we are travelers each on their own journey in life... Sometimes our paths cross and we walk together for a while... Then we reach a cross road and we part ways... Loving yourself allows you to let go and release whatever seems to soar away... Peacefully

Sometimes I can't express the stress in one language… My mother tongue becomes tangled and entwined with words discovered on the long journey of a refugee kid… When stressed… Maxa diday lemin ykebdal at du gir det du didn't get?

Psst... We write out and tell our stories to strengthen our wings... You won't find a map to lead you to the broken ones... In between the lines, every word is bleed out here resides strength in every vulnerability.

I am a writer, a storyteller, baby I can write a love story, about being in love madly and deeply and not be in love. But I am yet to learn to write a story of being loved…For neither they nor I knew how to love me. I have loved...

The base in your voice may shake the roof but won't touch a hair on my head... Rusty dusty engine making noise is what I hear... Vroom broom ashes coming out of your ears... your words to me are seawater and wasted energy...

No, you don't have a right to watch my life, how I raise... How I healed from the arrows shot out your sunken mouth... Your jaws dug in deep to my flesh oh how you fed... Gloating that you are only doing what your fathers did... And their fathers before them... To ask for a …

Continue reading "No, you may not"

Things that are felt but can't be held... Like air, cold winter breeze Like warmth, and mid-summer heat. Like the fog of an early autumn morning... And you my darling.