Category Archives: Writing Club Projects

The World by 7ala Abdullah

Look.

Don’t leave an inch unpondered.

Stare at it all; stare at your bumps and bruises. Stare at your flaws and imperfections; your scars and your voids. Stare at your worn-out hands; those hands you used to build and break – to hold and to push. Look at your cuts, look at how they bleed bright blue with indifference – and your back; all straight and proud and defying humanity.

Look at yourself, look at where the world filled syringes of poisonous hate and injected them into your skin. Look at your body; covered in needle-marks from where apathy, distrust, and jealousy were forced into your blood.

Here you stand; remnants of yourself.

You typical human, you peaked at 6 years old and ever since then, your life’s gone downhill. You were then taught that love has a name. You were told that there’s right and there’s wrong and there’s us and there’s them. You were taught about shame and you hid in dark corners to protect yourself from it.

You were fed war and racism; you drank religion and you spat out the parts of it you disliked. You were told it made you better; so you believed it and you looked down upon anything that was different. Anything that brought along any kind of change with it.

You never learned self-satisfaction; instead you were taught how to rob others of it. You suffered and cried for an award only you can give yourself. You wept when you faced the mirror; the possibility that you might have been beautiful was seemingly galaxies away.

You were like a gluttonous Eve with an appetite for apples; you picked the ripest ones despite the forewarnings you received. And they were delicious and fulfilling, but you fell from your heaven into pain each time.

And the thing about pain is that it falls hard on us like rain in a storm, covers us in damages for as long as it can and eventually; it dries off and we’re left with the aftermath. For you, the damage was to your soul; your spirit. You were killed by your own kind, told you’d never amount to anything – told that you were less of a human because of a chromosome and told you were more of a chosen one because of a belief.

You died a little every time you were robbed a human right in the name of holiness.

How did you get here? How did you end up this way?

Pain is no longer your biggest problem. Your biggest problem is that you’ve learned to enjoy the solace and the beauty of the pain thrust upon you. You no longer try to extirpate it from under your skin.

But get yourself off the ground. Let go of the hurt. Find satisfaction from within yourself. Make a change.

Eve by 7ala Abdullah

(In order to understand this piece, you should first read this explanation. Otherwise it’d be hard to comprehend the meaning behind it. )

Darkness used to terrify me; now I’m drawn to it like a shark to fresh blood.

The petrifying serenity of it calms me. I’ll never be able to articulately describe the moment I first felt joy at the absence of light – the moment I felt the fear climbing up to the surface of my skin. It shot out like the screams of a woman in labor, only to give birth to the quiet fearlessness that was budding out and taking its place from within me. I cradled it against my chest and fed it my own skin; stayed up long nights to keep it calm and content. I watched it grow out of its bibs and pacifiers and into tall glasses and cheap shots. I watched it grow out of its onesies and slip into skin-tight dresses and expensive garters.

The unforeseen. The inexplicable. The extraordinary. The inhuman; the way-too-human. I loved it so. I loved its unpredictability. I loved the Godly power it brought with it; I loved the tender feel of the life beneath my fingers. I adored the fleeting sense of ecstasy, I adored the control; the shamelessness. I cherished those sleepless nights and the mess I was almost always left to clean alone.

I fell in love with the solidarity, the independence. The nonchalance.

I never cared about anything or anyone else. I never needed anything else to keep me sane. And I know what they all think of me; I know they think I’m a slut with legs so far apart; the sun never sees both at the same time. Well, that’s for me to know and for them to pretend they do with their empty heads held high above their shoulders. They look at me, eyes full of judgment and pity. They search for answers in my eyes, look for solutions in their tiny minds. They think they’ve got me all figured out;

“Oh, that poor little girl with no one to save her.”

But there’s always a little more to everyone than people would first presume.

There’s a lot more to me than he thinks.

He with his eyes full of fire and his hands full of recklessness. He with his silencing lips and hungry fingers. They sear into my skin and leave traces of the sin I’ve gladly called my life sentence. He calls me beautiful – he says so without looking at my face. His greedy tongue looks for comfort in the salt of my body, my limbs are his lullaby – my body; his prize. But is a prize really a prize when you’re paying to get it? His thinking never really reaches that far. I’ve always been thankful for the disgustingly limited thinking process of men.

It’s served me well.

Darkness.

I’ve never seen anything more beautiful than the sight of his bare body being hugged by moonlight. His features melting away with the furniture; the only things sharp and vivid are his eyes. His dilated pupils are glowing with sincerity, yet his intentions are anything but sincere. He stares at me full of want. His hands and feet are cuffed to the bedposts – he smiles wickedly; makes sure to let me know he approves.

Darkness.

It used to mortify me. I’d always look for ways to make it go; I’d always find a light to scare it away with. I’d always figure out a way to make it slither away from my body like a snake and leave me unpoisoned.

But oh, how I cherish its venom now. It swims through my veins and takes over my blood; runs through my lungs and leaves me gasping.

Darkness.

The kind from within. The kind unaffected by the sun. The kind that blots out all logic and leaves me free as an eagle.

It’s beautifully dangerous, this kind of desire. It’s endless, unsatisfied; always wanting, never settling. It’s greedy and stubborn, it’s illogical and it leaves no room for negotiation.

Darkness.

We’re in the drowning darkness. His breath is singing along with the wind, his body counting on my mercy. My hands find their way to his trachea. He’s excited, tilts his neck towards me; gives it away like toys to a child. The familiar tenderness thrills me.

“You’re mine.” I hiss into his ear. I feel the hairs all over his body responding to the friction of my lips.

“All yours.”

He has no idea. He’s bound to me for the rest of his sorry life. He doesn’t know he’s going to spend it all under my perfect body trying to grab onto my flawless skin.

I give a tantalizing squeeze to his neck. “Oh, God”, he whispers. I’ve been dubbed God before, but its truth only strikes me in the split second it takes for their faces to change from red to blue. The moment their demanding eyes change from lustful to terrified. The moment I know they know I’m the one in control. The moment they realize they’ve handed their lives to me without thinking twice.

The moment he realizes I’ve got his last breath in the palm of my hand.

17 seconds is all it takes. His tainted light creeps out of his wasted body and leaks into my superior soul. I hang on to his neck for a little more than that. The state I’m in can only be described as euphoric – his limp body is the cloud I choose to rest on.

I touch his lifeless face. Despite the struggle he just put on, it looks calm – expressionless.

He’s given in to his fate – the one I set for him.

Any whore with ovaries could give a life.

It takes a Goddess to take one away.

Holy is in the eye of the beholder.

© Copyright 7ala Abdullah

The Paranormal by 7ala Abdullah

It’s times like these when I need you the most.

It’s moments like this when I’m suffocating in the pitch-black darkness and I need your comforting arms to hold me, your soothing voice to calm my nerves… when I feel like every single cell in my body is breaking and the ever-viscous sadness is creeping out of my every tiny little pore.

My tears are pain-drenched, rushing angrily onto the pillow like the blood of a martyr. They seep into the fabric quickly to make room for the ones bound to follow. They don’t move fast enough, and soon I find myself drowning. I’m finding it hard to breathe; it’s not an easy task with this heaviness sitting in my chest. It feels like my lungs are about to collapse and I’m face-down in this pillow that reeks of sorrow.

I need you to hold my hand. Why don’t you hold my hand one last time before you leave? I need you to look me in the eyes and assure me with your smile that my world isn’t about to crumble beneath my shaky feet. Please. Please don’t lie to me and tell me that the damage is reparable. Don’t tell me that I can go on without you because I can’t.

You once said that sometimes the ending leaves you with a lot of missing pieces, but you find out later that you can live without them. Well, this isn’t one of those endings because the moment you left me, you took everything with you. You are the oxygen my organs are failing without. You are the one for whom these beats in my chest were fashioned, you are the boiling tears flowing out of these deprived eyes.

So you climb into bed with me because you find it in your heart to take mercy on me. I don’t mind being pitied, pride is something I have with people other than you. I’m watching your silhouette slip under the covers on your side of this king-size and I roll myself towards you.

“I hate you for leaving.” I whisper into your ear.

“You could never hate me.” You reply. And you’re right.

I cry quietly onto your chest. Your fingers are tracing lines across my back and it puts me to sleep like a lullaby does to a child. You’re the only one who knows how to kill my insomnia, it fears you like a deer fears a lion. It runs the other way when faced by you, and my eyelids meet one another like long-estranged lovers. You whisper I-love-yous into my ears all night long. Your voice echoes into my dreams that are already full of you.

And I’m dreaming again of how you left. I dream of the hospital, of the blood, I dream of your body lying under all that white. I dream of the doctors, of your mother, of that moment my heart stopped beating because it was just so in sync with yours. I dream of it and pretend it’s just a dream. I dream and try to forget that it’s my reality. I dream of the way you left me, I dream of yesterday.

And I wake up because you’ve gone again, and I’m still here. And even though you’ve left, I’m still haunted by your presence. And even though you’re six feet under, I’m the one who’s really dead.

 

© Copyright 7ala Abdullah

Being Human by 7ala Abdullah

Her raven hair bewitches him again.
He’s fallen victim to her magic time and time before.
Her eyes like wands sultrily casting spells upon his limbs;
“I love you”, she says.

He thinks it, too.
He wants to say it because it’s true.
But a thick layer of pride covers his lips
He slightly pushes her away when she leans in for a kiss
It’s hard for him to do, but he does it still.
It’s something he does against his will.
Stay calm, he silently scolds himself.
He’ll have to get to the bottom of this.

But she touches his hand and her skin feels wrong
He’s seen this coming for way too long.
He sees it in her eyes,
He’s right, he knows he’s right.
She’s done it again, that fucking bitch.
He knows he’s never wrong about these things.

“You were with him, weren’t you?” he asks condescendingly.
He smells him all over her smooth shoulders,
Her soft hands,
Her perfect fingers.
He smells him on her breath.

She stares daringly at him.
“I love you.”
She repeats.
But he shoves her away,
How dare she say that to him again?

“Why won’t you tell me that you love me?”
She plays the wounded victim so perfectly.
Her voice cracks and he sees a layer of tears coating her eyes.
They fall down her cheeks like little balls of lies.

But he’s not falling for it.
He’s not falling for her acting;
Her rehearsed lines and fake crying.
He’s not falling for her lustful hands.
This woman should be on a stage,
Not here in his arms, he thinks
He is not a fucking audience.

She’s waiting for a response and her body’s shaking
He’s too used to her obvious faking.
“There’s no one else in my life.” She whispers.
He wishes badly that he could believe her.

He loves her with all his heart.
He’s loved her from the very start.
He loves her chapped lips,
Her bony hips,
Her bitten nails,
Her dark eyes,
Her freckles,
Her dimples,
Her graceless shoulders,
Her scarred back,
Her naturally rosy cheeks.
He loves her, so why does she lie to him?

“I’m not greedy for wanting you all to myself.”
She’s giving him that blank look again.
She takes a few steps back from where he stands.
His anger’s building up from within
He hates the state he’s in
But he’s angry and his trust’s been broken
And she’s still giving him that same damned look.

“He’s a son of a bitch for taking what’s mine.”
How could he let it go this time?
She’s quiet, but she’s seen his wrath before.
She tries to talk but he doesn’t want to hear it anymore
She has to pay for this, he thinks,
She’s broken his heart.
How could he be too blind to realize she was this smart?
He’s been giving her his undivided love
Has what he’s given her never been enough?

He grabs the object on his right
A red vase she bought the other night
There’s ten red roses in it from Valentine’s day
He’d surprised her with a whole bouquet
And now they’re flying all around
And one by one, they hit the ground.

She loves him to death.
She knows that because she’s seen it once or twice before.
She’s gone back and forth between life and death so she’s seen it all.
He’s all she knows and he’s all she loves,
He’s all she owns and all she trusts.

She can’t live without him, she’s sure.
But can he live without her?
Sometimes it seems that way.
Because he keeps breaking her heart,
And still she stays.
He’s her home, her light, her one true love
He’s her heaven-sent treasure from up above
He’s hers and she’s his, it’s always been that way
So no matter how much he breaks her, she’ll always stay.

Yes, they’ve had bad times, but most of it was good
He is an amazing man, but he was just misunderstood
So she’s never leaving, this is where she feels at home
And she doesn’t mind the scars and broken bones
He loves her, he’s said so, so she’s sure.
He’s an angry man, but he’s the only thing that’s hers.
Besides, people have always said she was strong
She’d hate to have to prove them wrong.

She loves him to death, yes, she was willing to die;
If that’s what it took to prove to him it wasn’t a lie.
And she’ll take a beating or two if it meant he could trust her again
So when the glass hits her head, she understands.
And now shards are falling to the floor
And she’s still standing before the man she adores.

He’s not a monster, she knows his love for her.
So she’ll try to quieten her sobs until it was over
Their skins are colliding, hers breaks with his touch
She never knew her skin could fathom this much
Whatever part of her he holds crumbles from the outside in;
And now she’s face down on the floor, glass penetrating her skin.
She closes her eyes and takes it all
If he’ll feel better after this, then it was worth the fall
She just wishes he would believe her when she says
She’s never slept in anyone else’s bed
She’s never looked at another man before
She knew they had something she couldn’t ignore.

He loves her to death and his heart it aching
And as he kicks her, he can feel her bones are breaking
He hurts, but he knows he’s right about this feeling
And now she’s right before him, kneeling;
She’s not begging or screaming, so she must know she deserves it.
She’s not putting up a fight so he knows he’s right.

She’s gone and broken his heart again
And he’s gone and broken her bones again
He loves her to death
But is it his death or hers?

He stands over her like a tower
He’s always had all the power
But tears are falling from his eyes
His tears are taking him by surprise
He’s shocked by the sudden rush of emotion
His tears are flooding out like an ocean
He falls to his knees and holds her hand
Why she keeps hurting him, he’ll never understand
And even though she tears him apart, he’ll never let go
And he realizes that’s something she already knows
And even though she’s a liar, she’s still the one
And without her, he knows his life is done.

“I’m sorry.” Is whispered and barely heard.

“I’m only human. There’s only so much I can take.”

 

© Copyright 7ala Abdullah

New Beginnings by 7ala Abdullah

We awaken each morning to a clean slate.

Every step we take either blots it or purifies it further. But it doesn’t matter; it never matters. When we close our eyes at the end of the day, it all fades away. We wake up again to a blinding whiteness. New day, new choices. New life. But some things aren’t so easy to erase. Some things stick with us day in and day out. Some things can’t be fixed by the simple act of closing our eyes. Some things are permenant – or at least more long-lasting than others. Some things leave a huge disgusting stain on our lives that we are powerless to clean.

I try to shrug you off but you’ve never left my shoulders. I’ve never been alone, but there’s a certain death that comes along with being left behind. I’m left in this godless place and you’re no where to be found.

You used to be so caged and I used to be so free and now I feel like irony’s having a laugh at our expense. You’re finding out how it feels like to have wings and I’m finding out how it feels to have my wings cut off. You’ve set out on this new adventure; all excitement and spontaneity, and I seem to have made a home of this painful rut I’ve found myself stuck in.

Would you save some room for me in case I get to fly again? Because like the tide to the moon, I’ll always be drawn to you. You’ve shined down on me in the darkest hours and now I’m left in the black come sunset.

Would you have stayed, had I asked?

Should I have asked?

It feels like this is where it all stops. When I open my eyes every morning, your beautiful face sits stubbornly on my canvas. I long for the days when it used to be all white, all clean.

All-new.

But I still long for you. And maybe this isn’t an end.

 

© Copyright 7ala Abdullah