Sunday, March 13, 2011


at eighteen she decided 
she was going to marry 
a boy from benghazi

with scars on his chest
and revolt in his eyes, 
she would trace them
on their wedding night,
fingers moving across lines,
like roads between the cities 
he fought in

he would want a woman with a 
soft body, after the hardness of war, 
something to revel in freedom with,
fingers gripping hips, leaned back against 
windowsill, he would tell her the stories
eyes heavily-lidded and half closed, 
until she begged him to stop.

she was eighteen when she decided
she wanted to marry
a boy from benghazi. 

green book.

i do not need a book
to tell me that i am a woman,
that each month i bleed,
that my body can nourish life,
or that men are not like me. 

i do not need your book
to teach me what freedom is,
or slavery for that matter.
we have already 
tasted both.

your book is burning 
in every street.

and libya is coming for you.

Friday, March 4, 2011

life has always affected me more than death.

i can watch a man die. i cannot watch his daughter cry for him.

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

rels 2130

my professor has a name i've never heard before. you can't find the meaning on google. no one knows where he's from. he wears bow-ties and has a three-legged dog, and he told us this:

"no one wants to be loved in abstract. really, does anyone want to hear, 'you're my heart and soul - i can't live without you. sort of.'"