ninety friends.

thank you all. i'm constantly surprised anyone wants to read anything i write. 

peace and blessings.

red and green.

her aunt told her to marry a boy
with a soft mouth, hard men
hit women, sharpen their edges
on your curves, she told her
don’t marry a boy
who doesn’t smile right,
doesn’t laugh kindly,
don’t marry a liar,
don’t marry a fighter.

marry a man who sings,
she told her, who prays,
who talks to you and
doesn’t look away,
don’t marry a man
with something to hide

don’t marry a boy
to become a bride

she married a soldier
with a mouth hard from war,
that tasted like bullets,
had hands like dull edges,
that never cut,
who laughed like a lion
and re-learned how to love
who danced through the streets
the night their country was freed,
and married her in red and green.

before august.

finish all the puzzles in my house. the 1000-piece barak obama, the 750-piece native american mural, the two 1000-piece muhammad ali ones, and all the rest. all of them. 

keep my house clean. prepare it for ramadan.

lose twenty pounds.

exercise every day.

read all the harry potter books again.

learn to shoot.

take more pictures.

ace my summer class.

get my license.

cook every day.

pray on time. 

write more. 

talk to my brothers often. 

help a revolution.

see a free libya. 

avalanche.

i have made men out of mountains
but have not yet discovered how
to make mountains out of men.

not enough base.
too prone to avalanches.

i don't need you.

you need me. remember that.