There are no heroes out here, only the lost, the fallen, the tired but ultimately the ailing: dying from wounds unseen.
A writer is no detached judge of his countrymen and contemporaries; he is an accomplice to all the evil committed in his country or by his people.
I have left poems
on his skin
let her kiss him
read me to him.
This body has carried herself into days so bitter all gods wept. Yet, I am still here and I will always be here.
You must remember how to sing yourself away from sorrows, how to wash yourself till the sadness weeps out of your body. You must remember to hold yourself on days that feel so empty the pain echoes.
Girls with fire in their bellies will be forced to drink from a well of correction till the flames die out.
The problem with those who don’t know real power is that they do not know real power.
If you can’t please the gods, trick them.