TheSoaringRaven

How can my fingers be unable to write when Abal Fadel wrote history without any hands? How can my pen be so useless and dry When parched orphans' tongues took a stand? How can my throat loose its voice? When cords scorched from the heat played justice songs? How can my heart ever beat in fear When children bravely fought what was wrong? How could my tears flow over my own problems When widowed wives' tears were less than mine? How can my back hurt as I lift my school bag When Zeinab's back lifted all the thirsty whines? How can my soul be crushed by my loss? When families of the prophet lost more than I did? How can I lay down to sleep away m

"Where is Carrie?" Abuelo asked. He sat on his special couch looking at the TV. Only he wasn't really watching, he just looked at the TV with his glazed eyes. With every slow blink a small part of his mind was obliterated. In a matter of minutes, only the strongest memories from more than twenty years ago would remain. When nobody answered, he asked again. "Where is she?" He demanded. The maid spoke up, "Where is who?" "My wife." He said standing up. His movements were slow and sluggish, since that was the only speed his body was capable of handling without falling apart. "Tell me, where is she?" He asked calmly again. He rarely raised his

Every time I passed by him for the two weeks we'd stayed there he'd say it again. "Ahhhh." He'd gasp and smile at me, his beady eyes twinkling with some sort of fascination and appreciation for company. "Preciosa" he'd whisper. Then he'd beckon to me to come closer with a thin finger, the skin wrinkling and sagging because of old age. I'd put on my biggest smile and sit next to him and let him examine my face. Then he'd ask me, "Quien eres tu?" "Who are you?" I memorized the questions I was asked again and again every time I passed by. "La niña de Alina." I'd say. Alina's daughter. He nodded, remember the face of his daughter, Alina.

There's always air except for me It's everywhere But I cant breathe! No it's not fun to miss some classes Not fun to run as my world crashes Death strangling me crushing my lungs As I hold on to life hanging from a rung Someday I'll just stop But no one will cry I'll never breathe again with no one to say goodbye

Forgotten the meaning of life The little bits and every speck Only remember how to hold a knife And press it against my neck Forgotten how it's like to smile how to not frown but laugh instead only remember how to weep while I slowly rock myself in my bed Forgotten how to have good dreams of all the things I want to be And cling on to the light beams As the darkness reaches for me I'm not a body cradling a soul For my soul has begun to flee I'm corpse laying in a hole waiting patienly to be buried

I have no friends No one to love But I have my pens Made of feathers of a dove I have no voice But I'll hum you to sleep And I can make a choice to into your mind creep I can't quite sew But I do have a thread I'd use it to guide you out of your own head My eyes are brown and dull But vividly intense I'd use it to lull your mind out of its sense

My mind is swirling all around so every thought I miss Reaching for small bits of myself clawing in the abyss Trying to listen to my heart But all I hear is a hiss the pain is just shredding me to peices and is getting harder to dismiss

I flap my eyelids, keep them shut, and darkness surrounds My world is collapsing falling and tumbling all around The thuds as it crumbles keep me from sleeping sound Shattered pieces fall on my head making a heavy mound I'm struggling to lift the load as I've always been My dreams pulling me towards the horrifying things within My fears a thick pool of blood pulling me in trying to swim away like a fish with only one fin

Nobody cares if I cry or if I'd disappear They wouldn't even ask why If my eyes began to tear With no shoulder to cry on No tissue to wipe my tears I might as well have been here or gone For all my 17 years I used to think it's a phase, my hours of depression But now I live it for many days almost 24/7 No one cares about my heart If I'd scream or wail or yelp I've needed someone from the start I think I need a friend's help