spoken poem to this day

Two girls can fall in love

Teensy hands cup my curious eyes,
I am young and full of wonder.
At the blissful age of five.

This is when the freak show started,
God made a joke and
that joke was me.
But what kind of God would mess with a child of five
and tell her that although you see the Big Bang in a pretty girl’s eyes,
You should only ever fall for:
guys.

I buried my feelings in a grave labelled guilt-
And then I was eight.
Too young to contemplate,
the thoughts of my wedding day
not being the same
as the ones you see on reality TV.

Eleven.
My gaze at the eyelash on her cheek lingered too long.
Twelve.
These thoughts are wrong.
Thirteen.
God isn’t real, or he’s sick for creating me like this.
Fourteen.
Her cheeks are the only cheeks I want to kiss.
Fifteen.
Rainbows burst through the floorboards, march their way up the stairs and yell in my face:
“Acknowledge the stares, it’s just a girl”
It’s just a girl.
You are worthy of love.

Sixteen.
There has been a hell of a storm.
Dig up the grave, dust off your feelings and leave only red flowers in remembrance.
In remembrance of the time that you hated God because he hated you.
Of the time you would flick your wrist, when you thought of her lips.
Of the time when boys would temporarily fill the whole in your chest.
Of the time you thought that two girls could not fall in love,
Could not hold each other,
And could not whisper the sound of forever into the silent night.

Teensy hands cup my curious eyes,
I am young and full of wonder.
At the blissful age of five.
If only I knew then, what I know now.

there’s something spiritual about the way you spill your soul to me.
—  Reyna Biddy
and she’s too scared to get close to anyone, because anyone that ever said, “i’ll be there” left her with a broken heart.
Loving somebody who you know loves somebody else and no longer loves you is what turns love into something thats so painful it could be called torture.
—  VoicelessConfessions // love & something
I remember you.. down to the promises you played me with. I remember loving you the way I never knew I was capable. I remember hearing your name and loving the butterfly’s that soared my stomach shortly after. I remember you’d call me to say you missed me.. sometimes I wonder if you’ll ever call again. I remember asking you for truths and believing your lies instead. I remember you in a way I promised myself I wouldn’t the day you left. I remember all my good bye and wishing you well messages. I remember us. More than I wish I did.
—  Reyna Biddy

i have dreams of my funeral. some days you’re in the front row crying, other days you’re buried right next to me, holding my hand. other days i’m not dead at all and you’re still holding my hand. other days i’m alive and you’re gone and you’re not holding my hand and that is a lot like being dead to me.

You’re angry kid. And I get that, I do. I am too. The world is a crappy place and there is a lot to be angry about. But what you fail to realise is that the world doesn’t care. You can be as angry as you want and it won’t make one bit of a difference because the world just doesn’t give a shit. So all you’re doing by holding onto all this anger is hurting yourself, because anger like this is toxic. So you have to move on. You have to take a deep breath, dust off your knees, pick yourself up off the floor and move on. I know it’s rough, and you’re tired and worn out and you don’t want to keep fighting. But you have to. You have to move on from this loss and keep going because there is still so much worth fighting for.
—  f.a.w

My stretchmarks are lightning bolts where inspiration has struck me.

The dimples in my thighs are the aftermath of meteoric collisions; their beauty rivals the earth’s new landscape.

My body is quicksand your hands delicately search; when I sink, you sink with me, until our breathing fills the room.

I take up room unapologetically – all curve but no question marks, nothing rigid but all exclamation.

This body has known life, can summon it forward, can walk through fire and exhale the ash; this body is free.

I could change this for you – heed your advice, count the calories, sharpen the softness of my hips and thighs.

But I won’t.

I take up room unapologetically – all melt, middle finger, mother’s nightmare, midnight snack. All love, hope, desire, restlessness.

I take up room unapologetically – not for you.

—  When People Think You’re Fat: A Response
You enjoyed watching me burn, now burn as you watch me rise from the ashes.
—  A. J. Ibrahim || note to self