islamophobia
at its finest
you couldn't have spoken truer words
three years before injustice
fell cascading down upon your head
like rocks
each one labeled
hate
fear
terror
and it's that label, drenched in your blood
that begs and screams to be renounced
i am not a terrorist
no,
you aren't, but every pale-skinned man
who doesn't know the pigment in your skin
as anything but dirt
couldn't see the difference
so yet, we fight
for you
your love, your voice
for every child that lives in fear
we will charge on
your skin tone
is not a death sentence
and the media who doesn't know 
their right from their united left
will hear us
we do not need you
we do not need you
we do not need you
us many times as God will give us strength
we will charge on
for you
for them
for Palestine
for Syria
for every fear-filled child
we will remember
and for each one fallen,
trapped beneath the rocks
hate, fear, terror
we will set you free

I say I'm a Muslim, but I can't tell anymore.
I can't tell from what goes in my mouth,
what comes out and hits you on the cheek
worse than a slap, harder than a mere insult.
I'm outraged, but what reason do I have?
On the outside I could be anyone,
and I usually am.
Sometimes I am Puerto Rican, Lebanese, or Black--
a child asked me once, and I just smiled back.

How sweet would it be to take every crayon from the box,
even now that the numbers have multiplied and
what was once simple 8, 12, 24, 36,
has exploded into a million colors with a million names,

to crush them into bitty pieces and swirl the mixture with water;
make it all into One.

so that if we hate another
(what other?)
we just hate ourselves.

I say I'm a Muslim, and I know I am
because when I give up all my frustrations and
my toddler tantrums, and I even give up yoga,
or rather it gives me up, thankfully so,
when I injure my back: I'm grateful for that.
What a knowing presence God is to take away that which harms
and restore that which fulfills.

But even to those who are still hurting
(and I often am)
there are these small remembrances that come
between this onset of tears and the next.
Whether the sun peers through the dusty blinds,
the ones you need to clean again--so soon,
and you see the light stream through, faintly at first,
until you are forced to open your eyes,
to remove yourself from the hate you've stewed in:
how simple is that?

I say I'm a Muslim, and it's a choice
I make every day or avoid until the next day,
even though that day may not be easily given.
And I forget that.
But when I see life slip away from young lives, old lives,

lives not yet born

then I have to remember
that I do not have the answers,
and every time I try to be dictator of my destiny
I fail miserably, miserably, miserably.

And now that I wrote this poem
and I felt myself think, no, truly feel for the first time in a week,
that my robotic expression has melted into a frown that stands
a chance at becoming a smile.

Now that I am human I am a Muslim.
Not perfectly so, but decidedly so.

(In memory Deah Shaddy Barakat, Yusor Mohammad Abu-Salha, and Razan Mohammad Abu-Salha)

RIP Deah Barakat.  RIP Yusor Abu-Salha.  RIP Razan Abu-Salha.
the three muslim victims  of chapel hill shooting







because **Muslim lives also matters

84:
i have discovered i am i have been attached somebody attached strings to me and often wrenches violently upon them,
Breton has strings too, and sometimes
he likes to twitch.  

85:
dead space.
              i ca
                      n  ’t, i can't think,
everything is a mirror,
                             ym deah sdeen ot ehteabr,                
                            my head needs to breathe,                              
                        ­     ehtaebr ot sdeen daeh ym,  
im going  to make holes  with breton to   breathe so i can think,
i only need a nail
                           or some thorns and wire. Breton is probably hiding some wire. I am good at finding things.  

86:
when my kneecaps turn blue,
i know my health’s shot to ****.

Breton ran into Old Mathers              
in the basement              
and Mathers says Breton’s not coming up (for [quite!] a long time).  

Kat told me **** little Breton for his marrow,
never enough marrow,
Mathers says.            
I listen to Kat, always go by Kat,              
always by Kat, always:

*Death came too close to me,
  Almost seeing the eternal light.  
  Harder to feel when you’ve almost died,  
  Hopes and dreams never almost tried.
  In His eyes,  your time to go:  
  Having this purpose for me in life,
  Having this purpose for now,
  I do not know.

dark days don't die in his sinning soul...
fearless guy, wearing the tie he stole...
yes, his heart is cold, but his hands are golden...
yes, his days are sold, for all near pond can hold in...

you turn your life into a thriller, who do you want to avenge?
are you just a ******-killer? or do you really solely seek revenge?
Xiasheng Mafian?



with black suit and steps like Drums....
hHe's on his route, and here he comes...

from ashes of deadly rain...
gunpowder flashes behind hidden pain...
eyes burn behind his cynic smile...
tides may turn, but stays the bile...
my Xiasheng Mafian....



lost child filled with dread, only survivour of the affair...
karma might be dead, but she's still so unfair...

kid, drop your toy, the wolf is big and bad...
innocent boy, who just lost his dad...

single bullet made man mute, now he'll never see the sun....
you sure can shoot, but can YOU run?
Xiasheng Mafian?



you had your revenge now. his corpse is hid in faeces...
but do you still remember how? to pick up the pieces?
to escape The consequences, of your killing syndrome?
will you find your finest sences, and go back home?

remember what the man said, before his blood stopped to seethe?
well sometimes we ARE already dead, even before we seize to breathe...
remember that Xiasheng Mafian...



and here she comes! the crimson lady, made from sharpest blades....
eco of her voice turns vision shady, while hope silently fades....
she wants the killer of her brother, of the man who killed your wife!
now she wishes nothing other, than to take your ****** life!

but have no fear my frantic friend, as you only live to fight....
do you feel the smell of upcoming end? Closer Comes the Claret light!
for you my Xiasheng Mafian....



soon soon soon! gunfire behind your doors!
Close Comes the noon! one of the bullets is yours!
her men surrounded your mansion, and she comes in!
even MY Lungs stop their expansion! when your time runned thin....
she freed you from the voice, running through your head....
the sound of your wifes rejoice, once lost in all the red....

my poor Xiasheng Mafian....



burried withouth a stone, in his own graveyard of thick water....
where neither dead moan, for this despicable rotter....
this gentleman and great husband, who wanted to pour blood....
to take the killers life, for which he lays in mud....

were you the hero, do you rest in heaven? or were you the villain, who burns in hell?
your lucky number might be Seven! but only Four times rings the bell...
my Xiashen Mafian...



your infamous name fades into the void of vain...
your flame burned out, while god danced in rain...

and on the shore of pond holding your body...
absent of sore, dressed utterly gaudy...
with his croaking rife Raven sings in black...
"look! life for life! the cost of payback!
you used to laugh! but wheRe is now youR bReath?
do you see the dove? deaR don deah!"


do you.. my husband mafian?

it's 2 o'clock in the morning
but i had no idea

out shootin' hoops
can't see far from heah

Celtic Cross at midnight
one dear deah

in 5th grade lovely Laura
sat next to lovely Leah

           See ya!