my words say today

sometimes i write stuff so ya.


They sat with their bare backs to the cold glass that could be considered the external wall of the skyscraper they called their home. Her dark fringe reached her upper eyelids and her hair to the freckle near to her last pair of ribs. With her eyes tightly shut, her eyelashes careful not to let go of each other, her fingertips slowly caressed the cold hard marble under her. Her index finger first, then followed by the rest, they all felt the icy temperature of the reflecting material. The marble was pale beige, just a shade darker than her own skin. Her mind wandered off and her thoughts built a whole backstory to the blocks under her. The marble was skin, and the whole building an animal, perhaps a human, stuck in place (much like her right now) and it giggled with every fingertip tickling it. Her head, as heavy as lead, hit back against the now dirty glass again and again. Everything was happening at once and she had no idea what to do.

Forcing her lashes to part, her bright green irises lit up the room. The empty room before her, except for him, felt filled. The rays of light coming in from outside allowed her to observe every single particle of dust. Every time she finds a new particle she remembers a different time. The small straight one reminded her of the time she went to the beach and wore her favourite red dress. The longer one with a small curl at the ends got her remembering her old school and the way she played in the rain. Her fingertips stopped tickling the monster’s skin.

“I like the weather today.”


“It’s just cold enough for my skin to stay dry and warm enough for my nose to stay tanned,” he chuckled.



He talked to her about the weather when the walls of the room around them had dents and splatters of paint that meant so much more than how the weather made his skin look. She stretched her legs out in front of her to get her blood circulating in them again. Admiring her black skirt, she lifted her head off of the poor glass and lifted her thighs off of House’s skin to stand up. Her feet quietly moved around, her conscious of her every move and how much weight to put on each, as her eyes searched for her shirt in the corridor. That was her way of telling him to leave. He wanted to. He dreaded every second that he spent in this house and this room and especially this spot since the day that he told her, but there was no choice but to tell her the truth.

His muscles never felt weaker and his bones more sore. Trying to push himself up would only cause more agony, so he stopped trying. With his knees directly in front of him, he wrapped his arms around them and buried his face deep in between them. He still had no idea why he talked about the weather. Every time he would open his mouth to project an interesting, or so he thought, thought that occurred to him earlier, he would end up spitting out something completely idiotic. He sighed, then searched in his pocket for his lighter. His hands went up to his face, rinsing off the shame with their dryness, then through his already messy blond hair. They then proceeded to feel the area around the block he was sitting on to find his cigarettes, at least that would calm him down. Striking his thumb against the roller and pressing it onto the lighter’s button the first time didn’t work, neither did it the second time, but the third time did the job. His left hand searched this time to find the cigarettes, then picked one out to lift it up to his craving lips, his shaking lips, his purple lips.

“Please God let him be gone,” she thought, her steps getting heavier the closer she got to the empty room. He wasn’t.

Dianne had to figure out a way to get him to leave. She had to figure out a way to get him out of her life, at least for the next three months. Her tongue would tie itself up and swallow itself down every time she would think about him leaving. She never did really figure out if she wanted him gone or not. She no longer thought it was an obligation for her to hide away the obvious swellings or the dark blue and green bruises on her body. She no longer feared the ones to come, either. With her shirt on and her hands tying up her hair, her feet led her to the balcony door where she paused for a few seconds to finish up her hair, and then pushed at with all her might. The view in front of her eyes was absolutely mesmerising. All the inhabitants of the building always complained about the horrible view of the urbanised roads and polluting cars, but she thought it was the best thing she could ever see. Her eyes would never get tired of counting the red cars in the midst of the usual blacks, whites and greys. She passed time by watching the young hotel porter of the hotel across the street try to carry the bags that usually weighed three times how much he did onto his golden cart. She found it ironic how his cart was glittering as opposed to his physically exhausting job. There was no wind to blow through her hair, just the sun to burn holes into it.

He was not confused any more. He could never completely grasp what was going on from the first few minutes, but then he would go back to his natural state of acceptance. After burning out three cigarettes, he gathered enough calm nerves to go up and explain her brain to her all over again. Like he did the week before, and the week before that, and every single week for the past seven years. He did not mind, not one bit, not at all. He did not mind that he had to explain the way she thought to her, he never did. Actually, during the first four years, Laith enjoyed it. He had the honour of carefully unwrapping her covers to finally understand what she was about, but the covers never stopped coming. Oddly enough, each cover stretched out more than the one he finished deciphering, and he loved himself a good challenge. His thighs ached as he got up and his head spun around itself thirteen times. His vision was blurry and obstructed by these weird blotches of yellow and black accompanied with an eerie sensation behind his eyelids. Extending his arms out to balance the water in his ears, he finally got himself stable again. He laughed, half-heartedly, at how his feet looked like the only thing with a pigment in the room, other than the beautiful colours on the walls then stepped onto the balcony to begin his weekly talk with her.

“Dianne, would you listen to me at least? I know you don’t want to look at me, I know you think I caused these horrible bruises, but darling I promise you, I’m not like him. You aren’t covered in bruises, I swear. I swear, darling, just open up your eyes. You aren’t living with him any more,” he whispered into her right ear as she intently listened. She frantically searched for the bruises she saw a few minutes ago and turned around.

“How… They were he-“

“Yes, I know, honey. They were here, and here, and here, and here.” He said, pointing at the places she recalled to be bruised. Lifting her left hand up to eye-level he smiles and says, “and remember, you have a ring.”


it isnt the sunset
that petrifies me-
when the light is overcome
by the power of the darkness
and everything begins
to lose its power(except for the drunken teens)-

but instead the Sunrise
so majestically beautiful
the Sun comes up
to destroy all serenity,
to destroy all tranquility,
to destroy the earth,
by waking mankind up.

Like the Roman soldiers that were ordered
to take over all the land,
the Light comes in
burning all skins
and crushing the greatest empire of Man’s.

There are wirings in our brains,
no longer are there veins.
Our language is binary,
not English, Arabic, Chinese, Afrikaans, French, Bengali, Urdu, Spanish,
We have now become numbers
with the rise of the sun.
so congratulate yourself Humans,
for ripping all words
from the human mind.
(and congratulations, Sun
you have finally burnt down
the messes that we have made.)

Maybe Evil is not Dark,
and Good is not Light,
maybe the Good is Dark
and Destruction is Light.
but you are afraid of the blinded and so cannot even glance

long long hard long

because if you sit still
long enough
you begin to lose the sense
of the borders that your skin
shares with the atmosphere.

because if you observe
long enough
you will see how birds
flap their wings forwards
not backwards.

because if you listen
hard enough
you will hear the
happy squeals of the little boy
across the world on a rollercoaster.

if you think about it
long enough,
the only reason we are blinded
and dumbed
and deafened
is our own way of life.

Venezuela, here is my voice.

the Devil.

on and off
and on and off
and on and off
and on and off.

they left it in the hands
of a human.
with messy hair and
eyes darkened from the rot
that lived in his soul,
he shut his eyes one last time
then smiled.

on and off.

the water trickled
down his nose
and dripped down onto the floor.
if he were a star, he would be
the sun.


he left.

and off.
he turned around
permitting two words to leave
his lips that parted
as if forced by the greatest forces
imaginable to mankind to open
and spit them out:
So what?

and on.
(it remained)

i created a dream… or, at least it created me.

The cliché story.

/these events are true events, told by the person that has experienced them. all facial expressions that the person makes, or any tears, anger outbursts will be noted down in forward slashes and italicised. if not stated, the words were told with a straight face./

“Late 2012, around the beginning of the school year, we began talking. We trusted each other a little too much, considering the fact that we had never spoken in real life, and that he knew too much about me. Nevertheless, i found him interesting. He was shy. And nice. We talked for a few weeks, then he decided it was time to go out. He asked me out to a movie date. i said yes.” /She looked out into something on the right, but there was nothing interesting. Not to me, at least. Her lips cracked a sad smile towards the end of her breath, and then returned to their relaxed state./
“i feel horrible right now. i really don’t remember what we watched on our first date… i do remember that we were planning on watching an animated movie we both really wanted to watch, but then when i got to the cinema hall, it happened to be sold out.” /She was trying too hard to remember. The sides of her eyes crinkled just enough for me to feel how hurt she was to have forgotten such an important part of their story. She avoided eye-contact with anything. Asking for the lights to be dimmed down, she proceeded./ 

“i’m sorry about that. that’s really all i remember about our first date, or whatever that was. i thought it was nice. i do remember something, although i am not sure if it was from the first date or the second, but the second was a movie date too. The second time we went on a date, he got us tickets for a movie that i could not get into because of how late it started and then had to argue with the woman behind the counter to get his money back. He didn’t. i calmed him down. On our first date he complimented my sense of style. i thought i had none, but we loved the same shoes, so it was okay. After the fiasco that took place in line, i got us tickets to a movie that had already started. We both thought it was absolutely ridiculous and laughed the whole way through it. There was a woman sitting above us and she did not like that we were mocking her favourite saga, so we giggled silently instead. /both sides of her lips push up into the most genuine smile ever and fades out when she remembers what came next./ His friend called. They have been best friends for a very long time. His friend got into some sort of trouble with a bunch of guys, so he had to leave to help him. i think this was the first time he had hugged me. Yes, it was. i remember i would not hug him the first time we met, and neither did i the second time, so he took it upon himself to make a move. In his seat, he /she giggles/ awkwardly put his right arm around me and softly whispered his goodbye.”

“We talked a lot. We would talk in the morning, in the afternoon, in the evening, at night. All we ever did was talk. Things got very complicated after a few months of us meeting, and i could no longer go out the same way i used to. i was locked inside my house with a family i could not get along with. Somewhere before us meeting for the fourth or third time /she blinks twice, looking down, even more disappointed at how she is forgetting more and more/ i told him about my story. i told him about the attempt on my own life and how my father was enraged. i told him about how i was called crazy and then taken into the psychiatric ward. The doctors were very shocked at how such a young girl could take so many pills at once. They told me i was depressed, that i had self-destructive tendencies and that i would have to stay there for a while. i told him that i lied to them. i told him how i cracked jokes and showed them that i was normal just so i could get out. He did not know what to say. During the time of us knowing each other, i had trips to the psychiatric ward. Later on, we met for a brief five minutes, and i gave him a peck on the cheek. We hugged for at least three of the five minutes; i could feel his heart beat very fast. The skin that was pressed against mine was warm and his arms were loving. It felt like home. He felt like home. i left.”

“He kept the dates of our dates saved somewhere, and i thought it was cute. Never did i show him that i liked him, or maybe i did, but don’t want to admit it. Anyway, i would tell him how i am heartless and love making people fall in love with me, but he still talked to me. Even though i treated him like a slave that i would ask for entertainment from every now and then, he still told me he loved me. Our meetings became less and less frequent, and our chats more dead.  i needed some time to myself at some point, so i did not talk to him for three days, and that was when it all burnt down into ashes, slowly, but definitely. It was me, i’m sure. i did it all. i could never go out, and when i thought i could, i would get extremely excited and tell him, only to have my plans shattered. i missed him so much that i could feel my heart being ripped every time he would not say i love you before i went to bed. i drained all the life out of him and i deserved everything that happened.”

“A lot of drama took place during that year. i failed a lot of my classes. After my birthday we went out… It was some sort of a double date. We went to the movies to watch an action movie. We almost kissed, but he wouldn’t do it, so it did not happen. After that we went to my favourite café. My friend told me that the way he looked at me was the way someone in love looks at the person they are in love with. ‘i’m in love with him too’ was all that ran through my head. Oh! i totally forgot to mention this… /Her eyes lit up like a christmas tree and the water in her eyes was displaced by happiness/ Once, i fell asleep while we were chatting, and so my mum woke me up in the middle of the night to move to my bedroom, and i forgot to take my phone with me. It was not on vibrate. In the morning, being the perfect human that he is, he decided to send me a little ‘poem’ of his creation. My biological father was in the living room, where the phone was, and he heard the notifications. He was curious, so he ripped all boundaries of privacy and stepped right into the life of his teenage daughter. Before i fell asleep, we were talking about his first kiss, and how he wanted to have it with me. My biological father saw that. When i woke up, he decided to message me asking me if i liked his poem, but i had no idea what was going on. After telling me that his messages were ‘read’ i began to freak out. Of course, my father was mad, but he did nothing. He went on about how it was ill-mannered to be talking to boys that way at my age, and i knew that i was. That was why i did it. So, that year… i got worse, mentally. So did my treatment towards him. i hated everything and the only solution to the problems that i was having was to treat the guy that made me feel like the most important person in the whole world like dog faeces.”

“Nothing really happened during the summer. Nothing that i remember, at least. It was most probably just more arguments or stale conversations that were going on. Whenever one of us was trying to actually converse, the other would shoot them down, treating them like they are less important than they are because of the way they treated them last time we spoke. It was a never-ending cycle of complete and absolute misery. The mountains in me were blown away by the strongest winds imaginable, and my rivers, lakes, seas and oceans gone dry. He got more sexual, and even though i was in the beginning, i just did not feel very comfortable with it. He said he was doing it to push me away.” /She cracked her back and inhaled deeply. Her head trying to find a comfortable position to rest on for a few seconds before she continued./ 

“It was late 2013. /destruction and agony and numbness and hatred all piled up together to be expressed through her clenched jaw and piercing eyes/ i started smoking a few months back, and was staying at a hotel for a while. Cigarettes always seemed absolutely beautiful to me; i always found poetry in the way they burnt out… the person. He did not like that i was smoking, so i tried to not tell him about it if it was not completely necessary. i was smoking, so my replies came late during our chat. i told him, and his replies made everything in me explode. All he did was make fun of me, so i decided to stop talking to him for a while and ended our conversation with a ‘bye, asshole.’ /she let out a sarcastic huff/ Obviously, it was not the best decision. The rest of the day was spent smoking a bit more and crying, accompanied by banging my head against the wall and calling myself names. We did not talk for at least a week, and i do not recall who exactly gave in first, but i bet it was me. We went back to ‘talking’ or whatever you want to call it.”

“This took place in Late November/Early December, i think. He tried to start a conversation by sending me a picture of a girl that looked very much like me, but way prettier, and i chose not to reply, for some reason. Then a few days, or a week later, i am not sure, he started another conversation.”

“We talked for a bit and then he got upset because of how i met new people that happened to be older than me. They were my friends, and they helped me forget about him. i kept on telling him how they are very good friends, i do not know what took over him. He hated me. Despised me. It was the end. We went back and forth until at one point he asked why i liked him, and i replied with an ‘i don’t know.’ Man, i am the worst at decisions. He said he did not understand the point of liking someone. He said ‘Okay. You like a person. You like the idea of a person. They like the idea of you. Then what?’ i was completely shattered. i called him an asshole and told him that i no longer liked him, and thanked him.”
“The funny thing is, he was in love with a girl that i know, and was friends with, whom was just messing with him. She thought it would be a great idea to get together with a bunch of friends and lead the boy on up until that one point that they just stopped talking to him and left him hanging. i think he is still in love with her. i don’t think i mind. Every now and then i do get sad over the fact that there is no ‘us’ anymore, although i am not sure that there ever was, but it is a part of me still. My check-ups on his profile have gotten more scarce, and the space he occupies in my mind is most probably not shrinking, just being pushed back into the darker corners. i talked to him twice since, and he is still a nice person. Less nice and naïve than he was, but there is still something inside him that i know, maybe.”

/She took off her glasses and wiped off the tears that have been streaming down her face for the past three minutes./ “For three minutes we hugged. i wish the heat that i felt right now was from his blood, and not mine mixed with my tears. i hope he finds someone he can look at the same way he did at me. i am trusting him. i hope this was not a lie.” /Putting her glasses back on and sniffing up the excess of tears trying to escape through her nose, she fixed her fringe and smiled at me./

عقدة الأجنبي

can you feel the same things i feel¿

i do not lose myself
in guitar strums
or the waves of the sea
or the distances i run.

i tend to find myself
lost in the strands of my own hair
and the blades of grass beside my eyes
and the scent of the soil under me
and counting the stars during the day
(it’s always less than 2.)

there are words that i do not say
there are words that i do not hear.
there are words that i do not feel.

there are words that i taste
there are words that i smell.
there are words that are not real.

maybe the way my hair curls at its ends
is imitating the way your fists clench
every time your hear my name.

-i have yet to figure out if it is because you still recall the times we have spent together as good memories or because my name has never appeased you, even when you sang it to me while my eyes watered and my blood vessels became more prominent as my head took over my heart and everything came crashing down-

then again,
maybe i still have a beating heart
as a result of the way
i decided to freeze it
every time that you dug your arms
elbow-deep into my chest
and bathed them into my crimson warmth
just for the sight
of it being torn
in the midst of my open scars.

maybe if you thought about it we wouldnt have reached our clima

you are the song that i hum
at midday,
while trying to study for
my midterm.
Maybe soothing it seems,
the words that flash through my head
like your favourite river’s water gushing
that wore the rocks on its banks
and nourished the moss on their sides.

You are the shoes that i do not
take off.
On my feet, no matter how long,
they remain the same,
even with their colour fading out.

The fabric of my oversized sweater
feels like a million needles
poking at my skin. The mountains
that i built on your front porch
are now scattered.
The mud used to make a garden;
Wonderful flowers have sprouted
from my body that you
buried beneath.


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