peelmyonionandwipeyourtears

[peelmyonionandwipeyourtears]

Wise Eye

(Written January 12, 2021)

analysis of every scenario how much of my life can be planned? I bled lightly this month and I feared all the Ways in which I am not ready And then pondered if I will ever feel ready? Careful the words you play with

Careful the words you speak they all come to existence some day

You know you are magic Pharaonic and long and gold

Things they just happen.

And in the pit of your stomach you knew it would and you wished you could retract it but what's done is Done.

[peelmyonionandwipeyourtears]

Sonny

(Written December 26, 2020)

Let it go let it go now

Let it come and let it go now

It’s ok

Little arms wrapped around me,

from a body I used to cradle and clean

now cradling me.

Apologetic and sad  

for not being able to make it go away

It’s ok. 

All I need are

Tears in my hands tears on my shoulder and invitation for us

To exchange the scars 

passed down to us

Reassurance to 

let it go let it go now 

It’s ok 

Let it come and let it go now 

It’s okay to feel this way. 

[peelmyonionandwipeyourtears]

Grief Poems

(Written between January - May of 2024)

What could it mean for me to be more like water? Where i allow things to flow 

Where I allow the shoreline to kiss my toes 

I cannot wrangle or control the current.  

But I can see it coming, 

and brace myself.

My shame worn on my sleeves 

so biblically.

I barter with beings i cannot see – i ask them…

What can I sacrifice to feel grace? 

Only I can give myself grace. 

–

My heart jumps in excitement. I wonder if you will notice me in my loud silence. Sitting in the middle of the floor. Water me. Maybe just water me. The way you water the plants. Although, I know they likely feel the way I do, the plants. At times neglected and forgotten. Not because you don't love them. Or me. It's just that you move through this life feeling that there is time, and it will be fine. The plants won't die, but they will be severely parched. 

– 

I wish  I spoke my mother’s tongue.

 I feel the depth of the language but it does not claim me.

My father is gone and the only person left to connect me to my language is my mom, until well... 

Cords are being cut, one by one. 

This feeling of a lost language and i cant stop crying because of it. It accesses a deep longing in me to be a part of it all. To be a part of Egypt. To be a true Egyptian. 

But I may never be.

–

I’ve over drafted my self awareness, it doesnt save me. It’s not enough. It's somehow worse. Maybe I am destined to carry the messy-ness of my father’s name

no formal request at the Social Security Administration can clean the stench he left on me. 

And the adorable audacity of me…

To think I could undo it for us all. Healing the generational wound.

 The burden is heavy. 

Fighting generational demons is lonely when your family has already been captured.

[peelmyonionandwipeyourtears]

(Written December 2, 2023)

I’d rather the life we had over this one. 

At a distance is better than nothing. 

Your voice is a deep distinction in the web of my mind. I hear how it changed. How gentle and soft it became. 

There is something so sweet about our memories. The early ones and the last ones. The ones in between those too. I land on the complicated ones with lighter feet now. I’ve already spent too much time on them. 

My mind, body, and soul are unyoked. 

My mind verbalizes what I logically know to be true, as a matter of fact. But in response, my body mourns this new hemisphere. As though the chords that connected you to me have been pulled. And there in its place is a dark, cold, emptiness.

I am unwilling to fill this emptiness if it means opening myself to the overwhelm of acceptance. 

My body cannot bear it. 

My soul already knows all, and the rest of me feebly catches up.

[peelmyonionandwipeyourtears]

(Written May 2, 2022)

i take the subway, i watch the passengers.

i wonder what it would be like to see my dad riding the train. i pretend i do. 

i pretend he isn’t my dad. 

a long day of forearm oven burns and tomato sauce stains. a long day of no shows and register shortages. 

freckled and brown. 

a tired man, an alert man.

youthful in movement,

aged in eyes.

the man taught me how to ride a subway, how to ride a plane, how to live in countries that are not my own. how to not look lost “even if you are.” i didn’t know pizza could take you so far. 

as i often do, i offer my seat to the passenger that reminds me of my dad.

[peelmyonionandwipeyourtears]

Christos Anesti

(Written June 30, 2023)

there is a grey wetness outside. one that seeps beneath the oils on your skin. leaving a residual shine.

when i called my dad he said christos anesti. i said sorry for missing your call. he said it was okay.

i could hear people in the background gathered. it sounded like people who were comfortable enough to be family. 

those sounds were supplemented with a bombarding recurring question from a woman’s voice.. 

who is it? she asked. 

who is on the phone?

a suffocating whisper, so close to the receiver of his device. 

as though she were sitting on his throat. 

he ignored the question and i held my anger in my throat until i swallowed it. and it dropped into my belly like rocks. 

what’s your favorite thing to eat on easter? i asked. Feseekh, he said. Ew. I said. and he laughed. it’s rotten fish, he said. i know, i said. 

well, i hope you enjoy your dinner, i said. and he said thank you and i love you and i said i love you too. 

and then i think about how i should go back to calling more because that went well. 

though, every time you call the rocks rattle in my gut.

[peelmyonionandwipeyourtears]

I park my car. 

(Written June 30, 2023)

I walk up the boardwalk. I face the ocean and close my eyes. Father Ocean is what i used to call you. now you’re an old friend, I forget to call when i’m in town. A shameful afterthought. But i’m here, now.

I close my eyes, waiting. For something to click in me. Waiting for magic, for spirituality.  I open my eyes to see a man passing by. He wants to engage, a good morning, and acknowledgement. Can’t he see i’m trying to connect to the ocean? To the wind? to the crashing waves? to God? Something much bigger than me. 

I am too connected to material world right now to connect to anything or anyone intangible.

I’m keeping it together. I’ve cried enough. I already know what is to come. So, I pretend it has already happened. I tell myself it shouldn’t feel so different because you were never really here. But every time I call, and you answer, I am so fucking glad. 

[peelmyonionandwipeyourtears]

White Desert

(Written July 23, 2022)

My eyes are full. 

My eyes are full. 

My eyes are full.

White boulders flood my pupils 

Provocatively and violently. 

But it is only violent because i am from the city

And Mother Earth wants me to see her

So Badly. 

I am willing and eager for 

this light to enter me. 

I look over to my lover

And his eyes too glow

With the pastel backdrops 

We see. 

There is lavender, and there is blue. 

There is orange, and there is yellow. 

He looks to me. And I look to him.

We exchange reflections of her. 

And We smile. 

The light fades and the stars rise. 

They are above, they are below, they are direct. 

They hang on my earlobes. 

They twinkle on my forehead. 

The stars are within me. 

I am on a trip but I am as sober as they come, 

All but sweet sweet bedouin 

peppermint tea in me. 

Here, in the land of my mother and father. And in territory that they warned me not to enter. 

And I do not aim to be disobedient or disrespectful. I just knew that there was something here for me to see. 

And I am glad that i can share with them 

that it was worth every inch of journey

Every dry canyon formulated on my chapped lips, 

and every ounce of unquenched thirst that the desert punishes you with. 

May they trust me and support me

All the more for it. 

That is my hope. 

The stars are still here. They shoot. They multiply. They stand still. 

But there are no sounds. 

None but my own.

[peelmyonionandwipeyourtears]

On january 13, 2o23 to n0w

I've become somewhat of a home goods accessory. I sit in the corner in pure contemplative existence. Like the plants on my window sill. 

We have more in common than anyone these days.

I know all the ways in which the light hits this place. How bright it can be between 10am-2pm. and the way the sky breaks down in color and texture by 4. And how the stained glass windows from the church across the street illuminate in a french gothic sort of way when there is choir practice. And the passionate songs of God tap on my window. The plants experience holy song. I experience holy song. 

I know all the ways the neighborhood behaves. how quiet it is in the cold, and how rowdy it is when it's warm and how dramatically anxious the B65 can be when a car is double parked on Dean Street.

I know how excited the little girl downstairs is to knock on my door asking me if I want cookies that her mama bake and how she peaks her head out when there are unfamiliar exciting sounds.

I know all the ways the scent of last night's cooking lingers and how I don't always notice it until I leave and come back home. 

I know all the ways I have sacrificed a need because of a fear of being too burdensome. 

Annoying. Needy. Physically static. Emotionally unrestful. Stubbornly and uncooperatively dependent. I wish I could just do it myself.

Internally at war with..myself. Or whoever is curating this experience for me.

Surely yet unsurely...they seek to de-con-struct me. Break me in. Break me in half. I think both. Until my heart is wide open. Until my Ego shatters completely.

Until I am unforgettably humbled.

[peelmyonionandwipeyourtears]

When you are suddenly conscious in an unconscious world, you will feel more alone than you did before

There are roles one does not choose,

but is born into.

They call it Family.

How easy it is to be asleep in it,

How easy it is to be bound just by blood. That it.

I left but I did not abandon

I therapized myself, I gave my ego and

victimhood away without cost. I said,

"here, i don't want it any more, please

take it or else it will swallow me whole"

I unlearned the language of

difficult love

and I learned the language of ease.

but i come home and it's all the

same.

i wonder which is better, 

to be awake or to be asleep? 

When you give away your ego 

you are perceived as weak by 

the people who will cry the hardest at your funeral.  

You are too kind for your own good, you.

but maybe this time you will slip away into the night.

what could that be like? 

[peelmyonionandwipeyourtears]

Oof, Spring.

Tonight the rain cradles me.

I open all my windows and I let the fresh wet air flood in.

It's such a sweet sound.

The sound of water hitting glass, water hitting ground, water hitting trees, water hitting feathers.

Oof.

I sleep with contentment.

my eyes nose my jaw neck shoulders throat, all 360 joints

well rested

with individual smiles.

It is morning now, and all the birds sing.

I swear it is all of them.

but there is one bird who's tune stands out because she sings a song so distinctly. I imagine she is the conductor for all the birds to follow suit. But I am dramatic by nature and I wonder, then again..

is she calling for someone? are they not replying?

oof.

I peek outside my wet screen window. I see the budding pinks of trees blossoming slowly. I see the rustling of morning in a neighbor's window who's landscape I share.

and I whistle the tune I hear. and she replies. and I whistle, and she replies.

and I wake with contentment.

[peelmyonionandwipeyourtears]

My Moon

there are so many songs named after the sun.

there are many poems written about the moon.

the sun is far more provocative and volatile.

but necessary. comforting. healing.

a part of me always becomes whole again when the sun kisses me.

we are creatures dictated by light.

the moon is mysterious. a feminine force.

a mother of introverts. not always visible but her presence is constant. effortless. quiet.

Yet so damn loud is her light.

My Moon is on her own path, now.

She is living for herself, now.

She often reminds me of this when I revert back to a tender child.

I still need her light at times.

I imagine someday that someday,

I will be someone’s Moon.

[peelmyonionandwipeyourtears]

A love language

Love Poem Feb. 10, 2022

If we ever get married, I'll take your hands and I will put them in my pockets. I'll think back at that time we went to Shop Rite and

bought ingredients to make ribs and

how big commercial grocery stores excite you because

it is a foreign concept for an island boy turned city dweller.

A rose is so clichély beautiful.

I have fallen in love with rose oil.

it helps me to recognize my own unseen

beauty.

I would have never expected that from me.

Maybe it is simply natural for one to take a liking to floral scented perfumes after thirty.

How can a flower smell so beautiful when beauty is often for the eyes and less for the nose. Damn it! One can never keep up.

I still learn love I still learn you, and I hope that never ends.

[peelmyonionandwipeyourtears]

Sort of

Sometimes words come easily to me. But this is not that time.

It is December and it is cold and I am many things that begin with the letter S.

Static, stationary, sad,  singular 

and sort of. 

Which, I have been told, makes me sounds less strong when I speak.

Maybe I am weak in the ways that I speak.    

They call it the winter blues but then I become afraid that it will never end.

What if winter lasts inside of me forever?

I know a man who patiently waits for the stars to align. 

Maybe I can learn from him. 

He doesn’t force things.

Anything unnatural or forceful coils him up.

He tightens himself so closed that one would think he were a stone. 

Cold, hard, and heavy.

But if you let the sparkly specks in his sky connect. One by one.

You will find a kind-hearted grounded protector.

Wise eyes with scriptures behind them.

Who quietly catches me each time I fall.

[peelmyonionandwipeyourtears]

Meditation in the morning,

Reclined, heat compressed eyes

Yellow is the pantone color of the year

Ultimate Gray and illuminating

Same color as my belly and my

skin. At times. Like when I eat cheese.

Today is Wednesday. I was looking forward to it until I realized it was already

that.

the inauguration was today

JLO sang. Lady GAGA too. Washington might as well be Hollywood.

Now we have a president who will be better to us, as in

better at lying to us. Believable. Tell me everything will be okay even if it won’t.

I don’t have it in me to put hope in false idols.

Chris and I chatted about it a bit.

Meditation in the evening.

Meditation is preparation

for death.

I don’t see that in the morbid sense.

I just want to be ok with it

when it

happens

Look through the eye you cant see

and get lost inside.

[peelmyonionandwipeyourtears]

holes

Does anyone ever know what’s going on in New York City? Why men at work  drill gaping holes into streets and sidewalks. Why they cement them back up and drill them open all over again. Do men just drill holes into everything? Asphalt and rubber and metal against pavement and me on zoom calls with colleagues that think i live on the Brooklyn Queens Expressway.

------

I’m on my second Americano as I write this, at a place. For all things good. There’s a product for every problem. Throw some money on it. It’s all about selling things and wanting things. You make money and you spend it and the illusionary needing and wanting persists. We spring clean and marie kondo our tiny apartments from the now obsolete. Obsolete. Where do they go? Oceans, rivers, landfills. And now our earth tastes like plastic. But you need this.

------

My mans is quiet and one-worded today. It’s his birthday soon and it makes him reflect his path quietly and alone. I say, hi, I’m here for you. He say, in no words, stoicism is more comfortable for me.  

------

The grays are growing in like weeds. Poignant against my black hair. HELLO LOOK AT ME. Sometimes i love it. Sometimes i fear it.

------

I am going to Antigua. I am going away from here. I just want to get out of madison street. I want to get out of hollywood ave, and prospect park, and west end beach. the verrazzano bridge and fucking Franklin Avenue. 

------

I want to eat a ripe mango and for it to be my whole ass lunch. Slurping it over the kitchen sink with a galabeya on, the way my Egyptian elders have taught me. You can’t eat a juicy mango in neat politeness. You can’t eat a juicy mango with lovers or friends. You do it alone in pleasurable devour-ment. And then, when the time comes, you teach your children how to enjoy it.

[peelmyonionandwipeyourtears]

I look cute today

I am happy today. I let myself be in my home. I cleared the cobwebs and dusty corners. I made a shrimp burger. I pulled out the hookah, I tapped out. My lungs were too tired too soon.

I got dressed. I looked beautiful to myself. If I didn’t know me, and if I weren’t me, I would wonder who I am. I would smile at me, if I passed myself on the street. I would ask me things. 

I would say hello, what are you writing about? 

Simply beautiful. To myself. Today. You are you, out of your mother’s womb. 

That’s what I am today. For as long as I can possibly be.

What about my mind? Where your head at girl? 

Head is foggy in some ways. Sharp in tasks, dull in conversation.

The 9-5 takes up real-estate. Soul energy focus.. 

Work lives in my home. lives in my phone. lives in my mind.

That when I'm done for the day. I’m really done with it all

no profound words to offer.

My boss wants me to be more assertive.

But that doesn’t feel like me. She is asking me to boil my blood on a perfectly sunny day. Why? I don’t want to.

Tonight I see my man and as mentioned earlier —  I am looking fiiine.

And when he sees me, he will say to himself. 

Damn. Damn. Damn. — three times. 

I am a lucky man, because this is my WOOOman. 

And he will look into my eyes. Deeply and he will ask me:

How is your heart, how is your mind, how are your breasts, how is your throat, how is your tongue, how is your pussy?  

He will whisper into those parts of me and ask them many many many things.

And magic will happen in subtle ways. 

For example — the moon and stars will kiss us softly and the stars will travel to our eyes, mouths, and organs.  

It will give us courage to be ourselves. From there, our respective ancestors will correspond with one another and they watch us with pride from the ancestral realm. 

We might even dance. If the God above allows it. And if we dance, it will be a surprise. Because we won’t know where dancing exists on days like this.