The Snow

Inescapable whiteness envelopes the shades of color outside my window brown branches burdened by the weight black tires on the streets—motionless green grass buried beneath the snow rose petals collapse blood on a white canvas the sun will melt it away but it’ll still remain there is nothing pure about…

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Inescapable whiteness
envelopes the shades of color outside my window
brown branches burdened by the weight
black tires on the streets—motionless
green grass buried beneath the snow
rose petals collapse
blood on a white canvas
the sun will melt it away
but it’ll still remain
there is nothing pure about the
destruction it leaves behind.

Pawns

The situation in Allepo right now is heartbreaking. Milions are being salughted by bombs that are dropped by the syrian government. I remeber talking to a friend once about war, and trying to discuss why innocent people always seem to die. He said that they were pawns. Terrorists would intentionally…

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The situation in Allepo right now is heartbreaking. Milions are being salughted by bombs that are dropped by the syrian government.

I remeber talking to a friend once about war, and trying to discuss why innocent people always seem to die. He said that they were pawns. Terrorists would intentionally hide amongst them to use them as protection from drone strikes or bombs. These civilians were pawns that unintentionally protected these bigger peices on a boardgame of life and death.

I thought his explanation was dramatic, but I understood where he was comming from. Terrorists realied on the opposing sides refusal to hurt innocent people just to kill them and so they exploit that whenever they can. Except, the opposing side sees right through it and stikes anyways. The following is just a short poem, or sequence of rambling thoughts I had about his comparison to these refugees to pawns:

Pawns on a board

Are just pieces made of wood

Unconcious and unaware that all

they are is pawns.

They do not bleed nor

Feel the gaping hole Of loved ones

Forever gone.

They do not have husbands or wives

Or sons or daughters

When they fall, they do not die.

How do we attack the peices on the backline

without first pushing through the pawns?

War

I held my elder brother’s hands as we hid in the mountains. He stared into the distance But I kept my eyes firmly stationed on the ground like I was told to. “Why don’t they like us?” My eyes still fixed on the dirt. “Because we’re the enemy” “Why are…

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I held my elder brother’s hands as we hid in the mountains.

He stared into the distance

But I kept my eyes firmly stationed on the ground like I was told to.

“Why don’t they like us?”

My eyes still fixed on the dirt.

“Because we’re the enemy”

“Why are we the enemy?”

“Because we’re different”

I didn’t want to be the enemy.

I wanted to be their friends.

But my brother told me to not be silly

then he held me firmly by the hands

and dragged me deeper into the mountains

and didn’t look at me either.

My brother was much taller than me.

I’d have to strain my head to look up to him whenever we spoke

and being on his shoulders felt like

I could touch the sun.

It was really loud.

I could still feel his hands

but I couldn’t hear his deep voice anymore.

I broke the rules and looked back

but I couldn’t see anything through the black smoke that filled the air.

My brother picked me up and ran.

I held onto his neck with my chin rested on his left shoulder

and stared into the black clouds that came from the ground

and reached towards the skies.

Cigarettes

Poison fills her with each pull Yet she embraces it Her lungs–as black as her heart The smoke hangs heavily on her clothes and Lingers on the tips of her fingers. Her nostrils–immune to the scent. The fire keeps her warm but slowly kills her. Death lays between those lips…

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Poison fills her with each pull

Yet she embraces it

Her lungs–as black as her heart

The smoke hangs heavily on her clothes

and

Lingers on the tips of her fingers.

Her nostrils–immune to the scent.

The fire keeps her warm but slowly

kills her.

Death lays between those lips

and

Awaits to be welcomed in again.

 

The Shadows

It whispers, “You’re not good enough” Then it says, “You don’t belong” Then, as the years add up, its voice becomes stronger and it screams “Your existence is illicit” Listening to this brings no solace. The uncertainty and fear controls how I see love, the future. I feel frozen in…

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It whispers, “You’re not good enough”
Then it says, “You don’t belong”
Then, as the years add up, its voice becomes stronger
and it screams
“Your existence is illicit”
Listening to this brings no solace.
The uncertainty and fear controls how
I see love,
the future.
I feel frozen
in time
while others around me are moving.
my goals hanging on a thread above me,
but out of reach.
It has not been kind
to me.
It is unforgiving and cruel. And leaves me
vulnerable to exploitation.
Sanctuary is hard to find when
paranoia is here
to stay. I am
not a criminal.
Labels do matter.
I did not choose to be
I choose to stay.
To wake up and see its face everyday.
Maybe some day,
it will leave
me alone.
Until then,
It is the chains that weigh me down
It is the shadows that imprison me.