Laala Kashef Alghata (18 February 1990)
Write Me a Metaphor
These words are just pressed thoughts
upon a page, fragile like crumbling leaves,
golden on the ground and vulnerable;
stepped on so easily and disregarded,
beauty so frequently ignored.
We just write what we don’t want
to even hope to believe is true.
We are the ones responsible for
longings of ‘happily ever after’
and love at first sight; and we
apologise, because we just want
someone to go through the same.
We throw metaphors and similes
into the world in hundreds, about
everything that parades through
our lives, and we wonder when
someone will write us metaphors
and similes, likening us to willow
trees and flowing waters, claiming
we are beautiful.
We write like we breathe and that
is why our words often feel like
someone squeezing your throat,
choking you into oblivion, because
we write like we breathe.
We write life.
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