Should Your Curiosity Be Piqued

I wonder if you know where your beauty arises?
I wonder if you know why I love you?
I wonder if the happiness that your life has granted me makes you proud?

The reasons are as fixed as the sinking sun and the soft tide of the ocean on my cassette tape that ushers me off to sleep. As pure as my own impish wink or the virgins we pretend to be for our overbearing mothers. As complex as the algebra homework I paid someone else to do. As real as the unicorns that prance across my mind in fields of emeralds.

The reason you're beautiful is because you are you.
The reason I love you is because you are you.
The reason I am happy is because you are you.

On bad hair days, on days when you wakeup on the wrong side of the bed, on days you wear shades inside, on days I want to disown you, on days when everything goes to shit, on days your attitude is majestically unbearable, on days bad news is delivered, on days you can barely smile, on days when the fight is hardly evident, on days when up is down and down is up, on days shrouded in gloom. On all the days we breath.

Your beauty abides.
Your worth abides.
Teddy bears celebrate you.
Reasons compound to love you.
And I will always be proud of you.
                   (Unless you become a crazy bitch then probably not, but still maybe-fish).

The Roof Above Me

I tried to return to home on January third. Saddled with too much luggage, I got off the train hailing a grand taxi for half a dirham more than the actual price. Two additional cab rides and several halfhearted waves later I arrived at the village I had done my best to create my home. I walked along a dirt path stopping to buy some triangles of cheese, up a flight of unlit stairs, and put my key into the lock turning it counterclockwise to allow myself entry.

I made it inside, but somewhere between the threshold and the confusion that had collapsed upon me, I faltered.

Auto-pilot. Every morning I made a breakfast of oatmeal, sugared dates, and applesauce. Twice a week I visited the children at the S.O.S Village. Three times a week I sat listlessly at my requisite classes at the Nedi Neswi. Four times a week I exercised at the local gym. Five times a week I shopped at the hanut because staying inside all day would be illogical. Six times a week I climbed out of bed though the air and sadness chilled me. Seven times a week I would cry from the grief of those who had injured me reading Psalms 23:1 "The Lord is my shepard, I shall not want."

                Please God, don't let me want anything. In Jesus name amen.

I had only my oatmeal to look forward to and it tasted delicious as I watched piles of dishes amass. Piles of clothes amass. Piles of garbage amass. Needs go unmet. Lifeless words leave my mouth. Necessity subsume fulfillment. Vulnerability overtake strength. Nightmares overpower dreams. Pandemonium take rule.