“This poem is for..”


This poem is for everything
we never had
This is to the cars we never rode;
for the dresses we never wore;
for the rich and for the poor
This is to the sentences and words
that our throats chocked in,
but never told

This is to the fathers we’ve never had
To the good-hearted mothers
whose hands are full of peppers and onions smells
This is to the sisters I wished I’ve never had
and to the one who I wouldn’t exist
without having
This is to the religions I was born with
To the beliefs I convinced myself in believing
This is to my innocent past and my corrupted present
This is to my patient future
To the universe, earth and nature

This is to boys we liked
but never talked to
To the girls we wished we can be
but failed every time we tried to

This is to the food we ate
not out of hunger
but to extinguish
our depression that wanders
around like a careless tourist

This is to the restaurants we never walked in
To the countries we never visited
and to the streets we never got sick from
This is to the shops we never bought from,
because their prices and brands are bigger than us;
bigger than our budget;
bigger than who we are and who we can be

This is to the dreamers and losers
This is to the nails we grew;
and the watches we wore,
so we can “fit in”
This is to your people
and my people
and we-people
we die to satisfy

This is to our sleepless nights
and to our sleepy nights
This is to our dreams and cries;
our truths and lies
our Hi’s and goodbyes
This is to the No’s and Yeses
To the rejection and acceptance

This is to every organ
of our bodies,
trying to live
trying to be
Let it be

Haleema Al-aide


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