SPILLED QAHWA #3: BECOME

 

This morning I woke up and found the snakeskin
of yesterday strewn about me.
This morning I woke up anew.

Mornings have always been favorites of mine,
I am blessed to be able to open my eyes
with amnesia
at whatever chaos the night before contained,
whatever I let myself believe in the dark.

I fall asleep and dream of she in the morning
she who wakes up with sunshine in her mouth
teeth bursting bright white sunbeams, I
make it a point to smile at myself in the mirror
because that she is me
and she’s one to smile at herself in the mirror.

This was always who I was.
The kind for
fresh starts and
startovers,
new beginnings and
resolutions.
I have always been infatuated with evolution.

I make it routine to
close my eyes and drag my hands
over the masterpiece that I am.
I am creator looking for imperfections,
wounds left to lick, I am
prodding for
places left to heal
places left to patch
places where love can grow
like flowers in cracked city pavement.
I have always been in lust with change.

I make it routine to
peel layers back
till the core of who I am
is in image of the Earth herself,
magma hot and
untouchable. Unreachable.

I have always been bewitched with revolution.

People tell me that I’m different now,
they ask me where “all of this” came from,
where it was growing up
I tell them it was not.
It was yet to be.

People tell me I’ve got a temper,
but I shed that skin years ago
from my mind before my body, I am
still picking at the wound that blazed when I let it go.

People tell me I’m not one to keep a grudge
but that was when I let the world walk right over me.
I am a doormat that grew legs and feet.

Don’t expect me to accept it when you
expect me to be the same person you made up your mind that I am.
Don’t expect me to stay the same.

I am crystal in chrysalis, I am
phoenix set on fire, I am
half coal and yet half diamond, I am
the sculpture and the sculptor, I am
creator and creation, I am
both poet and the poem
I’m crossing lines to cross out lines
writing notes in margins
that end up whole verses themselves
re-reading, reciting, editing, I am
rising from the dust and clay -
growing.
Give me the space to.
This is not a request, it’s a demand of you. I demand to
capital B
Become.
full stop

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TEXT: RAWA MAJDI
THUMBNAIL ART:
SARAH ALHUSSINAN