Paris and Poetry Readings

i want my life to be paris and poetry readings

i want it to be coffee shops and forbidden love

i want my life to be travel and writing

i want it be one bedroom apartments and a dog

i want my life to be staying up all night and dancing it away

i want to be laughing at the things people say

i want it to be diffrent in some little way

and sometimes i wonder if i want my life to be lonely

because then maybe i would understand why i wasn’t ok

M.A.P

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“a Smokey night in paris” photo by me

Reality

i’ve always wondered if i was happy

if i would still write poetry

would it still be in my DNA

would it still be a part of me

and i’m afraid i know the answer

because looking back through my life

the only times i write poetry

is when i really can’t stand reality

M.A.P

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Lavender in a mug (by me)

“Color On Me” Excerpt

Like the stars we live in darkness, yet have our own fire to light the darkness . I think so many things are misunderstood in this world. The blaming before the truth. The power before the trust and the conviction before the pain. It’s all wrong, everything is. And it’s sad I seem to be the only one who notices. Maybe it’s just because I speak with the stars. Or maybe it’s because I listen back. They all live in the night. Darkness doesn’t have to be bad. The world has turned all good into evil. The stars never did anything wrong, yet they die. Just because we live in darkness doesn’t mean we are. 

M.A.P

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(this is part of a fictional book i wrote the first draft of when i was in highschool and i’m very proud of how poetic i made parts of it and wanted to share)

i do not own this photo

Arabic Poetry

Empty apartment

A key broken in the lock

Stuck in this cycle day to day

An artist to depressed to put on a frock

Knowing if they were the last person on earth they would be ok

Drowning in the haunting of grunge rock

Reading arabic poetry to feel more at home

Plans written in white chalk

The rain mixing with tears washes it away

But too tired to run after them they just walk

The only broken thing they aren’t attracted to is themselves

And their crude mental block

M.A.P

 ©

Parts

Sometimes it’s hard to take only pieces and parts

Of the people who raised you and broke your heart

To take the fire and leave the narcissist

To leave the affair and take the heart of it

To leave the broken vase shattered that was thrown across the room

And gently pick up the flowers in their delicate full bloom

M.A.P

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Close up of the broken bowl with lilies on a table.

Never Me

It’s never me that writes the poetry

It’s when he’s screaming at me that he writes it all quickly

It’s never me who writes the poetry

It happens when he traces his finger over my body

It’s never me that writes the poetry

It’s them whispering behind my back that echo’s back to me so loudly

It’s never me who writes the poetry

It’s the tears that form the flowing stories

It’s never me who writes the poetry

It happens when she hits the words into me

It’s never me who writes the poetry

It’s the friends that I thought were a guarantee

Or the ones that left to get a degree or went a little too far into mixology

It’s never me who writes the poetry

It’s the words of the two divorce attorneys

It’s never me who writes the poetry

It’s everyone who has ever known me

M.A.P

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Tattoo

I want my body to turn into poetry 

I want his hand to glide across the pages

I want strangers to read me like a book 

I want the world to feel raw through the ages 

I want my family to understand how beautiful i am

I don’t mind standing out 

I want them to know how powerful i am 

I don’t mind be talked about 

I want my children to trace the stories on my skin and ask me to read it to them

All you see is a tattoo that you wish wasn’t there

I’m turning myself into art sealing the brokenness with gold paint

But all you see is that my brokenness is being accentuated everywhere

M.A.P

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My Tattoo based off of Rupi Kaur’s Poetry

Very Badly

Art steals everything away from you severly

It strips you down until you are naked completely

It takes your mind and drains it until you are empty

It makes you its only friend so at least you’re not lonely

I don’t think I ever want to be just happy

Just empty

And sadly I think I want that very very badly

M.A.P

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Poetry Shouldn’t Exist

It eats me up until i choke it out undeserving 

And leaves me always starving 

It haunts me until i try to make friends with the ghosts 

Just to find out that i’m the ghost most

It keeps me quiet and shy

Even though without friends i just want to die 

It leaves my head spinning 

So that i always feel like i’m falling

Or failing 

Or feeling

Poetry shouldnt exist 

I would rather be doing anything else 

M.A.P

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Branded

In the last days I came to the point that my last hope was that my name would at least be branded next to yours

I didn’t care if it was a shell in the ocean that I had thrown

Or in photo with our names written in the back and still a little charred

Or in a book i tirelessly dedicated to you

Or if it was in stone at a simple little graveyard

M.A.P