I never love, to be loved.
I love because I love to love.
However, the tragedy strikes when I am told I am loved, because then I expect to always be loved. – S.Alaa
H
Nostalgic murmurs among photographs,
Not within these walls that echo the cries of a mother.
This house is not a home.
Old duvets soaked with love and laughter,
Now stained with tears, reflections of inevitable disasters.
This house is not a home. – S. Alaa
Glass-heart
These ankles are still bruised from the shackles that had held me prisoner to this bed, after you left. My depression and I had lay side by side as hours turned into days, days into nights, sunsets to sunrise.
This hollow chest of mine still echoes out your name, like a wolf howling for the night’s light. My sadness and I had lay side by side caressing each other till these sad, swollen eyes were soothed into another sleepless night.
The chambers of this heart have thickened and scarred, since the day we’ve been apart. I should of been more careful with this glass-heart. – S. Alaa
A childish lover
Tantrums were thrown when fed his mistakes.
A restless game of Tag, his ego loved to be chased.
Hid his emotions in fear of looking weak, a daunting play of hide and seek.
Finally, when it was my turn to be chased, he wailed “No, I don’t want to play”.
– S. Alaa
The hypocrite
The same tongue he recites his prayer, he spits out venom.
The same mouth he asks God for forgiveness, he grants to others seldom.
Maybe you are a tortured soul, in seek of a haven.
Nevertheless, I pray you find it at the gates of heaven. – S. Alaa
Oppressive Gentleman
How sweet of him to tell me what I can and cannot wear.
How sweet of him to pull down my top when other men stare.
“It’s only because I know what they’re thinking, you know it’s ‘cause I care”.
How sweet of him to blame me despite covered head to toe.
How sweet of him to punish me for any inch of flesh I’ve shown.
How sweet of him to teach me, it’s not oppression, it’s just respect I must show.
How sweet of him to blame these curves that baggy t-shirts cannot conceal.
I am so grateful for this self-loathing he makes me feel.
I hope one day my mother’s love will help me heal. – S. Alaa
Rose
Drench me in kindness, I asked.
Drowned me in malice, he did.
Enlighten me with wisdom, I pleaded.
Plucked at my petals like a child, he did.
Nourish me with love, I begged.
Fed me woe, he did.
Until one day
“Roses just aren’t for me”, he said. – S. Alaa
A heart full of woe. 