From August, 2014

Love Poems: Spilt Milk

4.6.11 broken men do not see their cracks but women do. and we think our grace sufficient to fill the imperfections. so we pour ourselves into their chipped vessels and wonder why they do not cry over our spilt milk. Advertisements

Love Poems: When They Come With Machetes in Their Mouths

I am not superwoman. My mother is not superwoman. My mother’s mother is not superwoman. I am, we are, soft. Can shatter. Crumble in your hands. Our survival does not mean we prosper. We are like other women but unlike them. So do not tell us we can handle anything. We only seem like superwoman, a figment of your imagination, because you have forced our lives to be perpetual labor with only seconds of relief. If we carry the world on our shoulders and the children on our backs, what are we but your glorified mules slapped with guilt praises…

The Questions: Yasmin Mohamed Yonis

I remember the first time I met Yasmin. It was during the summer sessions of my senior year of college; she, my good friend Ayla and myself were taking an International Affairs course on global economics. We would gather sometimes after class to discuss our professor, a wealthy Italian financier, who once called Michelle Obama…

Love Poems: Milk and Honey

8.6.2014 do not slip your tongue into the mouths of men who see your beauty when lights are dim they do not know you do not lay underneath men who thrust themselves inside of you but do not ask for your mother’s name they will not love you do not hide yourself from men who ask you to stay those who allow you to rest your weary soul did you not pray for that milk and honey kind of love?