I dwell in
I float

“When he says
He doesn’t love you anymore,
Roll your shoulders back
And look him in the eye
Even when it feels like your ribs
Are breaking inward, like spider legs.
When he digs up old aches
That he swore he forgave you for,
And ask him why he didn’t leave you sooner.
Ignore the way the words feel like sandpaper
Running all the way up your throat to your mouth.
When he blames you
For mistakes that wear his face,
Do not scream.
Do not cry.
Tell him that there are boys
Who would be proud to say they’d loved you.
Tell him that in two years
You won’t even remember his name
And don’t let him see the way you can taste your own lie.
When he leaves
Ignore the howling in your blood
And do not get up after him.
Not even to lock the door.
Do not, do not
Do not.
Smell his shirts when you box them up
To give them back.
Not one.
Swear off dating when you realize
You’re chasing ghosts that wear his smile.
It’s okay to cry over him.
It’s even okay to forgive him.
But do not go back to him.
If he did not know how to love you the first time,
He won’t know how to do it the next.”

—   How To Pretend It Doesn’t Hurt, by Ashe Vernon  (via 1811181)

Holy fucking shit

(via br0kenn-angel)

(Source: latenightcornerstore, via 17thjan)


a selection of poems from Zimbabwe

Beauty of words

(via nayyirahwaheed)

Why do men think that to love you they must control you someway somehow in the name of being the “MAN” ?
In the name of loving you so much. I have never been a feminist or so, and always believed that being a man is different from being a woman, but I failed to understand how men take it as an insult when their woman disagree with them on something and holds on to her beliefs?

Why don’t we have that space as human beings where we can peacefully agree to disagree, and live and let live.

I am not entitled to live my life according to my parent’s or my husband’s views just because I am a GIRL!

It’s such a sad recurring story!

Redefining all I have known …
Let it be as it’s meant to be …



"The poor and the underclass are growing. Racial justice and human rights are non-existent. They have created a repressive society and we are their unwitting accomplices." - They Live (1988), via vintagegal.

Sound familiar? 

(via niamaniraine)


على أبواب الملحمة  - صلاح صالح الراشد 


على أبواب الملحمة  - صلاح صالح الراشد 

(via loltopia)


Endless array of thoughts racing in my head. Twisting me. Consuming me. Leaving me perplexed.
Endless. And in dire need to be written down, seeking freedom. Needing closure.

It is all there. All in my head. All in my heart.
All those:
Imprisoned words longing to be written. Entangled thoughts urged to be settled. Confined emotions strangling to be free.

The question is:
Have I lost my will to write? Or have time manipulated me?
Have I gone too far being indifferent? Or have passion lost me?

Words. It is only words, written on a paper. What’s the use then?
Is there more than what all those writers have said thousands of years ago?
What is to be said that’s new?
Are there any more stories that have never been told?
It is all repeated, just in different ways. In different languages. In different styles.

Not only stories. Not only thoughts. Even news, all are just repetitions of what already happened. Same new old news.

It’s all becoming blab.
It’s pointless.

Any interesting events in Cairo these days?

Working with children gives me energy…
Their energy and purity fuels me with happiness.