Don’t let yourself float away to the moon, or you’ll miss the flowers under your feet that bloom.

Don’t miss the chance to fill your heart because you’re too busy trying to find the room.

Don’t leave your faith anywhere on that path by focusing too much on the formidable doom.

And most importantly, make sure that you’re here today because it’ll all be gone real soon....

From the parking lot, I could tell that the restaurant was as busy as it would be on a Friday night that also happened to be Valentines Day. I clasped my jacket closed, pushed pass the bitterness of the wind, and made my way inside. The sounds of chatter and clinking dishes greeted me while the host smiled and welcomed me in.

“How many?” She asked with the eagerness that only someone who enjoyed ...

My mom said I can’t have a birthday party but I didn’t ask to be born the day after the New Year.

She said I can’t go anywhere without my little brother but I didn’t ask to be the first here.

She said I can’t talk like that and I can’t walk like that but I didn’t ask to be a girl.

She said she wished she weren’t mine but how could I know my existence would shatter her world?

I didn’t ask to ne...

Sometimes, it truly amazes me that I can find so much warmth in ice.

I’m not cold-blooded, just hooded and covered, convincing myself that it’s something I like.

As I lay in the ice, paralyzed with pain, my brain relays something different.

It says “Think of Bahrain in the middle of July” and my heart readjusts it’s own rhythm.

And as it picks up its pace, blood rushes to my face, I swear th...

I’ve been the inspiration for many horror stories after we were through.

Spent hours in the mirror trying to figure out why I couldn’t see the person I knew.

Wondered how I could be in crowds of love and only felt seen by few.

And then it dawned on me, after streams of dreams, I was buried alongside you....

If a poet is only as good as their definition of poetry, then I must be an angel.

If poetry is art and art is God, I am the right portrayal.

God guides me through the syllabus of life to craft up any fable.

I channel it all through the source of all, even when it’s painful.

I take what I usually can’t express and transmute it until I’m able.

I can forget my own name, something close to baccha...

I love what I love.

And I love what I don’t.

I love who I love.

Even when I won’t.

I see who I am.

But I also see it in you.

I’ve been here before.

Yet somehow, it’s new....

It was always you.

It could have always been you.

And now you are here,

After so many have gone.

Making love out of nothing....