Collected Writings

 

Dear friend? Dear vision I desire to see, to hold, to know,

I don’t know where I am. I think I am in New York. A city I once claimed to know. I am in New York, but everyday I return to Beirut. I ponder returning. I probe belonging there, I wonder where I am meant to settle, if anywhere. It’s as if no city is large enough to hold me. Embrace all the ugly shards of glass within me. All the multitudes of broken self.

When will someone accept my ugly along with the alluring siren within me? When will I be less of a flaw on the earth’s surface? When will I see beyond the scraps of mankind that remain? The pieces linger, the scraps reside within me. When will I cease to be destroyed? When will I cease to destroy with my words and my hands?

When will I be seen, really truly seen instead of ‘known’? When will people cease to claim they know me? As if I am still an element that can be contained in a box, a book or a painting…
When will I believe again? When will I cease to fear connection to you and those I hold so dearly at the core of this heart of mine that cannot, will not, shall not, contain, nor desires to?

My heart is my greatest casualty. Stop tearing through my wounds, and submerging it in water, pulling back each healing stitch one by one. When will my heart glow again.

I am. I am somewhere. I am not sure where, or why, but may-be you will seek me in the right way. May-be you will discover why.I am. I am waiting. Call upon me and watch me grow. I will. I will, I will not. I will not, await mediocrity, or simplicity.
I will. I will not await your confusion, or ignorance.I will. I will hope for a world where I belong. I am. I am seeking, a world where I belong. I am. I am not waiting.I am. I am stacking brick upon brick.I am. I am building a world where I belong.

From within the troubled core of a woman

I have lived without art. Have you? I have lived with art.

I have exhaled with art onto a thinly-folded page. Some do not see it. Some do not want to see it.

I have lived without sanity. Have you?

I have lived with language as an expression of sanity, of thought.

I have lived with images as an expression of thought, of a world around me.

I have lived with simplicity for longer than I would like to acknowledge.

I have waited upon the solid ground to create said simplicity.

I have wandered from place to place with art as a home.

Will others acknowledge it is my one true home?

Why do so many reject it without realizing what they reject, a nomadic resting place?

I have lived without knowing, without feeling safe. Have you?

I have lived within empty four walls without adornment. I have never lived without stories. Stories telling us that without truth, hope is lost. I have lived without hope. I live with hope.

When I close my eyes, loved ones fill the surface of my lids without limit. Did you tell my story? When will the world hear me?

When will I live without being labeled? When will my name be enough? When will people pronounce my name correctly?

When will I live without asterisks? When will my countries cease to be broken?

I remember the hopelessness, the invisible umbilical cord cut. The doors closed and the distance that held us apart for three months.

Who were we to return? 

I remember the cravings for a world that left me behind, permission denied.

Who was I without it, anyways?

I remember eating cereal and making coffee for three. Three siblings, listless without a home.

What promises were made during my mother’s initial entry? When were they first broken?

I remember losing myself in the idea of reality, but elements of truth missing.

When would words and thoughts be enough? Why did separation devour you from within?

I remember the cost of my mother’s tears, which would not be lost on me.

I remember accepting the pain, starting with a new message that was missing all along. 

Who was I to deny our truth?