It

Note: I'm using the pronoun 'I'. This, in a literary sense, does not really mean that I am directly referring to myself. This is a narrator. This is a poem.

To the Woman who told me

That I let it happen to me.

That I let them take my life away from me

That I let them push me into the darkest corner

This entire world has known for so many years.

To the woman who told me

That I let it happen to me

I hope you understand that I let them

Force me into a life of shame

Of self blame

Of self loathe.

To the woman who told me

That I let it happen to me

I let them tear my skin

My muscles

My guts

Myself

Until I was nothing but bone

To the woman who told me

That I let it happen to me

Trust me,

I know.

It hurts.

I die.

Everyday.

Thank you, for the reminder.

To the woman who told me

That I let it happen to me

I no longer have a soul,

I no longer have skin,

I no longer have myself

They took me from me.

To the woman to told me

That I let RAPE happen to me

I hope that RAPE never happens to you

So that I can never come up to you

Tell you

That you let RAPE happen to you.  

The One-Word Poem: Rise/Fall

Rise

Stand

Smile

Euphoria

Power

Light

Yellow

Free

Happy

Strong

Eyes

Up

Blue

Skies

Breathe

Air

Clear

Calm

Wait

Weight

Panic

Smoke

Choke

Skies

Dark

Eyes

Down

Weak

Sad

Captive

Black

Heavy

Impotence

Woe

Quiet

Sit

Fall.

Suicide Romantics

Ill take you down to Japan,

To the forest that breathes.

We’ll build necklaces with broken nooses

We’ll build homes out of abandoned tents

And maybe even use the broken bones for fire.

Decorate a skull with roses.

And Let’s not think about tomorrow.

Or the day after it.

Lets see what we could do

In the suicide forest

Built for me and you.

Then at night

When it is dark

And the green turns black

And we count to ten

And you wrap a noose around your neck

And I swallow a couple of hundred

Sweet bullets

We will think about tomorrow.

Your noose a necklace.

Our tent a home.

Our bones coal

Our skulls décor.

RANT: Problems with Khaleeji Soap Operas.

My mom is currently watching this gulf-soap-opera and I am watching it with her. Nothing has fueled my hatred for Arabic media more than these ghastly TV shows, and my reason is not related to anything religious, cultural, or traditional, but rather something a little more regional.

They say that they are tackling the most prevalent of problems in the region, like drugs, polygamy, among others. But the thing is, a lot of these wonderful TV shows present the problem without really presenting the solution. So, technically, a lot of these TV shows that the lot of you obsess over in the holy month of Ramadan, are using the above statement as an excuse.

Another problem I have with these TV shows is the way women are portrayed. Rarely do you find a character with potency and superiority—if you did, she, for some ambiguous reason, would be the enemy. Once again, the woman, in the Arab world, is degraded.

 The woman is also always dressed up, which is annoying. Last time I checked, none of the Arab girls that I know spend their mornings in a Moroccan dress with a perfect cat eye and a pair of Jimmy Choos.

 How are they ‘tackling the most prevalent of problems’ in the region, if they cant even manage to be realistic?

Basically, what I’m trying to say is that there are a lot of problems in the region that are so much bigger than polygamy, drug addiction—and falling off the stairs, then managing to get cancer. Stop being backwards.