Lines

I write lines when my heart bleeds,

These solid pages turn translucent as I plant my seeds.

Stripping layer after layer revealing my heartbeat,

Paired with a pain that my weary mind can’t ease.

Healing does not come, because I am utterly confused,

By the juxtaposition of your words and your manifested truths.

I stand naively smiling transfixed by your aura,

While you stand there like an apparition, declaring a moratorium.

Concealing connections very similar to mine,

Kind words devoid of truth like “you are sublime”.

But what more is there to say when the end has finally come,

When trying something new is more valued than something already begun.

Searching for freedom, but still bonded by your tongue,

Struggling to unshackle these chains until they are completely undone.

So, I write lines when my heart bleeds, but this much is true,

I am a gem to be cherished, I remember, 

And one day, one day you’ll realize it too.

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words on pages

I scribble words on pages.
Not like my mothers painting history with their tongues,
Lips smoldering like embers, spitting fire as they speak.
Listing lineage from memory up to the Prophet’s pulse,
Dictating tribal tales while stirring a melting pot.
Female phenoms drumming beats to release Somali hips,
From the ecstasy and pain of maternal bliss.
Learning legacies from ladies,
As they sing to their babies.
Entertaining the masses with beauty and grace,
Discrete masters of households, humble wives to save face.

I scribble words on pages,
For on the page is where my strength lies,
Unrestricted and uncensored like my mother’s eyes.
Telling tales of truth like my ancestors of old,
Ink dripping with urgency for our story to be told.