11. // REEM

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do you ever feel like you've lost the ability to read? even the simplest of things? again. I look for him. I know how to cry really well. I said I'd learn how to die soon. but it's tricky. I never meant to hurt anyone but myself. I know I have a sharp tongue and millions of half-eaten thoughts shooting across my head. but I also know that I'm delicate (and all I want is not to be.) the first position is learning how to tell the truth again, the second sexual position is convincing your brain of your gentleness, the third is never looking your therapist in the eye because she'll know what you're thinking.

***

I like being alone when it feels that someone, someday, will walk into my room and engage me in ridiculous conversation and extreme images to provoke my nerves out of their slumber. I like ups and downs. I don't know how to be one thing for a long time.

***

how can I let go of this insane stability and give in to my well-dressed demons?

***

I want his entire world to close into mine. and then I want us to die. but I can't tell him these things because they don't make sense; he always needs something more practical out of my mouth.

***

I put a string of daisies around my head like some sort of primal being and danced for the world to see my issues roll out of my system.

POLITICS IS A DRUG // BADER NOAIMI

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I spent last night tossing and turning, thinking of things that I wanted to say to my parents, to others, all about politics in Bahrain.

I had an argument with them the same night, suffice it to say, we didn’t agree at all.

I recalled what they said; what I said; how I called different people to get their take on the subject before I tried to explain to my parents that they were unfairly accusing people of politicization and possessing political agendas.

I turned off the lights and tried going to sleep but sleep never came. My brain was running at 100 KM and the brakes were busted. All I kept thinking about were things to say to them, things to say to other people, ideas and perspectives and opinions; ones that were mine or otherwise.

That was when I realized for perhaps the dozenth time that I keep drinking poison.

This poison – the politics that we can’t shut up about – it’s taken over our lives. I know that I’m not the only one to have experienced a restless night’s sleep because of it.

We’re reminded of it every where we go but even in those rare moments where we’re free from its grip, we invite it into our homes.

My stomach churns at the thought that politics has crept so deep into my mind and subconcious that I’d obsess over the subject this way.

I let it in and I don’t know how to detox, I can’t stop and that scares me. Because it makes me think that if I’m always looking to talk about politics; think about politics; dream about politics; that I will never ever be at ease. I will never be able to rest and I will never be able to be sleep.

Politics – it’s a drug. I keep taking it every single day.

I’m an addict.

POST-M*STURBATION ENLIGHTENMENT // SAEED

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I’ve grown sickened by the self-told deception
Loathing the vague clarity induced by the intoxicated haze
Loathing the numerous cancer sticks I’ve burnt to touch a brighter beam in my blue days
Rejoiced with the slaves of placebo through rituals and ways

I’m sick of all of this bullshit,

Empty conversations under the table
My monologue is on a high and I can’t find my cradle

Lustful masked angels whisper half of the truth
The other half has ceased to make it to my youth
Raging away from my reach, as it slipped out of yours

I’ve grown resentful listening to the sweaty religious figures preaching their views in the dews of dusk and dawn
May that be a reason for me to frown?
Had they put a thought into God?
Had they forgotten how little their righteousness is beneath the seven skies?

I’m sick of all of this bullshit..

Conscience dearest,
Dare I not to have introduced you to my five long lost soul-mates ?
Here they are dancing in the flames of hate
Here they are longing for your return
Scream the truth into their eyes for they are numbed by a new-found light that burns

Because I’ve lost the friction with their shoulder-blades along the front lines
And I demand for my mind to be ejected and tossed away in the land of God merciful
I want my sip and I want my dose
Return to me, and I vow to drop my pen and go home

I’m sick of you
I’m sick of me

الحياة حلوة // ALI ALGHAMDI

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في الطفولة كانت تغني أنشودة تقول “الحياة حلوة”..
كبرت، ليتها لم تكبر،
لم تعد الحياة حلوة.
في الطفولة كان صوت العصافير يذكرها بريحة الجنة..
كبرت ليتها لم تكبر،
شوقها للجنة مُوجِع.
في الطفولة كانت تلعب وتضحك مع صبية جيرانهم..
كبرت ليتها لم تكبر،
لم يتركوها في حالها.
في الطفولة كانت تكتب على حيطان غرفتها كلمات شجية..
كبرت ليتها لم تكبر،
صبغوا حائط غرفتها.
كانت تعتقد بأن العالم وردي، وأن هذه الألوان ليست إلا اختلافات تجمع الجمال،
ولكن العالم يتقاتل لأجل هذه الاختلافات، فأي جمالٍ هنا؟
أشعة الشمس التي تُشرِق على محياها الجميل أصبحت تخجل من المرور،
فحتى الشمس لها مشاعر، ولم تعد تستحمل الشمس سلبيتها.
الحياة حلوة. لم تعد حلوة.