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MBishop Jun 2014
I can't read too much at once
I might just break under the pressure of keeping it together
Together for whom, I don't know.
The screen perhaps?

You convey your pain so vividly
That it literally makes me ache.
Cringing at the accuracy of your words,
Wincing at the connections I make between your art and your life.
It pains me to feel you in pain.

Maybe I just notice you too much but I know who
and what
and when you're talking about.
Her, mostly, but I try not to read those.

But the other creations are utterly beautiful
In a tragic sense, though I suppose art never comes from happiness.
But what is happiness without a little pain?
An illusion
And oh, my dear, you capture this concept like an animal entrapped in a snare.
You make your message *inescapable
6.4.14  22:45
MBishop Jun 2014
There are no questions in poetry.
Only thought-provoking, ambiguous statements that we perceive to have an answer.
BZQ May 2014

              
⠀             i thought blue eyes
           were the most beautiful.
             then i saw your brown.
              and let me gladly say
            your eyes are like oceans
               and i want to drown

                            -BZQ
BZQ May 2014

             ⠀
               ⠀            you
                   have bright eyes
                              and
                    lips that spelled
                       d i s a s t e r

                             -BZQ
دema flutter May 2014
When I write, I am in my own world. An entire different world.
Putting this world into words to bring it to vitality , where the true me indepth exists.

My thoughts are my enemies, and overthinking is my best companion , joining along with my soul that ignited the two different worlds , as the world inside my head and the world where my unfortunate reality lays , are connected in those writings of mine.

Once I hold my pen, it seems like I could write endlessly for eternity.
The intellectual me is raging for more and more vitality , it's deeply intricate where my thoughts and those worlds meet.

But my thoughts are the biggest cravers for their freedom. And there, in my mind , I live and in words and letters , I expose my true inner self.
We were asked in class to write about "what do you do to connect to yourself?"
So i thought i'd share it here.

*vitality means life*
دema flutter May 2014
We were on a road trip , on our way to meet the cousins of my father for the first time. I couldnt help but be curious about how they looked like. What they were like.  Year by year I'd discover more family members that I never knew about.

"Mom, they lived in Basrah?"

"Yes , they had."

"Huh..Basrah" I said sarcastically.

"Are they good people?" I asked.

"Yes they are, why wouldnt they be?" She said with a confused look in her eyes.

"When was the last time you saw them?" I asked, not ignoring her question quite much.

"Years ago." I was still confused because she did not number the years.

"How come I didnt meet them when i went to basrah with dad 2 years ago ?" I asked.

"Last time I had seen them myself was before we came to this country." She said.

"8 years." As I realized.

"I dont think so mom. People of iraq changed. A lot. From my latest visit." And perhaps the last visit it would be, I thought.

"Trust me on this dear." "Their father is as elegant and as royal as the head of ministry. He used to manage the biggest hotel in Iraq before he had retired." She said.

Suddenly the old images of iraq flashed in my head, and along came the current image of iraq, The comparison in my head between how great iraq used to be, how rich and beautiful the land Basrah was and how it is all gone. No admiration left, it's all an intricate matter.

The stories I hear about Iraq and the wars and the people of iraq, are close to infinity if you saw the destruction that occurred. The beautiful past, is all we have.

Sometimes, I feel like home doesnt even exist.
"Iraq". Those four letters , it's like thy dont mean anything to me anymore.
A home is a place that holds you, that keeps you warm. When did iraq ever hold me? Other than holding me backwards not forward. Other than leaving the poor cold and the rich hungry too. Where did all the blessings go? Where are the beautiful green lands? The River Tigris and Euphrates ? Helicobacter ?

It's hard to IMAGINE a country with such power, such good , such greatness , such grandeur,  magnificence, fall. But it's even harder, to WATCH it fall , and having nothing in your hands to do about it.

Such blessings, that got destroyed , on the hands of those who envied it once. The enemies destroyed the only thing that I had to believe was home.

"You know mom.. Sometimes I hate Iraq."
"Why?"
"Because it ruined our lives."

Silence filled the car for a couple of moments before anyone spoke. It was true, Iraq did  destroy us along. Iraq ruined our lives and everywhere we went our identiy was exposed but not lived by others. We once had a wealthy country, now the country is dying and the people are shattered. Mother knew it was true, even more than me, because i was just a child who couldnt remember and didnt live half the events mom had to go through. She witnessed it all.


"No one can hate their country dear, it is still your country."

It was true too, wherever I shall go, I will make my country proud, and not just a maybe, one day,Iraq will rise again, and I will have enough faith in my country that it will.
My country is not destroyed, my country lives peacefully in my heart. The people may ruin it, but it will always be as great as it used to be in my eyes.
Written today and posted today, from real life. P.s. I love my country no matter what.
lia Apr 2014
eventually
it gets to be too much
and the tears spill over
so you run
and try to get away
from things you can't escape
those tricky voices inside your head
the memories of what others have said
but you can't hide from what's inside
so you trip
and you fall
and you just want to end it all
Rl Apr 2014
I've only been on this earth for 17 years
But already had the good honour of experiencing
evil and good from the youth of my peers

My precious vessel, you deserve nothing but the best
learn from my mistakes and make your life rest

One: The acne on your face does not determine how beautiful you as a person
Neither you're weight, height or stature. Your skin a shade of wonder, wear only the (dna) makeup of me and your father

Two: Your body is your temple, not a museum for those who want to feast on your flesh, for those dead eyes are shady and they want nothing less.

Three: Fall in love with everything around you, the stars, sky and moon. The sound of laughter, the rain drops too. Look from balconies and trees at the veins of the cities. And take pictures of people and weddings, savouring silver white memories.

Four: Make your own mistakes and learn. You are allowed to feel pain, there is still blood in you veins but don't let that sweep you away away away on dandelion heads

Five: Dearest, don't worry for a moment what they think; be prepared when they want to see you sink, respond with dimples, sunshine and light. For this is what makes the darkness strike

Six: Finally My girl love yourself, for all that you are and want to be; the music you love, the food you detest, those long family outings and that boy that you like best.

The list could go on and on with verse and song and book and word but Dear Daughter let this be the basis of your life. Carry it and write it on your flesh beating heart. For your flesh beating heart deserves life in it fullest.

©Rebekah Lazarus 2014
Just a draft, but a letter to my future daughter if I ever have one about how to survive life as a teen from a fellow teen. You never know in 10 years I may re- write this.

— The End —