Wednesday, June 3, 2015

body.


i never really had a sense of home
so i’ve made my body a home
for me and others.

my fingers gave birth to soundscapes
my vocal chords vibrated with songs of joys and distress.
my arms have held together what threatened to fall apart
my eyes have invited vulnerability and trust
my lips have loved and reassured
my shoulders carried burdens, but never broke
my legs wrapped around lovers in their moments of ecstasy
the back of my knees served as canvases, for those who truly indulged.

i never really had a sense of home
so i’ve made my body a home
for me and others.

so dont you dare teach me
to hate it.

Sunday, February 1, 2015

strength.



you admired my strength
it shone through, you said
a pillar reminding you not to fuck with me
strength: quiet and pulsating
laced with courage for vulnerability.

you admired my strength the way a master admires a well-built human being at a slave auction.


"she can handle it"
maybe you admired it because you knew that however many times you play rough with me i may waver but always stand tall, never breaking.
and you could walk away
guilt-free.


i did not spend years cultivating this
only for you to test its limits.
i made this to share. to walk with loved ones.
to wear my wounds open
and to heal them with my own tongue.

goddess

soft. vulnerable. hopeful.
every time.
maybe i’m foolish
or forgetful
or insanely courageous.


maybe a goddess
with infinite capacity
for forgiveness.

bedouin

my bedouin roots prepare me
for the harshness of matters of the heart.
nomadic, not by choice but by necessity.
when the well runs out
when the resource stops regenerating
i pack light and move on.

when i find my new oasis
i make a home out of small corner spaces
like an inconvenient guest
ready to leave whenever she is asked
whenever the wells run dry

i pack light and move on
i pack light and move on
i pack light and move on

over and over and over again.

Thursday, January 1, 2015

as if.


you look at my limp limbs
my poker face
my indifference
in horror and astonishment

your brow furrows
your lips curl
when you hear the accusation against you
you wail and wail of protest and defense

as if you did not hear my cries when you pushed me down
as if i did not beg and plead
as if i did not reach out

Wednesday, October 9, 2013

untitled

sunlight dancing on our skin
intertwined lazily under a central park tree
exchanging vibes, musical harmonies
pacing our lust, small doses
holding hands and gazes
adorned in the graces of his presence, touching faces
his fingertips slowly graze over my lips 
swollen from his kiss and a touch of cannabis

could a bliss be so simple?

we weave through the city
slowly, inconveniently, rebelliously
pestering pedestrians as we walk 
heavy with our hearts
staggering intoxicated with wanderlust 
of new york city and... us

who is this man?
who is this MAN -- my inner teenager demands
who is this man who envelops my entire physical being with his callous hands 
and his tattooed frame?
who is this man that i so willingly gave access to my time and affection
my vulnerability and my pain?
what does his soul taste like?
when will i step on a landmine in his mind  --
what does his anger look like?
what parts is he, and what parts are his tributes?
what parts are us, and what parts are quiet desperations?

and i wonder
could he ever love me inbetween my lines of ethereal/juvenile
... could anyone?

Thursday, August 29, 2013

His love

Kind of a lame and cheesy sentimental poem, but hell, i was feelin it.

Maybe his love isn’t a run-to-the-other-side-of-the-street-defying-death-in-a-New-York-City-traffic-jam-for-one-last-kiss kinda love
And it definitely isn’t a come-home-late-from-work-to-find-him-running-me-a-bath-adorned-with-candles-and-rose-petals kinda love

And it isn't a whisk-a-curl-from-my-hair-away-from-my-face-on-a-chilly-autumn-evening-only-to-linger-his-gaze-deeply-on-me-and-then-kiss-me kinda love.
But.
His love was a kiss-me-on-my-forehead-when-I-was-spewing-snot-and-sneezing-germs kinda love.

A holding-me-silently-as-I-braced-for-sadness-to-wash-over-me kinda love.

A laughing-politely-at-my-childlike-squealing-and-loud-antics kinda love.

A pausing-the-movie-playing-on-my-laptop-for-a-making-out-break kinda love.
And it was enough.