Hopeful

So many women (myself include) often fall under the terrible trap of giving the (passing) men in our lives too much credit 
No man has built anything for you, darling, the battles, the suffering, the relentless journey laid ahead of us is one we'll march all on our own 

It is a blessing when God sends a man with the understanding of the seasons by his side; one who admires the cross & fights we go through without rushing to claim the gold underneath 

It is such a frightening thing to hold your voice in your hands & stand tall against it all

We are so ridiculously drugged with the discolored misconceptions of love that we accept, endure & allow to be slapped down & over with any awful gloom clouding our better judgement - disguised as love

 The truth is that shimmering light shining in the depth of darkness; the labor & hard work is all you, the dry place to water is also yours to do 

Do not settle for the painting-over done by beastly men, the garden clothed in that early morning is the inner peace you'll learn to nourish 

Love is feasted upon so many undeserving tongues, but that generous blue sky no matter the hidden ruins always awakes to be swept over by the hopeful sun.  

Here I Am

As honest as I can be; I do not hide in shivers of where my thoughts will take me; digesting a relationship that kept me in a dreadful state of inner war & struggle; a permanent expression of grief, anger & resentment.

Love was never meant to hurt.

Love doesn’t beat you to leave you in doubt, cursing every immodest compromise.

Love shouldn’t birth evil impulses in every breath it takes.  

I blame the weakness rooted in a boy for the way he cursed Love; a boy that is too crippled in his own fears to face his own inadequacies & shortcomings of character, a boy that is too rigid, yes & too blown in an inflated, deluded image of self to think anything deeply wrong with him.

Be aware of the weakest of the wicked; a boy like a misguided blend of contradictory washed-up statements, serving nothing but his own selfishness, leaving more & more disappointments in every course he takes.  

We live in an age crowded with those with the appearance of men, but share nothing of the victorious bravery, dignity, wisdom & good character of the men who walked with our fathers. Those are the unbearable & ignorant kind; fixed in bad habits, slaves to the empty amusements & reflections of the mirror.

Be aware of those ruled by the tasteless behavior of the company they’re with.

We ought to be stopped in our paths by the likes of those, how else are we to know that love was never meant to exhaust nor drain your strength with every attempt? That love was never a superficial effort carrying malicious intents.

There is a false alluring charm that leads you to that frame of abusive love, but be careful behind the frame lies the ugly worms that will disfigure your entire world; turning you into something resembling nothing; a mere anxious & tired spirit.

Love is not a product of the circumstance. That is the destructive kind; that journeys violently in a misuse & abuse of power, sacrificing everything in its ill pursuits. 

Take notice of that stripped deceiving-mask; it will reveal that difficult awful truth.

Do not be carried away with wishful thinking, disappointed hope is always just that, disappointed.

I have drank a poison of the bitterest kind, yet here I am, sharpened & relaxed in my power, in a better & overstretched understanding of myself, my nature & that tender softness I have walked into the belly of the beast with, walked out without losing a drop of. 

الحَمْدُ للهِ

There Used To Be Lights Here

there's an unloosed dull oppression that wanders off alone, so far & out of sight, darkening & tossing the mind into a grave-like state. there used to be lights here; lights that would tell stories i would lay here & wait for the air to fill me out with kind words again.

my mother tells me that i lack the good fortune of patience, she says my heart is a delicate glass that i leave hard & scratched open. i know she is right, she knows i am too firmly fixed to lean-in the right way. i used to feel God's love stretching the earth beneath me, my soul moved me to fine waves of a thankfulness that never left me hungry. deep into dreamless days, i woke up on a day; flung floating on an empty page.

this, here, this single page right here.

there used to be lights here.

there used to be a dozen lights; unspoiled & untouched by the figures of horrors. there is a difficult nakedness that i am trying to cover. oh God, hide me into a stream & allow me to seek comfort there.

there used to be lights here.

oh God, i am terrified of the bare forgotten night that has fallen here.

Tides

a love that i have been weighted to wait for, like the end of my favorite songs when i grasp a little sigh of relief at how easy it is to surrender to a solace at the hand of another, i understand how far you have travelled to get here love. i am more tightly closed off that i'd like to be, unlikely to ever admit the scary howling that throws me into pitch blackness each time a piece of happiness is offered, who's to say why a soul bursts into flames of doubts & unbelief. i pray to God beneath the horrors. constantly my love. at nighttime when i am blessed with a little bit of forgetfulness, hope is an olive green garden flowering in the shade of full gratitude & warmth. you are the light to the darkness. the water to neglect. the spring to the thickness. i love you. willingly i follow you in this path decorated with dreaming of long walks of togetherness down a gentle wind. forgive me when i'm away lost to bad voices, i only wish to make a home for you; to turn this dust-in-the-self into daylight. you deserve a mouthful of love. you deserve a life of sweet honey & delight. for the the joy i have growing between my lips. you are the reason. i am resting to the softest tides of a moonlight, & your name is the first on my tongue.

here, i lay open the pages of my notebook to the making & preserving of this love.

i love you. always like this. 

Within & Without

In 2015, I wrote for my father; I stood on that cold stage, clouded with strange air, scrubbing feelings that drifted into the beyond without an answer.

I don't think anyone could ever come to terms with losing a parent, it is one of life's wicked certainties, you know it's going to happen, you fear it happening, you pray it won't happen; not too soon, never too soon, yet no pleading is ever enough to prevent it from happening.

I still have lingering questions, I still have stilled-conversations that I do not wish to have with anybody else, but it is not up to me anymore, that door is closed shut in-front of me.

I do not get to share my growth; the growth he always encouraged and celebrated (no matter how small it was) I do not get to share how far I have come.

Is that fair? 

My words arrange themselves only to come out upside down. Perhaps I am upside down.

I miss my father.

I am in-need of my father.

I wish I could, again, call back all the stolen moments I tried to squeeze-in with him, back when his laughter was alive in-spite of all the pain.

This time, I want them back for me. This time I want to have them, just for me.

God. 

At times like this, I think life -with all its sour fruits- is vanishing inside of me, I think it is drowning parts of me, I walk into a room full of my loved ones and I am quiet. I silence my own voice, sure that no one could truly fill this void. 

Letters (pt. 1)

My love,

Trace my body & find your way home

My sister warned me of the wicked weakness of women who apply longing like a cheap fragrance to their skins.

Her exact words

She said men claim to want everything but really mean nothing; all in the same breath.

Men twist themselves into the shape of a dream just so they can steal a taste of a gorgeous beauty; half-turned; men leave you, betray you, all before wrapping your love in an old rag to stretch desperately for the cold lonely nights.

I saw the depth of love on my father's eyes whenever he spoke about my mother, life exposed it's sweetest fruits whenever he spoke about my mother, gratitude finished each & every thought whenever he spoke about my mother.

I believe people travel half the world to find a familiar comfort; a comfort that is as generous as a stream of a river-calm. I believe my father was broken when he met my mother, I believe he carried gloom long-settled in his heart only my mother would know about, I believe the sun rose for him, one day, as if to say; you never once suffered a sad fate, and a page of his past was turned forever. 

You are a hopeless one

Her exact words

My sister believes men only know of intimacy when they have their hands trapped so deep inside a woman's throat to stop her from leaving. Marriage is fast-falling every time you try to climb-out; you grow quieter, smaller, darker with every climax.

I... 

I try to cut off the weeds, but... I am entangled. 

My love, 

Divorce is no stranger to my vocabulary, I have summoned every piece of advice only to slip under. The women in my family lock grief in a distant room, and every night they part to greet it; every night they lay it bare, mold it in dry thoughts and a heart chilled out of its own emptiness.

The women in my family are all shrinking of bitterness, once as vocal and expansive as the rushing waves, have all knit their lips shut. 

Hush. 

Silent. 

I... 

I am scared of this silence.

I watched my sister swallow her weight in-agony on her first night, I watched my family watching her being smoked into ashes before their very eyes, I watched destiny cry her name over & over & over again before marking a place for her with the stars. 

My love, 

The battles fought in the name of love ache in the pages of my memories, yet, there are no doubts that could ever interrupt a moment standing in-between us; for the branches of your affection that gathered me like scattered drops of rain; I know it's you... & only you who can contain me.  

There are days where I am the pink clouds shaping love-letters, and I am so close... so very close to uncovering the veil, other days I am reduced to the mere distance, the wanting and the tattooed stories I keep trying to scrub off... to demand my love be true, to deny every spit-out pessimist view. 

My love,

Forgive me... 

For, I am still learning

How to trace my body 

To find my own way back home.

Haze

she said:

i know what it's like to love; to wish something into existence, but, my dear, the earth will survive a thousand wars before it learns to conceal you from pain, & allow the skies to wrap you in soft symphonies.

i am sorry for the great grief you carried alone; the grief dumped down your bitter bones.

i am sorry my child.

once upon a time; once upon a wandering light of a twilight that visits me in the shape of a dream; a dream that places itself upon my body, to govern & cover me.

i talk to your father then...

i talk to your father & he asks about you, almost immediately, i tell him of the sort of beauty you've grown into, he sighs into the unwilling air.

do you miss us?

i ask in shivers.

in every corner i've planted a lonesome prayer, to echo from the gates of heaven, i am here. i will always be here.

he answers, watching me drift back into sleep.