Amira Mikhail

"The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in mind at the same time and still retain the ability to function."
~F. Scott Fitzgerald

I told your story my love…

I told a story my love, the story of you;
Details, precision, memories;
I told your story my love,
The story of me.

That moment I first saw you,
The instant you first saw me;
The time you fell asleep mid-sentence,
And that other time I fell asleep.

I tried to explain how long we waited,
The irony of our lives, 
The way we carried each other,
The selflessness of every moment we had.

To explain the yearning I felt for you,
The yearning you had for me.
Even writing it now makes me think,
Was it real? Surely it was not.

I tried to tell of that first time I saw you,
Standing there waiting for me.
The moment I first touched you, when you first held me.
The time you first kissed me, and I first kissed you.

You infiltrated my life that week, 
On every level,
My fairy, you left traces of your dust,
Woven through my hair.

Such perfection could never last, 
And the last time I felt you, your soul,
Was the last time I saw you walking away,
Taking all your wonder.

Soon my fairy faded into hurt, 
Then to anger,
Then to memories,
And now a yearning.

A yearning for you my love,
For no one can be as you were.
A yearning for you my fairy,
Even one small ray of the love you had for me.

But there is no turning back,
By distance and by choice.
So I told your story my love,
The story of me.

By me.
— 3 months ago with 1 note
#poetry  #love  #you  #fairy 

Read the link about the artist. Amazing.


Top: Looking at Emptiness (2008) 
Bottom: The Door Should Be Somewhere (2008) 

Iraqi Artist SADIK KWAISH ALFRAJI صادق كويش الفراجي

— 3 months ago with 325 notes
#iraq  #iraqi artist  #emptiness  #art 

as war wages….

but we are a forgetful lot.
we simply can’t remember.
images of blood and corpses flash before us,
but year after year,
war on humanity wages,
claiming life after life after life.
we know the reality,
we know the cost,
but the image stops at the brain,
Fading into a short term memory
…..into nothing….

as war wages…

— 3 months ago with 4 notes
#war  #forgot  #poetry  #poem  #death  #forgetful 

We invented fiction
because the truth is

- Amira Mikhail


We invented fiction
because the truth is
not good enough.

- Mark Dimaisip

— 5 months ago with 49 notes
#poetry  #response 

I was taught how to love, to live, to lose;
But never to be alone;
I was taught to dance, to sing, to love music;
But not to be alone.

I was taught to value marriage, children, sacrifice; 
But not to be alone;
I was taught to weep for sin, to beg for pardon, to give it;
But not to be alone.

I was taught to study hard, be successful, to network;
Not to be alone;
To smile, welcome, cook, bake;
Not to be alone.

I was taught to actively trust in God, to obey Him, to follow him;
To worship, to read, to have faith;
But as the days passed, one thorn sunk deeper;
I was alone.

Family is across the seas, friends far away;
Feeling alone;
Allowing the thorn to turn to sin, refusing to truly trust;

I am now and must learn to be alone.

— 5 months ago with 4 notes
#poem  #alone  #poetry  #lessons 
Tears of death and of life

Have you ever cried laying flat on your back with nothing between you and the floor?

The tears act differently, slowly slipping down the side of your face, each side in turn.

Defying gravity, they grasp onto your skin, first gently like streams of water caressing the skin, then fiercely leaving a line of burning.

In a crooked line, slowly burning, one tear slips into the ear and fades.

Resisting the urge to wipe it away, to relieve the burn, you can’t help but think that our lives strive to defy death.

But slowly we die and terminate in cricks and crevices of darkness, with a memory of happiness and a memory of sadness.

The burning fades, as does pain, leaving a choice to feel the relief or the loss, the joy or the sorrow.

Choose now as you sit up and continue living and continue dying.

— 5 months ago with 3 notes
#Poem  #Poetry  #Joy  #Loss  #Death  #tears 


Kiss me like a man

Standing up

And sober

(First lines of a some-day-poem)

— 5 months ago with 4 notes
#poem  #poetry 


"The supreme tragedy of life is the immolation of woman. With a heavy hand, nature exacts from her a high tax of blood and tears." Justice Stacy. State v. Wingler , 184 N.C. 747,115 S.E. 59 (1922).

— 6 months ago with 4 notes
#Woman  #Rights  #Freedom  #Man  #Blood  #Tears