Asking for a friend..

At what age do stockings stop from riding down our thighs?
And when does sunrise grow old?

At what age do we stop pointing at cats and cows with excitement?
And when does deserving love start to unfold?

Who’s keeping the time of when being bystanders to massacre would stop?
Or all our timers dont work anymore?

At what age stage do we stop accepting pain from the people who love us?
The words they use intentionally or not so much
Or the intentions they have clear or not as much.

At which heart rate does it give up hope of them realising the dire monstrosities they left behind for us to face?
Or for them to own up to their daggers in our hearts and minds?

At what age does the mind stop repeating the horrors they said so casually?

At what time of the day do we stop feeling the heaviness fall into our laps out of nowhere just because we saw thier names in our journals or tongues?

My mind
My heart
My labyrinth

May you be embraced with a lot of love that it overwhelms and overflows every inch of your corners and curves.

My heart, my mind, my labyrinth – midjourney

The awful things we do to make the head go quiet..

Like crying ugly through the night till the neighbours are worried
Like putting my ego aside and beg them once to stay

Like dancing with strangers till breathing is labor
Like dancing on my own till heartbeats are labor
Like being.. till mere being is labor
–


The awful things we do to make the head go quiet

We listen to the mind while its screaming its rambles

To force eyes open to watch all the excruciating images it has projected on the biggest screen it has.

The awful taste of living through the sweet memories in every nook of my mind and bed.

All the firsts
And all the lasts
—-

The awful things we do to make the head go quiet.

Like weeping silently when other people are around in order to hide the attention to my aching body

Like kissing the burnt hands of my heart to give them solace from missing their hugs

To allow the loss of the wrapped waves of our bodies in silent sleep.. under one cover.

My arms cannot suspend their disbelief of your absence.
—


The awful things we do to make the head go quiet

Like staying sober and awake till my mind begs for moments of surrender to the small death.

The awful things we do..

Like not speaking their name because each letter burns.

The awful thing I do..

Is existing, still.

A moment in the office

Sitting on the floor of the bathroom stall at work isn’t the best place to discover you love so deeply,

Trying to catch oxygen molecules from thin air to root down your heart isn’t the best time to discover your capacity to embrace heartbreak,

Tensed shoulders
Rebelling gutt
And flared up eyes
Are all signs of bravery.

When I put my hand on my chest I can feel the scab on the edges of my heart wounded open.

I trace it with my fingertips, witnessing the images and memories it generates.

I put my hand on my shoulder in comfort when torturing visions occur. I now have -again- just my voice for comfort and safety.

I stand up from the bathroom floor after panic knocking from the other side. Arms waiting to hug me. Only to open the door and find my reflection in the mirror, looking back with love.

Open-ended questions

She sat down across the room from me waiting for her cigarette smoke to settle.

She started by staring to the void behind me as if she is speaking to her guides:

How can I whisper to my feline friends, so wise, That in the depths of night, under starry skies,

How can I convey, as their soft eyes meet mine,
That I’ll be just fine, in this heart of mine?

How can I explain to my boss that I can’t attend this meeting because the stream of tears won’t cease for the life of me?

How can I make my friends understand that it’s been a week since I last showered? The thought of cleansing away the remnants of our connection, ever since our last conversation, feels like scrubbing away the ache he left behind?

How can I possibly enlighten my car on the necessity of self-driving? Apparently, my tears have turned me into a sightless mess, utterly road-blind.

How can I make my hands understand they must start sewing the freshly severed, tender ends of this wound back together?

how can I explain to my heart that yes the whips of his blade were much braver than our love ever was?

How can I breathe, in this heartache I find, From the apathy of his tongue, heart, and mind?

–

She then stood up..took the smoke and left; breathless

Till spring arrives..

in bed i lie in calm deep abyss,
counting the causalities left by the avalanche of your sudden dismiss,
an unplanned yet expected eclipse.

i found the solace in the sound of my wails,
like a shooting star’s final attempt to be seen as a miracle
I’ll be an unknown to you, my heart’s thumping tells the tales,

My heart echoes with fractures, like an iceberg’s slow break.
i hear the calving and release of pain through that ancient ice.
Each break away is manifested in a nonsedated groan.

I’m not numbing myself against your said razor splinters,
I’m feeling this to the fullest, deepest piercing silent point possible.

And I, a lone sailor, navigating perlious waters of your absence.
I’m camping on that thin layer of ice till spring arrives.

The Grace of My Mother’s Name

Of which the first is love.
And the second and third again, love.

To the first love,
My love,
My mother,
The creator of womb
& My heart.

My heart’s womb
And the womb of my heart.

Of which the first is woman
The first woman,
My love.

I owed you
I owned you
I’m owned by you
Or so I was and you were..
At a time,
And not forever.

As I’m free but I’ll always be
My mother’s daughter
My womb
My love

My faith

My mother’s wound
My heart.

Of which the first is;

The love that’s in me
The love that’s me
The love that’s through me

Seen, felt, held, uttered or screamed

As for love.. is me

I’m what you make of me
And with that I’m free

–
I’m the strength of the woman that my mom was and the ways she wasn’t.. she couldn’t..

To always holding your hand and you holding mine in this world, all worlds, realms and timelines.

To always hiding in your arms from pain and behind you for protection

To always grieving your love in power and grace and strength when I can and crumbling when I miss you too much .. more than my heart can bear.

To always looking back at you with love

To always looking for you in the crowd with love and safety

To always having you present in the center of my soul protecting me and calming you and blessing me with your love and grace

السنة الثالثة لرحيل أمي

وحشتيني كلمة صغيرة و ضعيفة جدا عن اللي أنا حساه

انهاردة عملت حاجة مش بعملها غير كل كام شهر مرة وهي اني اسمع صوتك في ڤويس نوت. اي ڤويس نوت.

صوتك وحشني.

رغم اني شوفتك قريب في رحلة من رحلاتي مع الAyauscha و مكنش همي اي حاجة غير اني احضنك و اقولك انك وحشتيني بس فعلا وحشتيني

العالم الثلاثي الابعاد اللي احنا عايشين فيه من غيرك موحش اوي.

عارفة كام مرة ابقى زعلانة أو قلبي مكسور و ابقى هموت واكلمك؟ اكيد عارفة لاني بقعد اتكلم معاكي بصوت عالي لوحدي وعارفة انك سمعاني و بتيجي تطبطبي عليا وانا صاحية و انا نائمة بس فعلا وحشتيني اوي.


وحشني انتي
روحك
صوت ضحكتك
حنيتك عليا
تشجيعك ليا
وحبك وتعبيرك عنه

وحشني حضنك
واكتر حضن جي في بالي اليومين دول كان بعد ما تعبتي ومبقتيش تقفي فاردة ظهرك وكنتي انتي وانا نايمين في سريرك وقلتيلي تعالي احضنك ودخلت جوا حضنك وقعدت اعيط لاني عارفة اللي فيها وانتي عارفة بس سبتيني اعيط عليكي في حضنك علشان هو مفيش غير حضنك فعلا كان ممكن اعيط فيه كده من غير ما يبقي في اخر الحضن فراق غير الموت

وحشتيني ووحشني كلامنا و نميمنا و ضحكنا

وحشتيني يا صحبتي

وانا بشتغل بحط على كتافي ايشارباتك و شيلانك علشان تغطيني و تدفيني زي ما انتي دايما بتعملي معايا

وحتى أما كنت في الayauscha الشال بتاعك معايا علشان حتى وانا بنتهي و بمر بالego death تبقي معايا لآخر لحظة.

طول عمري كنت بحاول اثبت أن أنا بنت امي بنجاحي و جدعنتي
واه أنا بنت ميمي بس انا مش هي لا

لحد ما حسيت احساس مختلف
أنا بنت امي
I’m my mother’s daughter
And what a fucking blessing is that

أنا بنت امي بقلبي و عقلي و اه حاجات كتير زيها
وحاجات تانية لا

I am my mother’s daughter
And I wonder what I need to give up to sit down with her and hug her standing up

شكراً انك مونساني كل الايام اللي فاتت

You go everywhere i go
I carry you in my heart with love
Not obligation
Not shame or guilt
Not weight down
But lightly freely and with utter form of peace and love.