“Look, it’s simple; books are just like films. By the time you’ve had so many bad ones, you know what you want. There is no wrong literature, you need the whole package. You’ve got to go with the flow.”

“Well, if you’re so convinced, why don’t you deal with the flow yourself? I’m about done with you and with this situation.”

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don't touch me:

we hugged for 37 seconds
i felt my blood rush from me to you and back again

46 heart beats hounding against each-other
'i win'
'no, i win'
i heard them fight about who's louder
and they kept on beating louder

you put your arm around my waist
and felt my skin for 6 seconds max
you held me like a trophy
your hand movement was too delicate
like maybe you were dusting off a feather

i felt a twitch in your leg
and a shake back from mine
my body was crying:
'don't touch me'

i gently shrug back
and i could see your eyes
light up
and you could tell i felt comfortable
you simply smudged my face with:
'intimacy issues'


But it has been too long, and I cannot do without my mother’s rhythmical strokes on my hair, without her soothing ‘ya sett el banat’.

And with the weight on my shoulders getting heavier, I am walking around, back hunched over, bowing more and more, with the corners of my mouth being dragged down on both sides with every word you utter, like pulleys, and the words weigh too much, too much, and the space between my eyebrows shrinking, like two enemies closing in on each other.

Ya Allah, I do not ask that you give me a lighter load, but rather a stronger back.

Ya Mujeeb.

7. // REEM

love is too much for the imaginary world- it waves in and out in forms that you don't notice/ cigarette smoke, waves from strangers, grass toes, spitting gross beverages out of car windows, rolling around all sundays in large grey jackets, relating to film noirs ("the stars are ageless, aren't they?"), poetry reading at inappropriate eight in the evenings, the smell of your skin. awkward stuff like that. i wash myself clean, i do, but it comes back with a talent- where do i run from that?


To think, I stood there. In the wind. Where you were, and then weren’t, when I was too late. When I’d run after you, when the storm fought against me, when your brain gave up and when my legs gave out. And I was too late.

Too late. Funny that word is, now. We always thought we’d be too late, too late to grow up, too late to slow down, too late to be us and too late to save you.

But in the end, I was the only one too late to do anything, wasn’t I? You had caught up. On time. Leaving me behind as I struggled to catch up. Struggled against the storm where your heart gave up and my body gave out.

And to think, I stood there. In the wind. By the edge where you ran. Where you’d been, and where I wasn’t, because I’d finally caught up.

Right on time.



what if i fill out the form with truer answers,
write down how i’m best at looking with blind
eyes at photogenic secondhand moments?
and mailing love poems to the graveyard of
love, addressed to all dead inamoratos.
                                        (when the water rises, you
                                        better be fast, caution has
                                        always caused you accidents)
my tongue’s not for licking
love, its burnt buds don’t
heal fear, they can’t fill you
up or satisfy your hunger. 
you can run away; 1, 2, 3,
but it lives where i live.



Good morning cherry breather,

the flowers in my garden have been deciding to let us be for the construction workers’ noise these days, I told my father the reason of them doing so is that the noise stole the morning from us so now we are too busy being “modern humans” rather than keeping the little habits that keep us in our skins like singing for the flowers, making sure to kiss them, never mind the moths, never tell anyone if there is a bee around any sun flower so no one would avoid saying hello to it. If you were here, I’m sure you’d help me create a hideaway for the flowers and collect piano keys from chitchats so we’d never have their colours washed off of our days. If you were, tonight would be less about me hearing the walls and having my knuckles turned into secret chambers to write what was I told later into pavements and more about our bodies shouting to all the buildings who are trying so hard to barely exist more than we are. I feel like that is pretty selfish of me, to not want any other creature to compete with us humans and try to exist for a mere moment, but at the same time what are we if we are not the only ones known to bother with that matter?