Open Flower

Lying on the cold floor, with my cheek pressed against the floor, and drowning in the emptiness of my soul, i decided two things could happen. It could end in a love story or it could end in tragedy. Its either he loves me, or he doesn't but not knowing is what got me on the floor in the first place. If he loves me, roses and butterflies and if he doesn't, well, i am already broken, into a million little pieces, falling into an abyss of emptiness, how much worse could it get.
I had it all planned in my hollow skull, i woud sit with him, look into his eyes, this time i would be strong, i wouldn't break down and cry like a child who lost a toy. This time, i would be an adult about it. I would tell him how i feel, and ask him how it all went wrong. I would tell him how much i miss his hands in mine, the sound of his heart beat, when my head is pressed against his chest, his little body spasms when he sleeps, the comfortable silence we often share and his deep brown eyes. It would be like opening a flower,a Queen of the Night, it's a lovely flower, it waits till night fall and it opens up, filling the atmosphere with its lovely scent. I would pour my heart out to him. I would tell him how he is the last thing on my mind before i fall asleep and the first thing on my mind when i wake up. I know it is love because the thought of him upset makes me cry and his happiness is my happiness.
But there are days when i want him to fall down the stairs and hurt himself real bad, maybe, just maybe he would have a glimpse of how much pain is in my heart, soul and body. I would tell him how much i hate him some days and how much i love him other days. How it tears me apart, limb by limb to watch him with other girls. It's like being placed in a box, without a lid or lock, there is only a little hole, the only way out and you could only get out if you could find the hole. I would tell him how some days i want to hurt myself for the physical pain is much more bearable than the one in my chest.
Two things could happen, he could either think i am totally insane, like out of my mind in sane and needy and clingy OR he could hold my hands, look deep into my eyes as if he would see my soul and tell me how much he loves me too, not likely, i thought, but even just the possibility lightens my heart.
All planned out. Tomorrow i would walk up to him and i will pour my heart. A day after, lying on my cold floor again, tomorrow i will find the courage to tell him, i decided. A day after again, tomorrow i decided once more. And again, and again, and again.

Letters and Numbers

Growing up i was always one of those book worms,
Father got us books and piled them in boxes and told us to read,
And the sweet part is, we loved every bit of it,
From Lady Birds to Enid Blytons,
We were his little books worms,
We made him proud,
I always hated school but loved to learn,
The point of going to a place filled with pretentious and competitive kids,
With adults, dictating what i can and can't do,
Taking a test to determine who's smart and who's not
Never made sense  to me,
The B makes me dumber than the A student,
And my F makes me a delinquent and possible street degenerate.
The idea behind waking up every morning,
To have my life written out for me on a sheet of paper,
Has never been a life i wanted.
"x + y" does not give me a "z"
And so my lack of ability to do the sum gets me a D
Which puts me at the bottom of the class,
And in my book, letters form words and numbers don't
But in algebra, its all mixed up and it gets me mixed up,
And so i can't read it, and i cant sum or subtract or even multiply it,
Miss says, "you need to study more" but what i need
Is for the alphabets to form words and not numbers and maybe
It would all make sense to me and if possible,
i would get an A and so Miss will think i'm smart.
And when the letters form words, I can read them in a book,
And it will all make sense and i will be in love with the book
And in my mind, life will be perfect.
Give me letters to form words, keep the numbers for the smart kids Miss.

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. 

Will It Matter?

So i found a letter i wrote to someone few months back and in the letter i wrote losing that person was my biggest fear. based on this i have a new mantra and it's "6 months from now, will this matter?". Honestly, it doesn't matter. I lost that person, and i'm still here. I mean, the things we think would ruin us end up making us. What i thought would be the absolute end of me became something that gave me so much. We must always ask ourselves this before deciding whether something would make or break us, in a given time frame, will it matter? will you even remember it? will it make sense?. 

Princess

Believe whatever you want to believe but The Princess always ends up with the prince. At the end of the day, regardless of peoples beliefs that love is diverse and open and the princess may end up with the pauper but who are we kidding? Princesses go for Princes. We must not settle for less than we deserve, if the princess feels strongly that she deserves a Prince, then she must settle for a Prince, never less. She must love herself enough to know what she deserves.

Once upon a time, the princess had no idea who she was, she didn't know what she wanted and her idea of life was below mediocre. Along came the pauper, he was kind and she taught she could love him so she gave him a chance. She turned the pauper into an outstanding husband without even trying. The princess taught she had it all. Coming from a family where she was beyond loved with a father that would kill for her, she was happy. naive princess did not know, the man she taught she loved was not whom she wanted. She began to read and find herself, she realised she deserved more than the pauper. She did not not want him because he was a pauper, she realised her beliefs and his beliefs were total opposites. Within a short period of time, the pauper left the little princess, he broke her heart and she cried for nights. Knowing full well that she deserved more than the pauper, she still let herself hurt over him. Little Princess hurt, healed and learned. She buried her heart far away in the depths of her soul and plunged herself into a life of books. She read and read, learned and learned, changed her life, loved herself enough to fully understand who she was and what she wants. Little Princess realised what true happiness really is. For her it was finding something she loved, the love of books, and letting it consume and overwhelm her.

Morale of the story is, you must first know who you are before you can involve yourself with another. you must embark yourself on a journey at some point in your life to truly get to know what it is you are living for and if that which you are living for is worth dying for.