i hate when you make me lose faith in people.

but then somebody always gives it back.

i am not my hair.

i am not this skin.  i am not your expectations.

horsemen.

wrote this almost five years ago. found it and smiled, even though it's not that happy. enjoy. :)
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i will follow where you go
life, death, or limbo
come hell or high water,
the horsemen of death

look fear in the eye,
and smile.

"you cannot conquer a mountain,"
she told me one day,
"but you can conquer yourself."

so i will follow where you go
life, death, or limbo.

this is not your star spangled banner.

i'm not  here to play with you,

i'm just trying to relay to you 

the reality 

of what it is that we go through

and i shouldn't say we, but i do 

because thankfully, 

i'm still relatively free

to go and say and do like i please

the worse it ever comes to

is looks and comments on the streets

and random selections at airport security

and you won't see it on tv,

but there are places where children 

once ran in the streets

and i say ran, because now

instead of bare feet

bombs rain down like 

stars over the sea

women wail over 

those same children's feet,

now not connected to anything

so while they may look like me,

same bridge of nose, same 

color of teeth,

while they might talk like me

and pray like me, 

and come from me,

they are not like me

and i shouldn't say we.

because at least i know 

what it's like

to be a little bit free. 

my wishing stone

i will not call you my rose

in such an overdone tone, 

i will not compare your eyes

to the sun

i will not equate your hair 

to waves of silk, your hands

to satin

your voice to honey

your voice has always been slightly hoarse,

anyway, your hands worker's rough,

your eyes favor coal more than diamonds,

and your hair splits in places, to grey

you are not a hero of old

and you never know 

what things to say

i always have to call twice

before you answer the phone

it's never in your pocket

but warm wind comes in with you

every night, and your neck 

smells like happy memories 

you check the oil twice a month

and you always call back,

even if i left a message,

just in case.

you are not a gleaming jewel,

nor even a diamond in the rough

you are a smoothed and worn stone

deep in my pocket, that warms

more than it weighs down

and for that reason, it stays. 

i love you

and you don't have to say it back.

rahma.

in arabic,

the word for womb means mercy.

swollen hearts.

the river was swollen like a 

woman's body, pregnant

for one week too long, like her

feet would swell under the weight

of a second life, like her belly would

swell as her child turned over in womb.

swollen woman gave birth

at the swollen river,

thighs stretched apart, 

tree roots taking place of 

companion's warm fingers,

lapping water

becoming a medicine woman's 

sure hands.

and the tide took place

of undertaker,

sweeping away 

blood, and with it,

all life.