עִברִית

A language I vaguely know. The mind translating my mother tongue to my new one. My words as they stumble upon themselves.

To Heal/To forget

The scathing feeling. A remembrance, a disgusted and archaic ache.  Hunger to be the one who rectifies the ache.

A November Pandemic

Fingertips on virgin skin. The taste of salt beyond my eyes. Pressing to be undone. Three pairs or more meet in silence. Each needing to be seen. The broken stare. The ghosts we leave to die. 

Every Eye

Torture in being watched. To live within.

Dancing on the Sidewalk

I do not remember you. You sound like smoke and distance. I am so far gone. I reminisce those forty-eight days as if they have forgotten me.

The Negev

To recall the desert like land and undominated winds. Tragic selves who sit on empty stages. We take everything for ourselves. For love, for a family. When they fall, I come apart.

If I Was Free

I dance like broken wings who forget themselves in the night. It is my only curse that I despise you.

To See Pain in You

To say too much. To crumble. Is it a line I cannot blur? Soft and broken things we haul around. Reminding me of somebody I knew. It rests inside your voice.

Ignorant Bliss

I hate to love my golden cloak. An unending hatred of love. This love of self. Of sapphire and caramel. A mirror and eyes whisper.

Within the Silence

We forgot our language. It speaks in dreams. The body detaches from itself. I shudder in dusk. I forgot how to speak. This verse. This tongue.

A Temporary Pain

I may hurt now but not forever Feel her now and then release her

The Touch

We fall in lust. We die here. Love is the dream. One self remains.

To Be in Innocence/ Newborn

How short this existence is. I deceive myself. I became human. We all did. From innocence to sin. I yearn to be unpolluted again. We watch each other. Their souls in their eyes.

On Skin

It is labeled an obsession. I do not wish to live inside myself. Instead, my soul might wander like a ghost, untethered with grace. Translucent and empty. Who is to say who is the ghost? I wear the cloak. I drown. I smile. I pretend.

An Abundance of Doors

To love. For a love that simmers into dormancy. A deep slumber and mechanical lifestyle. Everything forgets itself at the door. Left in puddles for dreamlike ideas within unattainable nostalgia. Nothing comes to the door anymore. We forget ourselves.

The Art of Hiding

I sometimes wonder if I will face myself. To look in the eyes. I miss how it was. Not the beginning moments but in the progression of self. How we diminished ourselves to become one. How every stranger was my soulmate. How now writing this, I understand I came here to escape but all remains…

Held Within the Wall

How I fantasize about empty golden sunsets and eyes. I see the eyes of each person I yearn for as they dance along the ancient walls. Like little prayers or little pupils slipped between cracks. Always watching us. Always watching the lips. As they ask for forgiveness.

Shapes of Love

Superiority of possession To compensate for beauty. Danger in lying Dangerous beauty Beauty who lies