I tell my friends you don’t cross my mind anymore, been there, done that, and when they ask if we’ve spoken recently I tell them I deleted your number. or was it that you deleted mine? I think about being held. I’ll close my eyes and wish it was your fingers entwined with mine instead of a tall stranger. I think we must be outside because I feel cold. or maybe it’s the storm brewing inside of me and the rain is almost ready to drown us all. I’m lost in my own heart, I don’t know the way out. you find somebody good and you want to hold on. shift and adjust, cross your legs, stretch out your arms, heads on shoulders and lust in eyes. absent-mindedly tracing your name on every surface, not unlike you tracing it into my mouth, like a branding, I belong(ed) to you. asking myself how long it’s been since I lifted my fingers after writing a word and it didn’t burn. if you were wondering about the definition of shame, it looks a bit like this: a lover that can’t leave you alone, a lover that offers you warmth from wasted hours, and whispers of absolutely nothing. could have and would have and should have. this specific shade of shame demands an audience when it walks in, and here we are, every one of my selves. 

I.A.A.

10:19 pm     47 notes
March 8 2019
Post tags: woc poetrywritingspilled inkwriters on tumblrpoets on tumblrpoetryrejectscorner5000lettersalt litstream of consciousnesswarsan shirekey ballahsuheir hammad

sharp ridges of anger, I can feel them in my skin
along with the ebb comes the flow of disappointment
I am raw, not because of the death, because of the legacy
I am energised, not because of the noise, but because of the sound
I am in pain, not because of the war, because of the liberation
the truth and morality, hypocrisy of democracy, a vacancy
lapses into an inarticulate desperation, a soulless rhetoric,
dry the river, just streams of blood remain.
banks of boats and birds, the enemy building a home.
no state,
just a tenderness, coming in sporadic waves.
mouthfuls of forevers,
gargle gargle spit 
they called me a student of the teachings of love,
I still don’t know what that means, but I know the universe is bright and swimming in my pupils,
just a footnote in the book of life
I suppose this is it, right?
the revelation,
brown eyes in the light,
a battered and bruised heart. 
I would like to start again, I will start again,
I am awake and still whole  
the mist starts to clear and I will be ready

I.A.A.

1:50 pm     13 notes
March 30 2017
Post tags: woc poetrywritingspilled inkwriters on tumblrpoets on tumblrpoetryrejectscorner5000letterscreative writingalt lit

monday: black hole of unrequited love
tuesday: me, speaking in tongues & summers
wednesday: what year is it?
thursday: does longing ever fade
friday: bribery
saturday: dusk
sunday: remorse

7:32 pm     17 notes
February 13 2017
Post tags: spilled inkwoc poetrywriters on tumblrpoetry5000letterswritingcreative writing

5:27 pm     6 notes
February 10 2017
Post tags: spilled inkwoc poetrypoetrywriters on tumblrwriters of colour

there’s a lot I wish I could tell you about,
like how I am disappearing once more,
like how I’m starting to understand why I’m here.
I am seeing that this is a heart and these are emotions:
normal. ordinary.
the glass is deep, but I don’t notice it anymore,
my fingers still tremble though, small trees in a lightning field.
I am thankful for the way your eyes feel when they follow me around a room.
light upon light.
dismantle every concrete foundation you see, I’ve buried love letters between the cracks.
a hidden station of veins maps the whole of London underneath your skin,
and the roads of my city are filled with the architecture of you.
words were created to lie with, descended from the seven heavens and harmony,
found in groves of cool shade and running springs
I think of swimming in my motherland, my dad behind me laughing.
me, wanting to show him what I’ve learnt
kicking my legs in circular motions, an ode to the turquoise waves,
biting into the flesh of a peach and it feels like that summer again.
I am red with love.

5:00 pm     29 notes
February 4 2017
Post tags: writingwoc poetrypoetrywriters on tumblrspilled ink5000letters

choking on your own cries for help because you’d rather do that than let others suffocate on your constant need for some kind of warmth. when there is nothing left to burn, you have to set your pain on fire. ring ring. no I can’t come out tonight I’m counting the layers of hurt on my skin. yes, I’m really sorry. no, I don’t think there will be a next time. put the receiver down, click.

we break stable things and we never learn. *lighter flickers* *lighter flickers* *lighter flickers* *lighter flickers* *lighter flickers* *lighter flickers* *lighter fli

2:46 pm     15 notes
January 15 2017
Post tags: spilled inkwritingwoc poetrycreative writing5000letterswriters on tumblrpoetrystream of consciousness

7:37 pm     4 notes
January 10 2017
Post tags: a clear out for when I rememberwhen there are too many things in my notes for too long I feel stressed outwritingspilled inkwoc poetry

monday: a new week already?
tuesday: salt on melon like love on bodies
wednesday: tropic of darkness & soot
thursday: flaking gold bars
friday: ring ring, pick up the phone
saturday: still no answer
sunday: feel like it’s raining inside me

1:17 pm     8 notes
January 4 2017
Post tags: creative writingspilled inkwoc poetrypoetrywriting

measure your success on the amount of hearts you’ve broken and love letters you’ve ignored. let me place my hands on your hips and try again. find poetry in the way our hands find each other long before our eyes do. siiiiiiigh. this wasn’t supposed to happen again. your lips are coated in some kind of drug and god when did I become such a junkie? hold your tongue like you would a child. I can’t hear it. I don’t want to hear it. I can’t think right now. peel off my skin to find the stars you’ve been looking for. but I’m not sure that’s what you’ll find. now, you see, the difference between you and I is that one of us is alive. but which one?

a two minute conversation that has my heart racing at six in the evening. put your hands around my waist and whisper “is this enough to convince you?” and my body will hum along to yours. this is the purest form of art you’ll ever find.

9:22 pm     10 notes
December 4 2016
Post tags: writingspilled inkwocpoetrywriters on tumblr5000letters

A two minute conversation that has my heart racing at six in the evening. Put your hands around my waist and whisper “is this enough to convince you?” And my body will hum along to yours. This is the purest form of art you’ll ever find.

6:00 pm     5 notes
October 25 2016
Post tags: 5000lettersspilled inkwoc poetrywriters on tumblrpoets on tumblrstream of consciousness