tumblingoutofme

[tumblingoutofme]

dying lungs, dying people

They should start putting pictures,

Of dead Palestinians on Coke cans,

Like lungs on a pack of cigarettes,

So you know what you’re buying.

See choosing your own death is fine,

I’m not going to blame you for that,

And God above knows I’ve thought

About it once or twice, maybe more.

But to choose the death of others,

Pulling the trigger and clocking it

Is something I cannot get behind,

And all of this for a can of Coke.

Or Pepsi, McDonalds, Starbucks, KFC,

Burger King to Bath and Body Works,

Nike and Adidas both united for once,

On the killing of innocent Palestinians.

So the next time you pull out that icy can,

I hope you feel the moisture lick your hand,

And comes back red with the blood you shed,

As the cashier scans the barcode with a beep.

[tumblingoutofme]

Nostalgia

I hate it

When sweet turns to bitter

Like a twist of lime.

When the memories lose their shine,

And turn to rust.

When the laughs no longer ring,

But only echo.

Friends,

Far away.

Promises,

Unkept.

Connections,

Severed.

Hearts,

Dead and buried.

When the tears have cried their river,

The head happy and the tail sad,

And the fall has shed its colors,

Into a somber winter evening.

All that is left is the residue,

The now brown leaves,

Crinkling underfoot.

And I, right now.

And yet I stay,

Standing in the acid rain

Waiting for the flowers to bloom.

[tumblingoutofme]

Time's Ticking

A ticking time bomb

Strapped to my neck

Dragging me down

To the depths of the depths.

Which will kill me first,

The pressure, the bomb, or I,

And does it even matter anyways?

When my time comes

And I’m six feet under

Who’s going to remember

All I have said and have done?

I admire the human persistence to go on,

As if hell isn’t nipping at our fingertips,

As if heaven isn’t a man-made myth.

We’re all sinners dressed as saints,

Waiting for our time to fly.

And when that day comes,

Our polyester wings will flail,

Like Icarus, we’ll plummet and fall.

[tumblingoutofme]

In Your Eyes

In your eyes,

I see a reflection of myself,

older, wiser,

a wife, a mother.

In your eyes,

I see a reflection of myself,

falling for the same tricks,

making the same mistakes.

In your eyes,

I see a reflection of myself,

the image warped and the colors morphed,

yet my essence all the same.

and when they burn,

I go up in smoke.

and when they cry,

I am drowned alive.

They say the eyes are the windows to the soul,

well, Mother, then you and I must be one.

Your eyes are one-way mirrors,

in them, I see nothing but

a reflection of myself.

[tumblingoutofme]

The Game of Love

What if he’s not meant for me?

What if I’m not the one for him?

I heard two wrongs make a right,

So baby, pull me in closer tonight.

Let’s fit in each other,

Like pieces of two different puzzles,

Forming an odd image together,

Yet somehow click.

I’m lying here like a

Chessmatch at a stalemate,

And it’s your turn, my love, to

Make your move, check

Mate me and

Finish me

Off.

Love’s a game,

That I like to play dirty,

My question to you baby is

Will you be my partner-in-crime?

[tumblingoutofme]

It's not that easy.

forgive, forget,

Things don’t know.

all I know is this, that I

am responsible for my actions,

and I know you know that too.

So come back, come here

and fix the mess you made in me,

ripped out my heart with your bare fingers,

and left only the bloodied-up guts behind.

When you’ve stitched me up,

with those hands tend to my wounds

until I am healed, only then can you go,

until I am healed, only then can I learn to

forgive, forget.

[tumblingoutofme]

The things you left behind.

What happens to the things you left behind,

When you left us? 

Your room in pristine shape.

every object, every artifact, right where you put it.

you never let us touch your things,

who is to take care of them now?

Your radio you kept from the 80’s,

still tuned to the 95.5, every Friday and Saturday.

Now it sits silent on your nightstand,

only you knew how to make it sing.

Your bag of candy you bought from abroad,

that used to line us up and place one into each of our palms

but when it’s my turn, whisper ‘here’s two’,

who’s going to distribute them (un)equally?

Your special cup, devoid of life,

where there was once tea, brewed to your taste,

only the dregs remain, too sweet,

who will drink them except you?

Your pack of Marlboro 2010s,

that you swear that you haven’t smoked since 71,

and keep on you only for old time’s sake,

it smells of them when things get tough.

Your passport, full to the brim,

with stamps and journeys from lands we’ll never see.

I hear it’s nice where you’re going,

won’t you need it with you?

A wife, six daughters, eleven grandchildren,

and I, what happens to them when you’re gone?

You left only their bodies behind,

and took their hearts with you.

It’s been six months,

since six feet under,

and we’re still here, left behind,

waiting for you.

Your passport, 

your room, your radio,

your pack of Marlboro 2010s,

your bag of candy and cup of tea,

your wife, daughters, grandchildren, and I.

What happened to us, the things you left behind, 

when you left us?

Haya A. Elmizwghi.

[tumblingoutofme]

Leave the door open on your way out...

You leave,

slam the door in my face,

rue the day you first set foot on this welcome mat,

and promise never to come back,

and yet,

I leave a crook in the door,

place the spare key under the potted plant,

right where you know it will be.

They come

in the masses, storm in through the door,

thieves, crooks and pickpockets,

people who aren’t you,

and yet,

I welcome them all,

as they steal my heart and your mom’s favorite vase,

to fill their void and not mine.

I leave

the lights on,

dust the shelves while you're gone,

fix the photos of us in their frame.

I stay

there in my rocking chair,

knitting a hat that would fit you just right,

drinking tea, brewed the way you like it,

So please,

do me a favor,

and leave the door open

on your way out.

Haya A. Elmizwghi