das riiiight.

i'd like to do something different.

 i don't want to write the same things i've been writing, though i'm feeling the same things i've been feeling. i have to return to this, and read it to know where i was. i'm sure i'll grow restless and tire of reading the same story being described by different words at varying times.

 i'll write about his future if it won't be with me. different enough, i'd suppose.

 he'll approach her with genuine intent to get to know if they go together. he'll look at her - initially to memorize her, later to lust. he'll make her feel beautiful with words and his hands. they'll pray together, and for one another. he'll smile at her every morning, thanking God at the very same time. he'll kiss her eyelids when she sleeps, and will want to be the reason that they rise. he'll trace her back and love her scars. he'll see her, and want to fix it all. he'll treat her insecurities as a doctor would putrid wounds. they'll lay out doubts and eliminate them. he'll love her, and tell her. he'll love her, and think of me. he'll always remember. she'll never be me. he'll recognize that. he can be happy anyway.

 (i know that we all deserve to be happy. we wouldn't be working for it if it didn't exist.)

this could be.

i have to be honest. i need to make my point. i require that i communicate whatever is weighing down the tip of my tongue sufficiently in order for me to be satisfied. even if i never intend to revisit whatever i release from my fiery fingertips - i always want to ensure that if i decided to do so, that i would remember every ache and reason to smile. i'm afraid that i have failed to award myself the goodness of morphing my aches into pleasurable moans through pen. i'm afraid that the intensity could be fleeting, though i know this isn't the case. (fear always has a way of forcing you into feeling it for impossibilities. possibilities just as equally.) i came here to tell me the truth. guess i'll get to it. nothing feels fiery anymore. the good kind of burning. the possibility of love use to leave me breathless in a park filled with greenery; it made my body ache from missing the presence of who i could have potentially felt it for. i would daydream of what i desired, and plan the life we'd have when we found one another. i was so sure he existed, because i was sure that i did. i do exist, but not as i did before now. i knew which words i would whisper in his ear once he was close enough. i knew where i would touch him, and exactly how softly i'd do it. i have lipstick that i'm saving for kissing the beginning of his spine. i made sure it stained my lips, and imagined that it would be the closest thing to a tattoo that i could leave to color his skin. i wanted to make him understand the parts of me that he'd have access to once he has me. i wanted to teach him, without words, exactly what to do with them. i thought i found this magical man disguised as mediocrity. he turned out to be much less than that. then, i found my man. i've recently decided that he could possibly be my forever crush. i don't like that line. it's partially romantic, and hints at me being unsure. without exploring the detail of my thought process, one could easily dismiss this as me being unsure. i know me well enough to know that it's never that simple, though. i'm not comfortable yet. i deal with abandonment issues. until i am settled with the idea of him being a constant cause and cure in my life - i just can't. i hesitantly admit that i've accepted his role as the ultimate leader in all of this, and that i will not be sure until i know that he is. he says that he is, but i have to see it - and feel it even more than that. i love him. i'm afraid. i hate to admit that, but it's true. all of the insecurity that i've never felt, this man has managed to magnetically bring to the surface. i feel uneasy much more often than i feel very loved. the way we began is the source of this. over time and through good counsel, he has managed to start down the road to what i knew he could potentially become. there have been countless false alarms of this same thing taking place, which is why i am having trouble adjusting to the fact that it finally is. like the girl who falsely cried wolf until she really needed to and had nobody to believe her. i can tell he means it, and i know that he is better, but this must be what post-trauma does to people. i'm seeing through the lens of a former me rather than buying a new pair of glasses. needing to be reassured is an annoyance, to say the least. i don't want to need or be either of those things. he's amazing. but he hurt me. repeatedly. lord knows what could have possibly kept me around, because i sure don't. my ego was being tossed around like a busted softball. it's bruised. i've finally allowed someone to have me questioning my beauty. i feel half as alluring, and nowhere near as attractive. all in comparison to the me that i was a few years back. possibly even the me that i was last summer. i'll admit that i have moments when i daydream of a whole entire and respectable love from its very beginning. it'd be nice not to think of what he could be doing during those moments that my mind is left to wander. i only want to think that he's thinking of me. this always makes me wonder where i actually want to be. i want to know that he wants to know me, and make me happy. i need to feel like a man wants to love me more than he wants to possess me, for once. i want to feel like a companion, and not an item that was won and is now being showcased. it's always the same thing. he has to give me something different. it's easy for me to write this down and publish it because i know he doesn't actively seek to read the things that i put out. if he does, then he deserves to know. if he can handle knowing, then he'll figure out what to do to fix it. i need to heal. i want to let him know me. i think that i can, if i stop thinking of what was and start to look at what is. Bismillah.

good eyes.

this is from a conversation from months ago. he's pretty good at this. it's outstanding, actually. here:

"you can't see yourself. most people can't.

You are pretty... like ... VERY pretty. But you also dont have pictures of you bent over a sink in a dirty bathroom. All that integrity, and pride (while good for weeding out drug dealers, and overtly violent men) will attract a higher grade liar. They are non-confrontational, evasive, and hard to spot. This is a "good" problem compared to what some people get, but it can be really annoying.

so yeah... your gonna get soft, manipulative men."


this time, it ain't this. i'm sure of it. he's not soft. or manipulative. definitely avoiding something, though. i'm tired. a little down. i'm going to make shit.

dreams with mouths.

my dreams have been talking to me, lately.

they've warned me. they've reminded to what i need. they've reminded me to when i was better than i am now. i recognized what i need to do. well, one of the things i need
to do. i wanted to avoid getting all open and personal, so i will. i gotta say this, though - i need internal motivation. i've always been silently competitive. i need to see something being done in order to be pushed to do better. i'm beginning to grasp what i already understood. we need one another. we really do.

my mama told me i don't like to be alone. i fought accepting it. then, i thought about it for a minute and decided that she was right. the thing is, i value my alone time. i need it to think. i need it for introspection. i need it for music. i need it for studying. but once all of those things have been done - i wanna love with my hands and eyes and mouth. i wanna draw inspiration and hot skin from this invisible him. i'm in no rush, but i know what i want to feel whenever i decide to feel it.

no rush, but it's urgent as a muhhfxcka.

still, i notice that i find comfort in being alone. i have this idea that no one man can love me appropriately. an idea that i honestly don't believe; i just tell it to myself so that i won't be surprised when disappointment surfaces. my chest seems settled in solitary. it doesn't burn from lit fire, or ache like a throbbing wound when someone isn't around. i don't see it necessary to expect anything. expecting holds the sub-sequence of waiting. i hate waiting. it makes my limbs want to detach and run away from me and tension. then, what if i wait and nothing ever comes? it has to be a waste of time. but, i know that it could be worth it. nothing makes sense. everything makes sense. i'm hanging up, now.

save all of my love, and give it to the poor when i die.

Nina Getachew

permanent marker.

he came here when i didn't want him. he stayed, even when i tried to wash him away. he stained my skin like permanent marker. scribbled sloppily over precious pages of my life. i've scarred and turned red from trying to rub him off.

he pushed his way into my thoughts and into my love. he slithered up my stairs and into my room. he lied his way into my chest. what a mirage of a man.

he loved me before i liked him. he loved me. he loved me. he stayed here. he showed up. he wouldn't go when i asked him to. he wouldn't be quiet when i needed the silence necessary for tuning him out. so i loved him back. because he loved me. because i thought he wanted to.

i loved him. i loved him. i loved him until he sat on the surface of and underneath my skin and thoughts. until we shared morning breath and small habits i am still fighting to forget. i bite at them with chipped teeth. i sing to stop myself from crying when i think of the pain. i cry because it doesn't work.

i swear, i don't love him. i swear, i don't miss him. i swear - i only miss the pieces of me that i left for him and he left sitting there. i could tell that abandonment wasn't a new sport, for him. i could tell he was accustomed to sweeping broken promises underneath area rugs and referring to the tears of torn lovers as raindrops. i knew. but i didn't. i should have been more careful.

i was never afraid, until i stopped loving him.

i was really happy before i loved him.

i'm still happy, but there's this crack in it.

i lost something back there.

i'll fill it's space with something even better.

boys and friends.

he said i was bad for him. i asked him why. this is what he told me:

cause see... your all "sad biddy"

and my hero complex will make me want to save you.

But your also not into being saved.

And your far...

and your fun (which will make me like you and not care that your far)

so yeah

chasing you is like...

i dont know..

bad for my health or something

three days deep.

I tried to cry myself to sleep. I'm still awake.

Day three of Ramadan. I'm indubitably in love with this month. When it leaves me, I think i'll suffer as if my lover is being seen off to war. I have to be honest, though. I've been left alone with my thoughts and feelings. I'm sad, and overwhelmingly lonely. I've prayed alone, i've eaten alone, i've made dua'a alone. I see others talking about friends and sisterhood and love. I wish I could borrow some of theirs. I want to pray with people that I care about, and several wonderful strangers. I want to cry comfortably, and for my heart to swell from happiness. I want not to feel so damaged. I haven't been able to shake this stabbing, throbbing loneliness ever since... Ya Allah, heal me and help me. Increase me in Imaan and nur and knowledge. Protect me from hypocrisy and apostacy and blasphemy. Save my family and myself from the fire. May our fasts be accepted and our sins pardoned. Ameen.

But, listen - I still feel like my life has been tossed and turned downward. I'm still hurting. It still stings like yesterday. Nothing can help besides my Lord allowing me to heal. I battle with this every single day. It makes my limbs tired and achy. My spirit has been battered. Pray for me, please.