Sixty Nine

One.  I hurt for you,i let my heart break for you, i let the pain you inflicted on my heart overwhelm me, i let it fall down into my skin and drown in my blood which was filled with your scent, plastered in my mind reminding me of what we once were.

Two.  You were a definition of everything i thought i wanted. Your hands on my face was magic, you were the bane of my existence and i could swear the world literally revolved around you because with you i was always in a daze. Confused and lost in my mind i was like a child, in a big world, wandering. At the end, i became exactly that girl, the girl thats falls for the boy but is ignorant and oblivious to the fact that the boy is off in another world that he, is not her prince charming. fuck you cinderella.

Three.  When i saw you with her the other day, i died  sixty nine times, sixty nine the number of days it took for me to fall in love with you and for you to make a fool of me and break my heart. Sixty nine became my favourite number, reminding me of how little time it takes for every single thing you thought you wanted to break you into sixty nine individual pieces and put you back together sixty nine times better so thank you sixty nine times for making me sixty nine times better.

Four.  And when the pain got so bad that my heart felt like it was sinking deep into my chest into the abyss of despair that i had created within my soul, i took a blade,sliced my skin and let it rip apart like it was a sheet of paper,each slice for a memory. I let it bleed and hurt because you know what? The physical pain was bare able. I could take pills for it and wrap it up but i couldn't take out my broken heart and nurture it like i did my wrists. The scars represent the number sixty nine and it represents my death and burial sixty nine times into my wrist so yes, with my blood i wrote my pain, embellished it on my skin to remind me of you, years from now.

Five.  I hated you. I hated you so much i didn't think i would survive it but then i realised hate is not for me. Hate is for the Syrian child without a home. A child made a refugee in his own birth country where he was supposed to be protected and free so you see i had no right to hate. Let, my syrian kid hate the system that robbed him of his childhood at the age of 5. Let the Palestinian kid without a father hate the system that killed his father yet the system tells him its protecting his future so yes, i decided not to hate you. I went numb for you. I closed my heart to you. I was done with you.

My Body, My Temple

I see men, sitting at a round table,
Deciding if i should keep it,
Last time i checked, this vessel was my body,
To carry however i wanted,
To carry whomever and go wherever i wanted it to go,
My body is my vessel,
My temple,
To treat however i see fit.

When i walked into the station,
I heard them whispering to each other,
Like little crickets,
Loud enough for me to hear,
Low enough for them to pretend like i didn't,
"She asked for it",
The simple phrase repeating in my head,
Hours after i had left the station.
How did i ask for it?
It is now a crime? To wear my skirt and shirt?
To carry my books and walk my street?
Once upon a time,
They thought us freedom and civil rights.

You know what he told me, while hitting my face repeatedly,
Pinning me me to the ground,
And crushing my pelvis on the cold stone beneath my back?
He whispered soothingly "Stop pretending you don't like it".
The men in tailored suits,
At the round table are clueless,
They did not feel my fear, neither my pain,
It wasn't their daughters, lying in the dark alley,
Warm blood streaming down her lips and nose,
Feeling like her genital was on fire,

Yet they get to decide if i should keep it or not,
They say abortion is murder but what of rape?
Have they defined it?
I died several time in that cold alley,
And i died a thousand times more days after,
I still die every single time i got to sleep
And find myself in that same alley,

I'm here wondering,
Who decides what's worthy,
And what's not,
To sit high and mighty on the round table.
Unless you have being raped,
Do not tell me to keep quiet about it,
Unless your daughter has being raped,
Do not tell i asked for it,
And unless you have a uterus, carrying a child,
Whom you conceived during an attack in an alley,
Do not tell me abortion is murder.

Brown Eyes

It was time for him to go, i knew that for a long time. Now, that the time is here i'm having difficulty letting go. His knees budged and he fell to the floor, like he was as light as a feather, i watched him fall, eyes wide with terror. It's time, i thought. I went to him, laying on the floor, looking happy but pail, my tears felt like little needles tearing at my eyes. Everything hurt. He told me "it's that time", i screamed no but he smiled, weakly lifted his arms to my head, held it there and looked into my eyes. Now i had an ocean falling down my face, so weak he was he couldn't keep his hand up. I took his hand and laid it beside him and rested my head on his chest. I wanted to go with him. The thought of carrying on alone without him scared me too much. He drew his last breath and it felt like an hour has passed but really it was all happening under 5 minutes. Lifted my eyes to his, looked into their deep brown for the last time and kissed his cold lips. He smiled and closed his eyes, their deep brown forever implanted in my head, he was gone. I laid on him and cried for hours. My companion whom i thought i had forever to love laid underneath me, cold and still. I cried some more and after some time, i got up and made arrangements. Every night i lay in bed and imagine, his deep brown eyes staring down at me.