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-A necessary step to letting you know where I stand.

I write in hope of improving my standings with you for when I come home.
I know there are a great many things I’ve done, and I don’t know where to begin.
There are so many things I wish I could take back, or start over.
I wish that with a bat a of an eye I could have the chance to make things right.

I know that you will be patient as I ask for more time away from you.
I have begun to understand my ignorance and the obstruction it causes.
But I wonder at what point will this haze or veil be lifted.
I put my trust in you, but only half- heartedly because you know I am scared.

I write this letter in hopes that it will, in part erase some of my shortcomings.
I write this letter also to reassure my anxieties,
A desperation that hopes and wishes to be non- existent.

It’s debilitating, I’m afraid to succeed, to fail.
I’m afraid he’ll cheat, I’ll cheat or that I was just never good enough.
I ask for time for me, a selfish request but I believe a necessary one.

I ask for the doubt to diminish and the insecurities to vanish.
I don’t want to think the thoughts I think in my moments of desperation.
I rethink and re- evaluate everything to the point of my own extinction.

I write this letter to you to ask for your interruption within my life.
I write to you knowing nothing and you, You knowing everything.
I trust in your decisions, but when you do ask me to come home,
I hope I will have lost the thoughts of despair.



The Queen



The ruins of Algiers
And the salty air of the coast
Were more seductive
Than this brunette

The idea of her
Was a novelty
After our vows
Had been laid down upon the bed and comforter.

The idea of her
Became your mistress
The idea of her
Became your escape 

And I remember
I played house
For a while
With an unwilling suitor

My youth and innocence
Covered me with marriage’s warm blanket
Which slowly slipped off in the middle of the night
To reveal the sheets of denial.

I tugged at the corners
To return to the comforter
Before morning
To cover what I chose not to see

The contagious air
Of newlyweds
Never infected your heart,
I never infected your heart

As each morning passed
Just after fajr and subh
Was coming in
I looked into the mirror.

I looked in the mirror
To find the blushing bride
But my eyes, still hazel
And my hair, still dark.

My skin still pale
And freckled 
I began to no longer
See me as your wife.

I looked in the mirror
For the first in a long time
I looked in the mirror
For a while.

I caught myself
Occasionally recognizing
The beauty you may
Have fallen for. 

But the ruins of Algiers
And the sweet, salty air
Became more seductive
Than I could ever be.

And she lied in that bed
Swaddled in sheets
I left her for as long as I could
So she would be neglected, stifled and belligerent.

I waited for you to
Come through the door
To see what I had done
To see that I had attempted to kill her. 

But slowly the anticipation
Drew the pink from my cheeks
And out…
Threw my toes. 

Those same toes
Curled while supplicating
Asking Him to relieve me
Of this position, to fix me.

My lips moved whispering
The prayers the Prophet said worked
My lips moved
Wishing yours could find them selves near to mine. 

I continued my supplication:

I promise I was simple to love,
I promise I did what I could,
I promise I tried to be her.

Layers and Lines


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The pen and the paint
Become extensions of thoughts
And thoughts; actions
Actions; to whispers that grip the pen.

The callouses peel
Where the pen rests
Paint stains
Where the hand smudges

Leaving tracks on the page;
The most human of trails, check points
In the snow
resembling red, flesh sacrifices in the name of creativity.

Dragging forward, up and right
Down and to the left
Pick up, point; cross over
And lead.

These are not my
Words, my people
My creatures,
Or my stories.

They are from the extensions
Of the pen and of the paint
Where the whispers grip the medium
And tickling thoughts become squirming actions.

Where my pencil hits the page
My ink curves to and fro
In the attempt to bring us and then
You and I back together.

The greatest love affair began
So early
And we grew into each other and cut off each other
In the roots of darkness and branches of sunlight

We met
And departed
But we confronted once more
For me to realize where my efforts lie.

Where my pencil hits the page
The only place that is between
Me and you exists, marking the territory
And communicating in a morse of lovers symbols.

I have become the
Mistress and to your cause
I remained wide eyed and spread legged,
Perched for your arrival.

The paint smudges
Linking this world I wait from
To yours.
One of delicately drawn lines.



The Pilgrims Reflect


This past year was full of thing I could have never imagined, even looking back now. But I have learned the hard lessons of working for what you have, knowing when to let go, loving what is within you and learning patience for yourself.

I believed that my spirituality and religion had suffered greatly at one point but I realized and I still hope that I was pushed onto another path that will bring me close to unity with my Maker and his creations. I may not be keeping up my end of the bargain and I may, at times, make excuses for my lack of adherence, but I hope my actions and intentions will balance out when its time.

I have learned a hard lesson in making decisions you don’t want to make. Although everything in theory is reversible, somethings can never be what they were. It has been hard but I believe it was for the best for us to go our separate ways. This chapter in my life has also shown me the grey areas within my religion and the hope and understanding that this decision on my part was necessary. This decision has given me a glimpse into the attributes of our Creator and possibly made me more human.

I have learned that those who stand before us have many stories, combinations, dark depths and a history. From this year’s experiences I have become less judgemental, more fundamental and simplified. My prayer for “normal” has been heard I believe and I hope the same for anyone who seeks it. From this year’s experiences my intentions to be right always, has faded and the want for peace has taken the forefront.

For 2012 I hope for just the same. My du’a (prayer) for us all would be to rectify, reconcile and to put peace before ourselves. Feel what you need to feel, do what you need to do, but at the end of the day remember where we come from. Cherish those around us and realize that its our attitudes that make life enjoyable. I hope for all who read this, increased creativity, spirituality and understanding of the world around us.

Pilgrims Watch Secrets Play


Secrets dance between
Thin sheets
Where the lover’s find themselves
Making love, making home and telling stories.

They dance in the creases
Collecting to form the shadows
Aligning along her body and his,
Protecting them.

They tip toe across
Morning kissed fleshed
Where the dew of stillness
Has settled in early dawn

Her hair forms ringlets
Imitating the flatness of darkness
Making its home across
His chest.

They kiss the skin
Of her calves and
Jump to his toes
Sharing in the taste of each lover

They move throughout
The tissue, the fabrics
And breaths
That no longer remain inside

Forming the couplets
Of romantic words
The breaths fall short
Fall flat, fall quiet

As the secrets
Lay in wait, dispersed
No longer forming the shadows
In the sunlight of morning.


Mama Terre


Don't Touch Installation

The Earth breaths
The language of their tongues
Into mine
And makes it fat.

She sings into me
The syllables of swooning lovers
Where the thoughts and kisses are
Placed upon her ear so lightly

Her heart fills mine
While her nightmares are suspended in my sleep
And her sorrows begs my oblivion to switch place
If only for a moment.

She becomes fat with a brain child,
Stretch marks from the menace,
Morning sickness from the bastard,
And postpartum from the Home-wrecker.

She sweats, pulls, bites, kicks and breathes
Life back into the world
As she scarpes the walls of her womb out
Bringing forth only the scar tissue for the little ones to feast on.

She spreads the bits, as I watch,
Pulling piece by piece
I watch as they beat each other, fighting over the scraps
While licking up the dust, breathing in the dust of the cracked earth.

Mama cries
She sweats, bites, pulls, kicks, feels and breaths
In their pain
Force feeding it into my lungs, my belly and my heart

The soot dries out my fat tongue
Her nightmares become stationary above my head
No longer are they fleeting
I am forced to accept this as real

The words breathed into me
The thoughts, they swim and their customs overlay my own
Masking who I was,
And directing me to who I will be

She breather my tongue fat
With the history of each grain of sand
And the love for each speck of salt
That has kissed the air.

Mama cried
The tears that slip into the cracks of the Earth
Her sadness so deep
The cracks overflow.

Submerging the once barren soil
Into a salty wash
Her children
Could no longer drink.

On rocks they lie weak,
Lips thin, cracked and pale
Wishing to drink
That which surrounds  them.




It rolls off my tongue
Hitting the back of my teeth
Spitting saliva
Trying to form the words

But no sound…

No sound
Comes forth
It builds and swells
In my throat

I negotiate
I suplicate
I make promises I can’t possibly keep
Just to here these words,

Just to hear my words
Hang in the thin air
Where the veils of light
Could drench each syllable.

It gets harder
The words, they begin to suffocate
Releasing toxins
That subdue the spirit they’ve carried.

The anticipation is staggering
While my pride is collapsing
And my thoughts are racing
Attempting to salvage this confrontation.

My teeth collect the bits
And pieces, the shrapnel
Of the hard edges and cut syllables
Of all these words

While my lips beg,
My jaw begins to release
The captives, so they flee;
Tickling the thick red skin that curls under to meet my chin.

I have become
A slave to these sounds
That represent the words,
To which represent the thoughts
That represent the insecurities

All I can envision
are the other thoughts
That could have fallen on the page.

But the timing is off
The rhythm mismatched
Thoughts in disarray
And an ever mounting pressure, escalates

The words begin to roll onto my tongue
But they dance
Bringing themselves
Ever so slightly; closer.