We are all rugged people, and through out soft degrees. Many a mean have shouted, Many have fallen too their knees. We think we’re at war with others, But wrong because we are at war with ourselves, A war that has long begun A war that can not be won.
I hate diaspora poetry as much as the next fed-up immigrant
All that bullshit about “lives stained with honey and turmeric” and “the colonizer cutting my tongue with aluminum shears” is utterly boring
When I needed a white sheet for Toga day at school, my father immediately gave me his own white cloth. The weave was loose and rough, with a smooth strip of gold running down one side, so large I thought it was a sari.
50% Polish, 50% Russian I thought. It all changed in Rehovot. I flipped through the book. The dining table crowded with voices. “Tracing our roots” He said Turning the page. The faces of those like me gazed up from the page. Aunts, uncles, cousins, relatives I’ve never seen. “We visited the
Pakistan and America Eastern and western but they feel like the north and south poles I’m immersed in the red silk dresses embroidered by hand and I’m in love with the ability to roam alone across this land I’m submerged in the value of education before all but I’m also tangled in love and lust,
Two mirrors face each other, a girl in between. The girl is me, stuck on the cliche of the introvert; on the outside looking in. My problem is that I've always been on the inside looking out. Stuck so far in the depth of my being that I've never been able to see myself for who I truly am. Afraid
Out there… During the day, around everyone… I can be the funniest guy ever, a person that don’t care about nothing, someone confident about himself, and that won’t let nobody make him feel less. But once inside… When the door closes, and the lights go off… When everything is quiet… I’m a complet
Your foundation is no different than that of your neighbors, ground firmly into the cool of the Earth with no concern for those who dwell above you. Your walls beg to tell a different story, desperate for language but sit mute, hapless, ill-fortuned, burdened to behold secrets behind