I`m afraid.
most days
I`m afraid
more than dreamy
or thoughtful
I am afraid.
there is much loss
infesting each corner
and I see people
especially in my
compressed, oppressed, depressed
town
who walked into nothingness.
and I am afraid
I shall too.
I am afraid
that my words
and my little
child play
with big tools
and big experiments
decay
into dismay
if I
could pray
more
could live into today
more
could be young
for once.
but into nothing
like everything
I walk
no words of whalt whitmen
no thoughts of thomas adison
no sheer
"maybe"
roar
of poetry
nothing like Maya Angelo
nothing of the sort.
I am Saudi Arabian
and I am a girl
and though I tend to be average
I scream in protest
my country abandons my mind
all shall bury
my unread lines
I scream once more in revelation
I will not
I shall not
walk into nothingness.
Showing posts with label auto.. Show all posts
Showing posts with label auto.. Show all posts
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Friday, October 21, 2011
rebel.
bred on silence
I am.
told to wish for a husband
and a child
to be a rich,
empty headed housewife
to wish
for a forgotten life
bred on femininity
probability
of uneducation
stupidity.
but I say
ignored, I say:
rebel
all you miss placed creators
who whisper thoughts much greater
rebel
compel
all the faces
on money bells
that laugh at your thoughts of
uncensorship
hail down of dictatorships
rebel
my countrymen
with hearst and minds
softened by
the thickness of Arabic letters
the mysterious wisdom of quran
rebel
we are not here to stay
centuries away
from the world racing ahead
crumbling actions misled
rebel
against all abolishment
of future visions
in the name of
innocent religion
rebel
against
the silent
forgotten
death
of possibility.
I am.
told to wish for a husband
and a child
to be a rich,
empty headed housewife
to wish
for a forgotten life
bred on femininity
probability
of uneducation
stupidity.
but I say
ignored, I say:
rebel
all you miss placed creators
who whisper thoughts much greater
rebel
compel
all the faces
on money bells
that laugh at your thoughts of
uncensorship
hail down of dictatorships
rebel
my countrymen
with hearst and minds
softened by
the thickness of Arabic letters
the mysterious wisdom of quran
rebel
we are not here to stay
centuries away
from the world racing ahead
crumbling actions misled
rebel
against all abolishment
of future visions
in the name of
innocent religion
rebel
against
the silent
forgotten
death
of possibility.
Thursday, October 20, 2011
hatred.
red.
red is where I am and where I burst endlessly. almost unstoppable.
a heart, organs in their flight hatred is a blinding plague , a Japanese torture methoda, things in the world widely agreed on.
I hate you. I loath you, I disdain your pathetic, pathological, half crept, unoriginal, full of empty judgement and misplaced pride existence.
I hate you. for your stains on literature you`re constant assumptions of immeasurable self worth, and enexplainable superiority.
you know how to write a washed out, every `90s romantic comedy`s cleche` metaphor, imagery, simile.
please, do not purge all over my heart with you`r attempted romanticism.
I appreciate attempts at writing, I truly do. I appreciate every being that tries to convey their existence, experiences with words.
but that, and the nobleness of that dosenot begin to fucking describe you.
yes, for you I shall bang on my keyboard angryly and make endless mistakes because you come in the exact package of things I despise to witness. and then, and most conveniently, you say: "hello world, I am a writer, and I am here to fucking guide you"
you dont write! you criticize in a half-assed glamorized way, and in the most largest of contraries to the very concept of art, you appose- not directly so, just so no one would notice, but trust me bitch, I do.- of anything that dears to be different.
I ramble and my hatred isnt exactly rational.
but that is the very point of hatred, its a bundled ramble over and over again of unreasonable emotion, tinted and painted with nothing but fiery red.
I fucking hate you.
and that is it, you`r unharmed, and I am on fire.
red is where I am and where I burst endlessly. almost unstoppable.
a heart, organs in their flight hatred is a blinding plague , a Japanese torture methoda, things in the world widely agreed on.
I hate you. I loath you, I disdain your pathetic, pathological, half crept, unoriginal, full of empty judgement and misplaced pride existence.
I hate you. for your stains on literature you`re constant assumptions of immeasurable self worth, and enexplainable superiority.
you know how to write a washed out, every `90s romantic comedy`s cleche` metaphor, imagery, simile.
please, do not purge all over my heart with you`r attempted romanticism.
I appreciate attempts at writing, I truly do. I appreciate every being that tries to convey their existence, experiences with words.
but that, and the nobleness of that dosenot begin to fucking describe you.
yes, for you I shall bang on my keyboard angryly and make endless mistakes because you come in the exact package of things I despise to witness. and then, and most conveniently, you say: "hello world, I am a writer, and I am here to fucking guide you"
you dont write! you criticize in a half-assed glamorized way, and in the most largest of contraries to the very concept of art, you appose- not directly so, just so no one would notice, but trust me bitch, I do.- of anything that dears to be different.
I ramble and my hatred isnt exactly rational.
but that is the very point of hatred, its a bundled ramble over and over again of unreasonable emotion, tinted and painted with nothing but fiery red.
I fucking hate you.
and that is it, you`r unharmed, and I am on fire.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
my life under water.
everything is prettier under water.
and that is a proven fact, my short legs are longer, and all my ideas damp underwater are some how more profound.
I write, I do, but its the fact that I live so strangely that is suppose to make everything more interesting but it doesnt, because I, and in contrary to popular belief, actually do not have the key to my own heart, and even if I did I hardly think all the out poor of emotion would flow so smoothly.
I am 17, and I do not blow my own horn, because this is hardly a complement, because it`s hardly a blessing, that I have grown far faster than I was intended to do.
at 17, a girl should, well, discover who she wants to be, slowly embark into maturity, and still really want to fit in.
I did that at 13 going on 14.
and as much leverdg that is suppose to give me, it also gives me deep despair, it robs me of childhood, and well, free thinking dreams, and naive endless possibility, because despite it all, I still want to expiriance writing befor I stop due to failure.
and you`d think that being 25 within would somehow give me, more, stability, sternity, and, well certainty?
it dosent in the slightest bits, because I ,scattered ,flow underwater.
because everything is prettier underwater.
and that is a proven fact, my short legs are longer, and all my ideas damp underwater are some how more profound.
I write, I do, but its the fact that I live so strangely that is suppose to make everything more interesting but it doesnt, because I, and in contrary to popular belief, actually do not have the key to my own heart, and even if I did I hardly think all the out poor of emotion would flow so smoothly.
I am 17, and I do not blow my own horn, because this is hardly a complement, because it`s hardly a blessing, that I have grown far faster than I was intended to do.
at 17, a girl should, well, discover who she wants to be, slowly embark into maturity, and still really want to fit in.
I did that at 13 going on 14.
and as much leverdg that is suppose to give me, it also gives me deep despair, it robs me of childhood, and well, free thinking dreams, and naive endless possibility, because despite it all, I still want to expiriance writing befor I stop due to failure.
and you`d think that being 25 within would somehow give me, more, stability, sternity, and, well certainty?
it dosent in the slightest bits, because I ,scattered ,flow underwater.
because everything is prettier underwater.
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