Everything. 

She took me

Into her

Spaces, 

Showing me the voids where 

A world once lived before

To when she cracked

& the gravity 

At her centre

Collapsed, 

& everything she knew

Went to the darkness

Beyond her skies

Rather than

The light

She gave off from

A hundred suns.  

She showed me where

She broke, 

And I tracked the lines that

Marked where she

Cracked

With fingers that have brushed on

A phantom’s shadow, 

Felt where her walls

Parted & held, 

And deep down to where

The earth 

Swayed

On her waters, 

And saw the shells of pain

She kept burried

At the shores of pleasure,

But I still held her, 

Like she had become

Everything 

My world breathed around. 

Anything Else. 

​She came with

The intensity

Of the

Sun, 

Hurling spear-long rays 

Like raindrops

At the darkness

Around me, 

Boring holes

At my night skies

And leaving

Starlight

On my skin. 

I never looked at

Anything else 

Since… 

Where the Light Breaks. 

​All my life I always felt like the best memories were the ones we’d have as a family, together, despite whatever the world was throwing our way. 

I miss, especially, when we’d be vibing to old school music from the radio at 9 at night, as my father drew portraits of nostalgia with memories that stained his bare hands on the empty canvas of air before him. I’d watch him forget himself, watch him speak of his youth & all the things they did with my mother in the flames of their rebellious world, & all the while I’d be moved by how much life they have tasted, despite everything the world took away from them in return…. 

Their lives… 

Their dreams… 

Their jobs…

And in the end, while we lost ourselves in the pursuit to build something for my sister we ended up denying her the one thing she deserved to get abundantly from ourselves; a family. 

Chocolate & Chilly Mornings. 

​A friend of mine once told me how she loved my poems. The words she used were “warm & cosy” & for me it truly felt like I have grown in my writing.

 “warm and cosy” brings to my mind the image of being alone in the house on a chilly morning, preferably Saturday, my hands wringing the shaggy hairs of my blanket, as a warm cup of chocolate holds the cold off my palms. And outside I’d listen to the raindrops die & stain the window glass with sky blood, & it felt like I could never feel the cold again… & just for a moment, I would forget all manner of thought & believe it.

Rage. 

​It is easier 

To be

Angry… 

To be thunder

& lightning… 

To be rage

& flame alike… 

It is easier to let

The dam

Break

Than to bear 

The entire might

Of the world

Landing sledgehammers 

On your back… 

It is easier to be the

Living carnage

Than the

Dead silence. 

But it is the things that

Come easy

That destroy us 

The hardest.

Collapse. 

​Maybe this isn’t 

The right place to

Write this, 

Wrapped by the nakedness

Of dark

With the devil’s lips

Voicing

Words that would never

Leave my own. 

I thought I’d find peace here, 

At the depths where

The wind doesn’t roar… 

The water doesn’t splash… 

The sun doesn’t burn… 

& where

The moon

Can take off its crown of

Dead stars

& lay behind the earth… 

I thought I’d find peace here, 

Alone with the

Silence

Of the night… 

I thought I’d find peace here… 

At the height where

God

Whispers life

Into newborn suns… 

But in this path I chose

I realised how much 

My demons

Feed on the loneliness, 

And this world of

Suns & stars

Becomes a void, 

And nothing is ever enough

To sate the emptiness… 

& where I thought I was

Found, 

I became lost again, 

& the peace

Quickly became

Chaos. 

Maybe this isn’t 

The right place to 

Write this, 

But it is all my fingers have

As is

The wind

To my breath… 

The blood

To my heart… 

The Shahada 

To my tongue…