To the Teenage – girl at McDonalds

I saw it….
The way those deep and dark engravings sat scattered across your wrist the way your brown hair sat across your shoulders
I wondered what made you want to cut
What made you want to bleed out the pain
Rip apart skin
I don’t know you
But I had a friend just like you
Her smile would stop you in your tracks, cause your tongue to slip and slide in trying to say hi and make you forget your own darkness
She was  bit of heaven upon this chaotic Earth that penetrated the hardest of hearts
She was a firecracker
Always on fire and sure to shine bright like the moon at night
But she was hurting like sharp blade piercing skin
Cracking it open to bleed out the pain from within
We sat there
The Fall of 2005
Her wrists facing upward towards me upon her thighs with eyes as big as the heart she held deep inside
Her eyes had sung the song of hurt as she told me
As she told me that the way her birth was simply an accident
An event not planned to take place
According to her mother
She was the result of too many drinks and a night of partying
And so she would cry
Bent across skin
With a blade
Ready to penetrate
Every mark was an engraving of the hells she’s been through
Every moment she sat dying another death with another blade rethinking the mistake she was
And so
She would carve
Etching into skin the mistake she had been
Over and over again
But she smiled a lot
A lot like you
She would smile
Giggle behind the bloody pain
And cradle herself within her own space
So I wonder who did it
Who made you feel the need to slice a part of you away
To dive beneath skin and tissue
To die multiple deaths in seclusion

What happened?
Who did it?

Because I know that cracked skin and blade is only half of the pain
The other half is realizing you’re worth more than the pain

But I love you even though I don’t know you and we have never met
Just know that I saw you
And I saw the marks you left
Maybe if you saw the person that did this to you
You will show them
You will give them the wrist you frequently imprint with your pain and let them know that they’ve killed you too times to count and that you’re worth more than cracked skin.
You’re whole.
You’re worth being whole

Silence During Their Absence

Last night reeked of absence
The dark tube took its usual place in the space it’s been provided
But it didn’t speak of the usuals, “I Love Lucy,” “Wheel of Fortune,” “Family Feud,” or the other greats
It simply sat there idle like a bird on a log
Strange how things are when absence appears unexpectantly
The typical chatter didn’t fill the air nor sneak beneath my bedroom door last night
But only silence
A silence I celebrated and mourned all at the same time
A silent whimper crawled up and out of me like the tears that couldn’t hold back
It was different you could say
There wasn’t a festival of voices pursuing trivial conversation nor was there late-night meal cooking from the kitchen
Just silence
The way silence settled last night was unsettling
It didn’t participate in hugs, kisses, jokes, trivial conversations or laughter
It just hung there like an overcast on a rainy day

And in this reckoning,  I found myself beckoning for their return
Before silence would try to make its presence permanent in the midst of their absence

Living Life to the Fullest

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    I stood there with iPad in hand, researching effortlessly for things to do this weekend until my manager gave me ideas. He offered a few ideas that I would rather not indulge in, but they were worth the offer. He suggested that I watch trains, learn how to fly a plane, go to a museum or to simply live life. I paused. Over the course of these last months, I’ve been living life. I’ve felt alive. Yes, it’s been a little hard due to external issues, but in all of the struggling I allowed myself to live.
      However, I sometimes like to just become lazy. Yes, I said lazy. Nonetheless, laziness isn’t necessarily living life. So, my manager continued to tell me that he doesn’t want to grow old and find himself regretting the fact that he didn’t do the things he wanted to do. That sort-of scared me. At this point in my life, I believe I have settled in one aspect. I have told myself that if I’m able to sustain myself then all is well. However, is that it? No, it isnt.
         In being the person that I am, I met a monk today. He was a rather interesting fellow. He came to my job to get his phone worked on. So, he quickly caught my gaze and greeted me with “as salamu alaikom”. After receiving a smile from me, he proceeded to tell mde about Muslims he had interacted with previously from other places. He was rather jolly and told me of his affairs for the day with a rather large smile and quirky personality. In directing him towards a place to sit, he started rocking back and forth to the music in the background. In my own ignorance, I asked him if he listened to music and he replied in the affirmative. He simply stated that “music is celebration and I dance too” while demonstrating his moves on the couch he was sitting on. The whole time he smiled and felt at home. I giggled and found myself smiling as well in this brief interaction. Somehow this short interaction allowed me to see how we are all human – beings at the end of the day. There are only few things that separates us in this world. Other than that, we are just humans experiencing life in our own ways.
        So, I continue to think about my upcoming weekend and haven’t really found anything to do. However, it’s okay. The cards will fall as they may. Life isn’t always about planning every last detail out. What will happen will happen. Live life. Living life is simple. Life happens and when it happens…we just have to be ready.

“When are you getting married?”; or, Why We Need Married Heroines

keepitdeen:

I really did like this article a lot because it is true that a woman’s worth is not dependent upon her availability to men. She is and should be considered a whole person, no matter what.

Originally posted on the fatal feminist:

While I was East Coasting it recently, the 10-year-old daughter of one of my friends dashed through the door of my hotel room and flipped herself onto the bed. “Where have you BEEN?”

Everywhere. The answer was everywhere. But seeing as I don’t live anywhere near her, it was a peculiar question. I ran my fingers through the hair she’d split over the comforter. “In space, darling,” I sang.

“No really!” she insisted, pushing against me to sit up. “You never visit.”

“I’m visiting now.”

“No, only because you have work to do, so you’re not really visiting,” she added, “and you never pick up the phone—”

At this I blushed a little. Guilty as charged.

“I wish I could travel places. I wish I could visit my friends everywhere. And wear perfume. And lipstick. And bring presents,”—she hugged the gift I’d given her—“and have roses in my room…

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Creativity as Spirituality by Jassy Watson

keepitdeen:

I never thought this deeply about creativity and it’s relation to spirituality. I like writing, so maybe it will be motivation for me to write more on a regular basis.

Originally posted on :

Jassy

According to Robert. C. Fuller author of Spiritual not Religious, “an idea or practice is ‘spiritual’ when it reveals our personal desire to establish a felt-relationship with the deepest meanings or powers governing life” (2001, p. 2). According to this definition, creativity and even more specifically, artistic expression, can be considered a spiritual practice. Christine Paintner, writing for Spirituality in Higher Education states that “cultivating the arts as a spiritual practice is a path to freeing our imaginations and developing valuable skills for vital living in the world” (2007).

What is Spirituality?

 Spirituality is usually considered to be a search for meaning in life. By making sense of and finding meaning, spirituality can often align us to our purpose. It also provides “a set of values to live by, a sense of direction, and a basis for hope” (Paintner, 2007). Spirituality can also assist us in encountering mystery and…

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Date A Girl Who Reads

keepitdeen:

Really neat!

Originally posted on Love, InshAllah:

Happy Valentine’s Day to our readers – we love you!

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Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes. She has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.

Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag. She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she finds the book she wants. You see the weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a second hand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow.

She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop…

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#IfKhadijaCanDoIt or The Patriarchy of Death

keepitdeen:

Beautiful

Originally posted on Love, InshAllah:

Photo credit: Les Talusan, lestalusanphoto.com

Photo credit: Les Talusan, lestalusanphoto.com

The first time I walked up the sidewalk to the front door after “it” happened, I was surprised. I had expected my house to be covered by gloom, and fear of the oozing grief had pushed me away.

Through the shadow wrapping around my hung head, my eyes caught the bright orange nasturtium flowers lining the flowerbed in front of my parents’ rundown California ranch house. They were lush, ballooning into the green grass. I paused, feeling the stark contrast between what was going on inside my head and what was happening outside. How could the flowers be so bright? Didn’t they know what had happened? Didn’t they know it was time to shade their vibrancy, to bow their blooms? Why were they still blooming? How were they able to bloom if she was not here to nurture them anymore?

I looked up at the…

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Yes, This Is A Poem For That Man

This poem is for the man that never questioned my ability to shoot for the stars, to dance with the angels, to fire off a revolution within my soul

Yes, this is a poem for that man.

For a man that never sought to shrink me, hide me and protect me from the world

Yes, this is a poem for that man

For a man that loved every ounce of me tenderly and passionately without complaint and disdain.

Yes, this is a poem for that man

For a man that understood that I am to be loved whole and not in parts. That I am my own person, my own woman without limitations.

Yes, this is a poem for that man

For a man that knew I could swallow him whole and without regret if he ever sought to fit me in a box of a prescribed gender role

Yes, this is a poem for that man

For a man that never questioned the complexity of my very being even when I found it easier at times to shrink myself for the world around me

Yes, this is a poem for that man

For a man that shared with me a new world that I never knew of before. A world that I soon came to find liberating and exhilarating. A world that provoked me to open up my wings and to fly beyond my own limitations

Yes, this is a poem for that man

For a man that understood that I am deserving of taking up space with my body and voice. And that welcomed the challenges I beckoned him with in my own observation and participation within the world.

Yes, this is a poem for that man

For a man that truly loved dangerously and without regret.

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