I wonder if you exist

in tonight

if double rainbows ever show up after

blizzards

or if the Aurora Borealis

is ever visible in Australia.

I wonder how many guitar strings

you'll have to pluck away like scabs

to find that all along

you

were

my

favorite

color.

I am nobody's Nobody.

There’s something about hiding

that reminds me

pain is what makes us human

and loneliness is what makes us monsters.

They say envy is powerful.
It will consume you if you let it
and where I'm from,
it rules like kings do:
that subtle control
everyone falls victim to
and that history will say
was constructed from fear
but really,
it's that want for what you can never have.

I wonder if You will remember me tomorrow.
Or if You will simply fade into forever
like "it will be OK" or "this too shall pass."
These cliches are not things to be hidden behind.
I have finally figured out who You love more.
Forgive me for the sin of not knowing your favorite color
or the dreams you had before your crucifixion.
I just didn't want to overstep my bounds.
How was I to know it would lead me to being forsaken?

Pretend to like me long enough
and You'll never be rid of me.
I should have known then what I know now:
if we were created in God's image,
then He ignores calls from broken friends
and makes up excuses not to see his kids, too.
But I just want to know what makes them so special.

NO! NO!
I will not go gently.
NO!
Not until You've answered me.
NO!
Not until you've noticed me.

I wonder if You'll remember me tomorrow.
I wonder how many days of one prayer short
and one miracle late it will take
but I know better than to think
it will change by the morning.
But in case you do read this
I guess I should give its proper end:
in your son's name I pray,

Amen.

Whispers

Barely existing,
some rumors are meant
to hang in the air.
As it caresses
the ever-shrinking space
between his ear and her's
or her's and her's
he doesn't even know
the meaning behind it.

Two days ago,
it was
"I heard his poppa's not well."
today, he could swear it was
"what's the use in crying now?"

Dusk

The smell of rain
her hair
gunpowder
The smell may change
as he sits on his stoop
the streetlights blinking
into and out of sync
sinking, sinking
as he reads the paper.

The day ages, inches
towards sunset
painting his tenement
technicolor.
Seven ways to midnight
it's green tonight
right in the middle
no rainbow too big or too small
to fit in his old pipe.

Hush

Hushed

prayers fall on deaf Ears

in mosques where women cannot reunite their hands with the maker

Allah Akbar, but bars me from meeting him face to face

Venus has never been so far from Mars

and he carries on his war alone

so the Jihad is

Hushed

As the night

in a neighborhood

different from the ones I grew up in.

The silence hides secrets

searing into skin

bruising my body the brittleness

of glass slippers.

I wonder if Phillip ever laid hands on Cinderella

if I should just

Hush

clocks as time stops

and Outkasts aren’t the only ones sending bombs over Baghdad.

My tongue cannot perfect the complexities of rebellious language

so I communicate by blinking and nodding

the silence is the most powerful scream

so I yell at the top of my lungs to a husband

who fights against himself.

Is he coming home tonight?

Or does the patriotism have him bleeding his true colors?

The intuition says yes but the logic says

Hush

and don’t ruin a good thing with doubt. . .

He’ll be better tomorrow.

Rough day at the office. . .

he’s under a lot of stress.

And I will not forget my place

even if it’s a square peg forced fist-over-fist

eyes painted the color of the midnight

a knowing nod to the lipstick stains when I do the laundry. . .

What would your mother say?

Probably say the same thing as she did then.

“Sometimes all you are is a trophy.

Be grateful for what you’ve got.”

Hush

like I always have, and listen to the radio for news.

Locked within the confines of volume knob and military code;

I forget how old it is sometimes. The realization

that this war just turned 9 and the knob only goes to 10

makes me hopeful that the conflict will soon end.

Send home those prisoners of war

and let the wives of war stop being prisoners

to the din of gunshots and hollow eyes.

There is no turning back.

You can’t go home again

after terrorist attacks

and the conflicts that spark them.

I just want the walls to

“Hush!”

He says, lest I wake the neighbors.

“Wipe your own blood from the floor.

I don’t want to hear it anymore!”

I wonder what I’m worth.

Too sweet to be arm-candy

hanging on for dear life

as the ghosts of social circles

that look at each other but never see anything

provide the backdrop to backhands behind closed doors.

But how much more will you take?

You can’t go home again

but I’ve got to get the Hell out of here.

I was not made to

Hush

the raindrops in the desert and shake the dust.

These dust-devils toss and turn my landscape like bad dreams

but my position won’t allow me to say anything

though it’s just a jumble of syllables to me now

my vow is as broken as my crown was the night he took me

but it won’t break the seal on the back of my throat.

These words spoken through whispers and coded language

and my cipher can no longer decipher them.

Am I ready for the change?

Or am I just ready for the day when I don’t have to

HUSH

Let me figure things out.

Pack my things into a single suitcase

leave

Never return.

Where am I going from here? In dead of night,

In silence. In medias res

because I’m so confused right now.

I am louder than this.

You are louder than this. . .

DEAR SELF

HUSH

And load your guns with slugs made from tatters of my hijab

AND I WILL PROVE TO YOU FISTS DO KNOW GENDER ROLES

as the explosion sounds like a storm and pierces your heart

TO BURST YOUR SOUL INTO A PYRE OF ACKNOWLEDGEMNT!

I WANT YOUR FIRE TO BURN AS VIVIDLY AS MINE DOES

BUT YOU NEVER NOTICE ME. I BITE INTO SHOULD BE

BUT I NEVER GET A TASTE!

Never get a taste. . .

I just

Hush

Hush

Hush

Hush

HUSH

As I sit, silent, wondering what’s next

I see:

I AM LOUDER THAN THIS

I AM RUCKUS

AN EXPERIMENT IN NOISE

From Allah all the way to the tip of my tongue

Pursed lips, cocked back, LET GO

READY, AIM FIRE

BREAK THE SILENCE!

The Last Song

I made a promise to you at midnight.
I had grown weary and it was dark.
And up there, I fell asleep,
and dreamed the dream we once called "hope".

It was a dream that was the only reason
you'd wake up most days
but I'm past that mistake;
the couples kissing,
the leaves changing,

the children falling
and laughing about it
remind me of every reason
I've grown tired of living