Make your wishbones
tie your ghosts to the tree and
let the wind carry them where you
Maa makes a salan for each son
because they like different things
but the beti needs to learn to make her own food
kyun ki uski age pe shaadi aur bachey hotey hain
larka jaan per be jaiy, jaise bi rai
maa ankh band karke osko kabi kuch boley gi nahi
beti aik galti kare
uski izzat zaban per aja ti hai
the sons can go out and party get a girl pregnant
but they’ll still be able to move on and find a good girl to marry
the girl stays out a bit later than 8 pm
might wear a t-shirt,
and the whole mohalla is calling her a slut, saying she’s no longer a virgin
we don’t love our girls as much as our sons
you have failed us girls
us girls are tired of walking on eggshells
of being thrown around, walked all over
and expected to have sabr
kehte hain betiyaan sab se bari rehmat hain
toh aaj hum ko kyun torey ho
Picture Credit: @thepakistanimarthastewart
Now I find myself dancing
to the frantic beat of my heart
at the threshold of judgment
desperate for a figment of
something positive, warm
but realise that I’m shackled
by cynical negations, galore.
Here demons wear masks
of noblemen and kings
and brandish their swords
Continue reading A dance in the dark
the memories of him
cling to my skin
heavy & unwilling
full of something
wants a part of
and I find myself
ready to drown him out
with flood water tears
(photo by ahmed ashhaadh via unsplash)
He graced me with a perfect smile upon his face
As he placed the most magical kiss lips can taste
Mending all my broken bones together
His presence couldn’t be detained by any weather
All of the bullet wounds surrounding my heart
Reminding me of the way I fell apart
Love will send your mind spiraling in the dark hours of the night
Reminiscing on all of the times you had to put up a fight
Demanding for him to stay
Yet all they tend to do is begin to run away
That is why our magnificent kiss haunts me in my dreams
Sadly love never is the way it seems
As much as I hoped this time would be different
I know deep in my core that it isn’t
I watch as the spot in my driveway remains empty
As you continue to love on plenty
Leaving them wondering deeply in their souls
Why their minds were left souring from their control
They fell for your same tricks
That you applied just as smoothly as the kiss you placed upon my lips
I knew I should of ran from the start
My mother always told me I was smart
I still am baffled in the way you managed to get under my skin
Why do people like you always have to win?
But I have learned my lesson this time around
As the scars you left on me are no longer profound
I will soon be ready to love again
As I no longer view my broken bones as a sin.
I’m trying to silence the voices
that tell me you don’t care.
They ring loudly in my ear.
They shout to me.
They tell me to stop wasting my time.
But I don’t listen.
I often wondered if you were as sad as I was after you walked away. It pained me to say that perhaps you were not, and one day I had to let my hope dissipate. This is where I walk now, on the road taking me further away from you and any dreams I held onto. I stopped by the ocean for a while and tried to drop your name into the water, but I might as well have drowned myself because you were still inscribed all over me. Continue reading The Aftermath by Samihah Pargas
( photo by graham hunt via unsplash )
more soil than flesh—
hips shaking in the juke joint woman.
sunday morning high notes with
pot liquor and cornbread woman.
chasing love in a field,
turning more scar than flower—
more, never less than woman.
yet, still seeing god woman.
you are here woman.
—you are holy, black woman
I am tired of being sad. I just want to be fucking awesome. How in the fuck do you do that? I think it just comes to a point, when you are like fuck it. I am doing this. It is happening. If others don’t like it, they can suck it. I am sick of being PC. I legit spent over 20 years being hella proper. Okay, I am still proper. I like to swear though. I think it’s funny. So any fucking way…
I am tired of being sad. I don’t want to apologize for ever feeling sad ever. I think it’s awesome to feel. I think it is outstanding to be so moved that you move yourself into a depression. Only because there is an opportunity for a silver lining. When you’ve dug out of the muck and mire, there is hope. It is a beautiful sunshine minus the troll at the end with gold. You brush off your knees and think, “I made it. “ You went through hell to get to Heaven.
I am a lady with high anxiety. Oddly enough I am letting my fear of virtually everything drive me. So many people think that could be a bad strategy. Well if you have anxiety you totally get it. You get so nervous that you utter, “Fuck it.” That situation was your breaking point. I don’t know what it feels like to not be nervous. I wouldn’t trade my over sensitivity to stimulus for anything. It has literally taken me to Paris, Berlin and Sweden for some strange reason.
My stress self-exploits have recently brought me back to art. Creativity my haven from childhood. I am throwing my 1st exhibition and…
Well you’ll have to wait for the rest.
I’m not perfect.
Although that should be clear as water, sometimes I feel the need to state it. For myself and for others. Especially for others. It is probably my fault and in my actions. It’s probably something I do or don’t do. It’s probably because of the way I see the world and how I speak of it.
I am not perfect.
And I get tired.
And I give up too.
There are so many things I have given up and not looked back. There are so many things I have looked back but not regretted. There are so many things I regret too.
It’s entirely human. I believe.
Being a mess of so many things, not only good, not only bad, but everything. Not black or white but fifty shades of blue. And some purple, once you wear those rose colored glasses. On holidays. Or those real good days.
The days you hold on to with everything you got to keep moving forward. To keep moving. Even if only an inch or less. Even if to the sides or back. Just moving. Because life is made of movements, moments, actions and decisions you never really got to think through.
Life happens. But I digress.
I’m not perfect. And that’s fine. It’s entirely human, I believe.
What about you?
© Máh Lima
I hope my cries echo through your mind at night
When the world has muted and all you can do is think
I hope you think of me
I hope you think of the way you made my heart bleed
The way that you would set my soul on fire
Continue reading “Fire Starter” by Sarah James
Roll down the window
and drive fast.
Feel the dirt.
In your teeth,
under your nails,
in your ears.
redder than the blood
that spilled to make them.
glistening dark skin
rich, white cotton.
sunday picnic baskets.
the finest leisure day clothes,
black bodies drifting
in the summer breeze.
an orange rolled
by withered black hands.
a sweetness to cast off
the sour of sickness.
too many mouths;
not enough chicken
or eggs or vegetables.
only cents, instead of dollars.
the living not shared—only cropped.
anywhere but here.
pack up and head north.
where nigger is negro,
still bitter and stinging,
long car rides
to grandmother’s house.
ten kids to two rooms,
but we complain about six.
still dirt roads.
strange fruit has
rotted to the ground.
now bullets chase
along with the summer breeze.
I have tumbleweeds stuck to my lips.
Do you taste them?
They scrape and scratch my skin with
every new name.
The temptation is towards silence
but the noise always seems to win.
I yearn to empty my days of everything but you.
I’ll be burnt but I accept the scars.
See, morning is nothing without a dream to chase,
but while the waste of a generation fades
and days wait only for the moonlight,
my world illuminates in the dark,
where death is a spark,
a spike to the heart,
when all is unsaid,
and the hunger is fed
I contemplate greed
and the silence becomes nothing but a reason to bleed.
The ink is a seed
and everything chases the sun.
– Chris Eyes
the exorcist of my demons
the water that puts out the fire in my mind
the surgeon that stitches the shredded pieces of my soul back together
the angel on my shoulder that keeps the devil from ruining me irrevocably
my heart might rain
but my voice is fire
bringing heat to
a frozen world
A garden filled with lovely red roses, I chose a white rose
I started to stare at it meticulously before light of the day goes.
I wondered how it never felt alone, never felt unwanted, never felt left out
I plucked it and its thorns cut through my skin how words do when humans shout.