Expression

faceless facial non-movements lead others astray,

emotionless and hassle free

pray tell

if this monster has a heart

worth striking your acid soaked arrow for?

or is she-monster only a vessel

of obscene whispers and projections

of other's hatred and carelessness. 

- By Laila Ali Haid

Needy Girl

I hate myself for loving you.

I remember a passage from Yasmin Mogahed's book, which basically summed up my relation to other people - from family, to friends and even complete strangers. In her book 'Reclaim Your Heart', she described the confused feeling of emotional attachment that she had for her friends and her family. She would feel strong sense of closeness to people around her, only to be excruciatingly devastated when they left her. She, in her words "couldn't let go of anything".

Today I had an argument with someone 'close' and even though I think I was mistreated by them (as usual) in the fight, afterward I felt an uncomfortable sensation in my stomach - one of sorrowed humiliation and guilt. Not only that I participated in hurting their emotions but also since they abandoned me too soon afterwards.

How do some people look as social butterflies, heck, even moths (dabbing hastily around any shiny thing/person) yet still keep in their airtight, emotion free shell?

I ask the reader, how do respect our sense of self-respect?

- By Laila Ali Haid

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 tired 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