lackluster, with a sad smile
i wade into the deep ocean of self hatred
with my head anchored to my spine
in only the most casual of ways
lips curved into a hint of what could've been
a smile

as the water reaches my throat
i swear i could hear the click of her patent stilletos
against the sides of my ribs
as i try and recall
the way your calloused hands
brushed against my shoulder
released all of the world's winds
into the small of my back

i can't help but laugh
at the way mirrors seem to destroy me from the inside out
my brown eyes seem to condescend
at what i fail become
as i watch you fall in love
with all that she is
and all that i can never be

i drown.

The smell of stale french fries
and E.coli coated beef

the raw onions and garlic cloves
stunk up the kitchen and watered my eyes
no ice in the drink machines...
but plenty of warm pop

Chicken nuggets with 16 new herbs
and spices and hot fudge Sundays, without the hot fudge

banana splits with rotten bananas
and the tomatoes weren't that fresh either
the cheese was moldy and the buns, moldier

The advertisements claimed "Have it your way"
it wasn't my way, it was their way

I paid a dollar fifty ordering off the dollar menu
it was a ripoff....

I spoke to the manager
and the manager spit in my face
and said "Have a nice day"

it wasn't a nice day, it wasn't a nice day at all....

What do you like doing on weekends Mahdiya?

Well, I find nauseating pleasure spending time loving people who were created to never love back.

The world is filled with swine in suits and ties,
hogging down and ******* out lies,
stopping here and there,
to trim their tusks and tame each others hair,
for appearance certainly is a must,
when you're a creature none should trust.
Sludge and slop goes to the top,
to feed the greedy boars.
The filthy ****** spread their legs from shore to shore
always wanting and demanding more and more.
From behind a locked door,
somewhere on an eighteenth floor,
you can hear their squealing cries,
smell their wretched sties,
and feel the hate that pours,
from their blackened beady eyes.
Use caution where you tread,
and think before you fill your head.
Be careful with which words you choose to believe,
for not everyone is who they seem to be.

I used to long for your arms around me
now all I long for is paper to place poetry
that I've written about you and nothings
that I wish would become somethings.
But that's somehow too much to ask for
I suppose it's more than I can really afford,
a longing for you.

My brother brushes past me in the kitchen.
I find myself offended, not for his rudeness nor the brash way he attempts to apologize.
But because on my own flesh and blood I smell him.
It has been years but the odor of his cologne still sends me spiraling.

Memory is a haunting thing.

How am I supposed to move on when every wide eyed, bro-tank wearing beef cake smells like my worst nightmare,
It feels like I am just trying to escape,
but was forced into Stockholm's syndrome via perfumed air and this sense of helplessness that I cannot bear.

This is what it feels like to drown all over again,
but this time I am perpetually a scared 14 year old girl, and it is arms surrounding me not lake water.
I could find irony in using that brand of cologne to light myself on fire,
or to inhale the aerosol into my already full lungs for a short high
Either way it would be the same as killing myself all over again.

Half of me is still on that mattress somewhere,
I don't know how to get her back, or why I want her so bad.
But, how can I make this little girl inside stop crying if I'm not there to comfort her?
How could I ever be there to comfort her?

I am so broken and bruised,
I still flinch when hit in spaces once blackened by hands I thought I knew.