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i watch the sunlight drown
it dives down full of despair
i see you closely behind me
in the shadows of the dark
tears streaming like rivers down your
beautiful face
i reach out to caress you
but as soon as i touch your face
i am burned, you are made of fire

you ignited a fire inside my bones
i am now a part of you
i’m too close to the flame
my heart is now scorched ashes
thanks to you, i’m melting into you
“i’m sorry” you say as our souls fuse together as one again

burn me once, shame on you
burn me twice, i am yours once again
Three White People walk into bar.

The first is a young man in a Wu-Tang shirt who speaks in ebonics,

Except when it comes to black lives he says what happened to equality. All lives matter to say only black lives is nonsense.

The Second is a women in her 40s, she takes two steps and looks around and makes eye contact with the bartender.

The bartender shakes his head and walks away. She says he should know his place, I'm always right. I want to speak with the manager.

The Third is a older Man who has a box in his night stand, with a white hood and pictures he treasures of him with his clan.

Now theres a red hat that has taken its place, just Politics. So this racism is okay, he says to himself. As he's driving thru the projects with his doors locked, waving at all his neighbors he hates. Wearing the same fake smile, he hates their skin. They hate the place.

What has been learned can also be forgotten.

When black men bawl in cries for life with their deaths by a cops hand,

We mind our business until they kneel before the flag....

Then we blackball them.

As if there is another time that we collectively watch them.

White privilege is "that's not my problem."

Three white people walk into a bar,

If this is the set up for a joke then it's one that has gone too far.
A poem for Black History Month.  

@mikeythepoet - twitter
The world is grey.
Well...slightly more so now.
The nerve endings have healed.
Yet the numbness has lingered.
I stumble on my own feet getting out of bed.
Is it that hard to believe I’m simply.
I get more lost with compass in hand.
Although I can tell you how to find north.
Theoretical knowledge always worked in school.
But my life mentor is absent.
What happens when there is no teacher in gym.
A bunch of kids wandering the grounds.
Some fighting.
More aimlessly wagging their tongues.
Trying to figure out the social heirarchy.
Then there is me.
Smoking a cig at the edge of the property.
Day dreaming of past events.
Even then I secluded myself.
Unknowingly laying the ground work for the next ten years.
Countless routines repeated with different faces and surroundings.
Sometimes even the words would transition into the other.
In those moments I was living faux dejavu.
Losing my mind to my own reflections shadow.
If only I had read the letter My past self had written to my future self telling present me to listen to the mistakes I already made.
Maybe things would have been different.
The possibilities is what destroys the intellegent mind.
Not pain.
It’s the “why”.
The only question that will truly have no answer if asked enough.
And I can’t seem to stop asking.
It’s strange. Not for the fact that i feel this way but because i don’t know any other way to be. I don’t consider it holding it in because it’s not a burden. My fathers memory will never be a burden to me. His that is a different story.
Afiqah Feb 8
and as we all shift,
and let go
and then slowly become,
always believe that
the world peculiarly
somehow still needs

Afiqah Jan 30
every cliche
about romance
came true
and in all of its brilliant,
diacritic forms,
my heart very much dearly
wants to share your heart’s smile

Afiqah Jan 28
and being with you,
right here,
somehow made
every of all of these cliches
about romance breathe
a gentle sort of
intensity and hopefulness
that we’d do it all so beautifully together

...What does love look like today?

Love today looks like brown butter bourbon ice cream and sunlight
Like body oil on soft legs
And smoothie cream in even softer hair
Like breathing and disappearing in sheets
Like breast free of cups that don't hold me like the universe does
Like lips that taste of caramel
And a bedroom that heals in lavender
Like woman done waiting
Like woman simply being
Like body untouched, un-tethered.
Afiqah Jan 24
and then soulfully,
I love you
has your very face
pinned onto
my heart

ls Jan 23
The soil where I am supposed to grow
Can be found deep under concrete
Under layers of dirt and steel
Sheltered from the sun under skylines of glass
The fertile earth lays not at the surface
But saturated far below
That is where I will be planted
When I can find the strength to dig so deep
And I will root myself in place
And burrow back up through the earth
Breaking through cracks in the sidewalk
A tiny sprout of life that will flourish
Into a seemingly beautiful accident
And become too striking and too mighty
To destroy
The natural phenomenon among skyscrapers
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