Another day to be a writer

I will write about kindness.

I will write about love

I will write about death

I will write about the sun

And the moon

I might write about every individual star

I will write about pain

I will drag knives over your lungs just hard enough to scrape them.

I will take the air from you

I will take your tear- streaked cheeks and tell you

Absolute truths

The ones that have been kept from you

I will write about failure

And what it means to try again. Selfishly.

I will write about the things you forgot

Things that brought you joy

Do you remember joy?

The real kind

I will write about cold fingers

Yours and his

I will write about silk and satin and

how your skin

wasn’t placed on your body

to please anyone on this earth.

I will write about regret

How bitter it tastes at the back of your throat

I will write about the lies you told

The excuses you made

The promises you broke without blinking

I will write about nature

And how we’re are being lied to:

nature is unnatural

I will write about lips

The kinds of kisses you should be receiving

I will write about anger

Steel wool on the ends of your lashes

Scratchy eyes

Red vision

Burning skin

I will write about calamity

And how we know nothing of it at all.

I will write about consistency

I will write about persistency

I will write about specificity

I will make you uncomfortable



I will write about tranquility

And how to achieve it

I will write about being enough being happy being secure

being unapologetic in those things






Walking into a room full of eyes.

I remember that every decision felt like pin prick in the back of my skull. I remember the way that people would say a name, with a certain amount of acid. Their saccharine smiles and their plastic concern. THE ENTIRE SOCIAL SPECTRUM SEEMED TO HAVE ALREADY FIGURED ME OUT. Which, to me, was fascinating. Since seeing I had yet to figure myself out. I remember thinking that people make snap judgements as quickly as a camera, and that that picture was etched into their mind and that’s why they say that first impressions last. 

I’ll probably use this platform to focus on my writing. Lord knows I’ve been wanting to start a blog since forever. And every time i start (maybe it’s just me) my mind is suddenly stunningly blank. Empty of words. Empty of experiences to share. And in hindsight, perhaps this indecent hour is not the ideal time to begin, but I’m feeling quite good about it. Maybe I’ll finally get around to showing the internet my crappy poetry. Or start a column of advice to hijabis (first piece of advice: layers.) maybe I’ll take minimalistic pictures on my phone and use a black and white filter and caption it with one liners that will keep you awake at night. (Not a bad idea). possibilities are endless, to be honest with you. 

Enjoy xxx