Schizophrenia

I had a purple twin
the joker
my parents named him Jack
and left him in a stack
of cards 
to be dealt with
in smoke rooms.
Mirrors entertained him
he could fly through them.
i bumped my head on the ceiling
pomposity  
and portals denied me
from bouncing off to 
Dreamland.

- By Laila Ali Haid

Unmarked Stone

the lover laments,

and aunties shrug

not a beautiful lass -

with no known heir to shame

at the unmarked grave

is little girl blue, at her final space.

the lover - rendezvousing,

with the wild of the

cemetery gates, forgets her name. 

- By Laila Ali Haid 

Untitled

she loves the jabberwocky
she wanted be Lennon
her life didn't make sense anyway
in her head she was a dead white poet
her blackness slapped her 
through reflections
like cold water to a sleeping soul
she was subdued on her first year of uni
a decade later
just a piece of paper to show for her intelligence
and grey matter 
that transmits "I still exist". - By Laila Ali Haid

the cycle

the cycle

your face puffs and lines disappear
blood of deer
i race to the third floor 
finding inner beauty there
I was once a girl ya' know
legs were straight and so were the highs
euphoria has swallowed this old lady 
whole
and no ol' man is seen here
not anyhow
for biscuits or tea, nothing
i have sweat and a demented mind for good company

- By Laila Ali Haid

Beauty

the curve of your hair
and spine,
stretched belly button.
the hot line bling
doesn't excite much now
the deadline
six years -
looms and glooms
she's biologically anti-clockwise
your aunties natter.
the academic stacked against her,
a thesis survey
negative positive its all the same
especially when you're neither sane either way. - By Laila Ali Haid

State of the Ummah Address

She said
hard-work pays off in the end
and they say that so and so clan
are natural leaders and innovators.
but this is not advancement
Here I make a stern address

For this nation is convulsing
and the earth has become
a crooked creche,

High rise apartments @ stainburn forest
or the Amazon
isn't the reality uglier
Even they wouldn't mock
such vital landscapes.


Impulsive self hate
drives our memory
to forget Surah Takathur

Who do you think you are

#Freedom for Uyghuirs
#BringBackOurGirls
#VivaPalestine
#JusticeforKashmir
#HopeInNumbers

Will consciousness ever break out
of our corrupted body politic

But if the heart is corrupt...

Go figure...

- By Laila Ali Haid

Seven Layers

can't tunnel through the seven layers
or spin a basketball
on a upright finger
the mind splinters
and hair grays
I'm a near genius
heart blackens with dots,
and blocked from the path of righteousness
with the gates of wealth flung open
fast forward,
in a black rectangle shaped box
again, heart sealed with sin
and veins soaked in gin
even in death,
wearily reemerging from your earth,
you shuffle
and freely
fall,
onto God's grace.

- By Laila Ali Haid

Broken Glass

You can't take me anywhere
you think
disrupted speech 
and stilted conversation
this INFJ sister wilts and thinks
you make me a frustrated companion
a blank canvas of easy trust 
black-eyed Laila
makes you uncomfortable
even when she's not there.

- By Laila Ali Haid

Intelligent Design

Death on the stairs
fourth floor, Block B
murder of our times
modern, council housing
we're grateful
for it,
but for the bloody mess on the fourth floor.
rather not get involved
I take the lifts instead.

- By Laila Ali Haid

18

twenty three says her reflection,
photographs
and guess games
which taunt this post-adolescent.
"eighteen"
states official documents
once more
I'm Somali she says, looking out through the pain
A cotton headscarf and mum's abaya
She catches the 9:40 for her morning lectures
says not much in class,
she keeps it all in,
can't edit her thoughts.
But she sure can write 'em.

- By Laila Ali Haid

on creativity

On creativity 

This blog is completely anomalous

I've actually felt stagnant artistically for a while now.

Since starting this blog in 2010,  I have submitted less than ten entries - and most posts are recent as I have only now realized the potential of keeping an online journal.

I'm quite interactive and have used computers to keep a track of my creative output since the age of 6.

But at eighteen, and giving up my (online) correspondent post for full-time studies, I have rarely attempted to write other than factually.

I also think it is the illness plus treatment for it that has blunted my artistic spirit and therefore deadened how much emotion and style I could add to a piece of writing.

(hey its my blog and I can overshare as much as I want ! Yes I have a health problem - that has damaged my creative acuity as well as editing talents)

Some say its that it is a skill to write stylistically whether the content is academic or not.

I find that creativity is not as described by poets, painters, musicians - there might be an instinct in your art but it does not always draw into its final composition before numerous drafts.

My scatter brain, filled with holes and pock marks dented from this illness, will probably not return to its original self without God's help.

How has illness changed your creativity? Has it stayed the same, disappeared or weakened, or found a groove?

- By Laila Ali Haid