections.

A man who lost his loved one, his beloved wife. He never got to say goodbye. A simple ‘I’ll see you soon’ was just not there. And all his life, he wonders of infinite what-ifs and could-haves. He loves her, even til this very day.

A woman told stories about her early years with the one she’s married to now. She’s happy. I could tell by the way her eyes kindle when she speaks of him. And that was enough to know that she is still as happy as she was back then.

A friend of mine told a story about her passed grandpa. He would always spend the first few minutes of his days talking with the person sleeping next to him; his dear, treasured love. My friend’s mom would hear them chatter away and she could tell that they were smiling from the back of her door.

A father showed me his notes on his cellphone. One of them was his password to his account I-do-not-know-which; it spelled his daughter’s first name.

She yelled to her voice
Drunk to her eyes
Slipped to her thighs,

She sung to the skies
Danced with thrives
To light up many smiles,

She walked with fears
Ran with tears
To make paths clear,

Today do we shine
In our beautiful lifeline
Through her blood and sweat that signed.


Fathima Ruhee
@inking__scribbler

The emerald stones embroidered into this pouch glitter
by the light of the flames that engulf this city
a baby shoe, tied in a bag of silk
hangs delicately round my neck
my pendant to bring me back to you one day
the sanctified emblem of hope:
el zapato de bebé de una niña robada
a locket, the other half of which you carry
my two identities lost in a crusade de fuego y sogas
One, the baby taken
The other a woman stolen
Mort à la pute! une sorcière! le gitan doit mourir.
my sentence carried out as you watch
just moments after we reunite again
only to have to say Dja devlesa!
My face lit by the burning cathedral
Then slackened by the tightening rope.