PTSD

I am reckless, delusional and maybe a bit self centered.
See, I stay up all night and tweet about the thoughts that haunt me, about loneliness and emptiness…
Then I wake up the next day feeling blessed.
They read what I write and think that I’m having a hard fight “oh god look at that broken soul, god help him through his days and let him live til he’s old”
See, what they do not know is that I already won all of my battles and this is the aftermath.
My brain hosted more battles than the Coliseum.
Dark thoughts dropping dead like roman gladiators, history books were never detailed about their pain, nor can my pen fully explain mine.
See, I stay up all night feeling stressed, depressed and my thoughts are never fully expressed but that is not the fight.
The fight ended a long time ago and 3 am is when there is nothing to distract me from my battle scars.
The fight ended a long time ago and I’m still adapting to this peace, like an old war veteran meeting his family after calling the battlefield home for years.
But honestly though, I am at ease.
I just lost myself in my battles and now all I can do is help you fight yours.
Living through your battles convincing you that I’m guiding you but it’s only to entertain myself.
War is all I’ve known and I’m scared of getting to know myself.

But I am not fighting.
I’m just deciding whether to start clearing up the battlefield to build a new city or accept it as it is, because every dead body matters and I can’t bury my memories away. I don’t have enough time to grow flowers and trees and I honestly believe that this soil is too drenched in blood to know peace.

See, I wake up everyday feeling blessed but I can’t wait for the night to come for my soul to get undressed and to feel my scars and caress every heart break, headache, disappointment and regret.
Oh man I’m a mess.

I’ve read about how you can find love in unexpected places well I found mine in warzones, bloody fists and broken bones, but mama I’ve grown.
I fell inlove with my demons and god bless Rome.
So dad you don’t need to worry about your son no more
And mama I’m sorry I’m no longer the baby you’ve born
I’ve fought my battles and I’ve won them all alone.
This is me now, scars, blood, sweat and broken bones

This is me now, won all of my battles at a young age waiting for the world to collapse so you can feel the outrage
Safety is too demanding let me break outta this cage.
I’m a fighter not a poet so war is my stage.

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Dying words.

Dying words.

These are my dying words.

Do not mistake them for the last ones..

These are the words that died inside me.

These are the words that I failed to say.

The words that failed me.

And t

his is their redemption.

1\ Regret.

In time I thought that regret was weakness.

I thought that the key to being happy was to regret nothing.

Ironically, I now regret regretting nothing.

I regret living carelessly.

I regret not looking back at my mistakes and acknowledging them as mistakes rather than calling them experiences.

2\ modesty.

You see, I thought that to become a better human I needed to believe that I was better than humans and everytime I complimented myself my ego got bigger and I stopped trying to be better so I turned bitter…because I ended up thinking I was already whole.

It only made me lonelier.

3\Honesty.

“What can’t be solved with the truth cannot be solved with a lie” rubbish, I said.

I believed that lies could always save me if I mastered their art. Therefore the truth never seemed relevant.

I lied about everything, so I ended up creating my own maze, not sure what is true and what’s fake.

Not sure who I really am.

4\Faith.

I didn’t lose faith I just never really had it.

To not have faith in the universe worked equally with not having faith in myself.

It also only created distrust.

I couldn’t trust the universe, I couldn’t trust anything I couldn’t understand…and I understood so very little.

5\ bad.

Although the big fight between bad and good always existed I never believed in it.

Nothing was bad.

Nothing I did was bad.

So I hurt people, disregarded morals and disposed of what made me human.

I had no leash.

For that, I blame another word.

Number 6/Limits :

See I stopped believing in boundaries.

I forgot where I should stop.

I said what I needed to say and did what needed to be done.

I never cared about the consequences as long as I’m on top.

Which sadly robbed me of my humanity.

7\ commitment:

See chains and robes never felt comfortable even if  they tied me down to the shore when the ocean was storming. I wanted to swim. I wanted to be free, until I realized that I wasn’t much of a swimmer.

Alone, I drowned and drowned and cried for help but only held their hands long enough to take a breath…then I let go, because with each breath, my lungs felt fine and convinced me that I don’t need anything to hold on to…if only I wasn’t so stubborn…

In the end, somehow all the problems in my life are connected to that one huge cheesy 4 lettered word…which is the final number

eight,

Love.

If anything, I loved too much.

I loved so much I used up all my chances.

I loved everyone but myself.

Then I loved nothing but myself.

I still don’t know where am I with that word yet…

I still have a lot to figure out..

All I can say is, words are always more than the dictionary described them to be.

Words are always more than we think of them as.

Words complicate things and tonight, I’m finally trying to figure out my way with language.

Words and silence

The thing with words is that they bite you when you say them and choke you if you don’t.

And I used to have a problem with silence, so I always ended up rambling my thoughts away, and I’ve gotten myself bitten so many times I’ve ended up being bitter.

I used to have a heart flowing with emotions and used my knowledge of words to describe them.

Now, the words stopped.

My tongue became too heavy to move and poetry became a burden.

So now whenever I’m around people I can feel words lumping down my throat and choking me.

I can feel my heart racing like it’s trying to yell and reach out…but my tongue won’t move.

So I close my eyes and I can see all those words like the scribbles on my diary written on the inside of my eyelids.

I see words wherever I go but I can no longer speak them..

And whenever I do try to speak I stutter things that sound like utter nonsense and sentences come out like puzzles missing pieces missing words. Words that were either stuck at the back of my throat or words that moved too fast for me to read.

I’m scared of words…

I’m scared of the backlash.

I’m scared of how no matter how I use words, they’ll hurt me, because a double edged blade usually hurts it’s weilder…

Unless he masters it.

But words are not just a weapon, words are a shield, words are an armour, words are a hideout.

And mastering them takes more than effort, it takes body and soul.

Yes, Mastering words would mean others can’t hurt you anymore…but

Mastering words means you’ll end up at 4 am staring at the sky thinking of words to describe your internal pain.

Language is a scary thing and I’ve never been the type to face my fears…

So silence, it is.

Untitled

This is to the shallow and the happy.

To the simple minds that cannot fathom the rhymes

This is a piece for the uneducated.

For the un-gifted, the talentless and the shallow misfits.

I give you this piece, decrypted.

No deep meaning, skilled word play or mind blowing metaphors.

This is a piece full of hollow words.

This is the poets’ holocaust.

This!

This is the poet inside of me committing Seppuku.

This is me dumbing it down so they wouldn’t go.

Wait, don’t go!

I guess I’ll simplify it more and turn it into a Haiku:

“This art.

Like Autumn leaves

Easy to reach.

“This art.

One syllabled words

For children to speak

This art.

A royal speech

In the peasants common tongue”

This piece!

This piece contains all types of art.

This piece paints a picture in black and white for the color blind.

This piece is a pointless waste of words to grab your shallow minds.

This piece isn’t poetry.

This piece is just words so you would listen to me.

Now, after I’ve grabbed your attention let me truly reveal you this poet’s intentions.

This piece was made to educate you.

To show you that words are just words until a poet says them to you

This piece was meant to eradicate you.

Destroy your simple minds before your own ignorance decapitates you.

This is me introducing you to talent.

This is me proving to you that you don’t have it.

This is me killing your self esteem with no metaphors.

This is a poet in rage shooting you with hollow words.

This.

This is to those who said my poetry is a waste of time.

This, and for the first time isn’t to my notepad.

This is to those who simply can’t understand, that words are weapons, that need a skilled warrior to master.

That my words are arrows and I only wish I’ve drown them faster.

Instead I took your blows and used my poetry for healing.

But tonight….tonight I’ll grab my bow and well,  let’s start killing.

This!

This is poet on beast mode.

This is for whoever did my poetry wrong.

This…is Because I can’t handle it anymore.

This.

This is a portrait of a poet..paint it red tear it halfway open, ruin it.

This is naked poetry without the big metaphors and the sick word play.

Because I know that you’re so dumb you can only hear what I say..

This.

This was just me testing my bow and trust me…oh trust me… you cannot handle my poems.

Dementors.

shape shifting silhouettes with hollow heads,
adapting to your vision so they’d gain your respect.
featureless faces up close,
blending with darkness so you’d fear getting close.
with bottomless pits for souls,
they’d suck out your smiles and swallow you whole.

creatures of the darkness, or so they’re called.
they feed on the darkness, that lurks in your soul.
pressuring your misery to build their bones.
destroying your walls, and stealing the stones.

so you’re lost in the ruins, of your newly corrupted soul,
and now you’re naked, left shelter-less against the cold.
in an empty wide dessert, dragging your bones
you seek warmth and comfort, but you’re left there alone.

day by day, you eat a bit out of your body.
little by little, your thoughts are getting foggy

and that’s when you lose it, you stop being you.
you lurk in the darkness, waiting for a traveler or two.
so then the night comes, and your body is starving.
a full moon, and like a beast you’re howling.
you see a man, deep in the horizon.
so you hide your scars, deep in the darkness.
you approach him with the smile, that he wants to see.
you offer to guide him, saying you’re what he needs.
little by little you start sucking his soul.
feeding your hollow body, re-forming those bones.
his smile fades and you’re finally whole.
you walk away, leaving him all alone.

you started as a victim, but now you’re a fiend.

a creature of the darkness, a Dementor, indeed.

The letter S.

the letter S.

you know what’s worse than not knowing who your worst enemy is?
it’s knowing who he is but not being able to get rid of him. having to face him every single day with a smile as he keeps mocking you, because he keeps on forcing himself upon you.

see, i’ve been cursed with a restless tongue that spoke tasteless songs ; tasteless, because my songs are S’less.
cuz hell, I can’t even pronounce this.

and the letter S keeps on challenging my tongue to a game of chess because I have to carefully come up with a sentence that doesn’t involve an S, which is why I’m usually stressed because those everyday sentences of yours they sound like tongue twisters in my head and all I see is the letter S bouncing up and down rubbing it’s unpronouncable sound to my face.

I Despise the letter S. I also fear it, I fear it so much my biggest nightmare is having to go to the sweets store and ask for a ” بسبوسة بالسمسم بالسكر”
I fear it so much I’d automatically come up with nicknames for you if your name starts with an S
I fear it so much Superman is the villain in my nightmares

and the letter S keeps on mocking my intelligence and depth because it keeps ruinning everything my tongue says
and it keeps on caging my tongue between my teeth and i’m not sure whether to blame my tongue because it crossed the limits set by those teeth or to blame those teeth for not giving it the guidance it needs

how can I say the word sweet if it sounds sour in my mouth ?
And how do you expect me to speak if you’ll make fun of how I sound ?

see, the letter S is the reason why I hate to speak so I text.
the letter S is why I’d rather use the word “fuck” than the word sex.
the letter S is the reason why I’m such a mess.

I’ve been cursed with the letter S stuck inbetween my lips and I think that’s why they call it a lisp.
and calling a lisp is such an ironic thing because, hell, I can’t even pronounce the thing.

A contradiction

I am a contradiction
I am the image of Poseidon carrying a staff of fire
I am a polar bear enjoying the summer breeze
I am the colour black on pink cherry trees

I am a contradiction

a contradiction, call it  mis-counted addiction because i’m addicted to encounter this image of deception that is me.

I am a contradiction

I am unethical, with no principles to tie me down
I am hypocritical, and I change my mind before you push me down
I am a hypothetical, a hypothetical image of a man who knows what he’s doing.
I am despicable, because even I can’t stand how annoying I am.

I am a contradiction

I’m a world full of maybe’s,could’ve’s, should’ve’s but won’t.
I’m so full of motivation so I sleep 17 hours a day.
I support human equality so I call you out for being gay.
I’m such a feminist but when I speak I expect “them bitches” to obey.

I am a contradiction

I’m that nice asshole that you can’t afford to hate
I’m that stupid nerd that fucks up all his grades
I’m that goody two-shoes who wakes up to the purple haze
I’m so energatic and hyper but all I do is laze

I am a contradiction

a contradiction, of a normal man who thinks he’s an exception to all the rules HE set for himself.

I am a contradiction

I’m a picture of the rainbow that’s been labeled as black and white
I’m a cheerful musical symphony that’s as silent and deadly as the night
I’m that social anti-social that demands attention but shakes when he’s finally in their sight.

I am a contradiction

I’m a decent sportsman but I’d kill you if you beat me.
I’m so open minded i’ll open your mind if you don’t agree with me.
I’m so inlove with myself but saddly he wants to break up with me.

I am a contradiction.

a contradiction, because I hate you all but I demand your affection

I am a contradiction.

I’m an enigma that doesn’t want to be figured out.
I’m who appreciates silence but always yells out loud.
I’m the confident asshole who’s actually full of doubts.

I am me.

I am a contradiction

Words

Words are a rather odd thing.
Like it’s just a different mixture of a couple of vocal cords making sounds
so how can they hold such a great effect?
How can a single word ruin your mood and a single word could make you doubt yourself ?
How can a single word make you vulnerable and a single word Could make you fall in love…
I really don’t get it.
Poets are people who supposedly mastered the art of words. So why are most poets broken? Why are most poets so exhausted with words they decide to write a poem made out of words to express their feelings toward something someone once said in words.
Confusing isn’t it?
Like hey, I love that word so much I’ll write a poem using other words to define it.
Or maybe I hate that sentence someone said to me so much I’ll use those same sounds they used to say something in reply.
Language really baffles me.
“That’s a bad word don’t use it.”
What makes a word bad ?
Is it its definition? So are you blaming a word for something you picked for it? Are you blaming a word for something other words said about it ?
Maybe the word ” ugly” didn’t really want to be ugly.
And did you really study the word ” beautiful” enough to actually see its beauty ?
Words have rights too you know.
Words deserve the same equality we deserve.
We shouldn’t use them so recklessly…

See words are alive. Because if they weren’t then how would they cause such a huge impact to our lives?
Love isn’t alive. The word ” love” is.
Hate isn’t alive. It’s just someone you decided to blame when the word ” love “isn’t doing the job that it was assigned to.
We are really taking words for granted…
I think we’re being injustice to them.
They deserve better.

Drowning instinct

“I am drowning” he said.

He said it while standing in the middle of the desert.

” I’m drowning” he said.

He said it while standing in the middle of the city surrounded by people.
But They only looked at him in confusion.

“I’m drowning” he said.

Because you don’t need water to feel like you’re drowning.
You don’t need water’s pressure to crush you because life does that on its own.

“I’m drowning ” he said.

You don’t need a lung full of water so you’d stop being able to breathe.
You don’t need to be pulled down by water to feel heavy. You’ve already been pulled down by your responsibilities.

” I’m drowning” he said.

He said it with dry eyes because his tears already failed him.

“I’m drowning ” he said.

Drowning inside his own brain. Drowning in his own sorrow.
Suffocating by the many screams for help that turned into whispers.

” I’m drowning ” he said.

He said it everyday as he walked to school with a fake smile on his face.
He said it everynight to himself.

” I’m drowning “ he said.

He said it while making everyone around him laugh at his jokes.
He said it everytime someone asked him for help.

“I’m drowning ” he said.

He said it to everyone who knew him.
He said it asking for their help.

“I’m drowning ” he said.

But people can’t help you if they can’t see you struggle.

“I’m drowning ” he said.

People can’t rescue you if they can’t see the water.

” I’m drowning ” he said.

He said it as he was tying the rope around the tree.

” I’m drowning “ he said.

He said it as he was putting that rope around his neck.

” I’ve drowned ” he said.

He said it as they looked at his hanging body saying ” why would he do this ? He was so happy”.

Mazin M. Saeed

Why do I write ?

I don’t write to impress, nor do I write to express.
I write to find myself.
I write because my voice isn’t loud enough.
I write because I stutter when I talk.
I write because I’m not strong enough to walk.
I write because I find comfort in the beauty of words.
I write because I’m a warrior and the pen is my sword.
I write because I find solitude in my notepad.
I write because my insecurities don’t allow me to talk back.
I write to drown my demons in ink.
I write because I don’t care what you think.
I write because I have to.
I don’t write to impress nor do I write to express
I write to depress.
I write  to depress myself.
I write to make myself feel.
I write because only my pen can let my eyes tear.
I write to let those tears fill the void inside me.
I write because I’ll let my own words describe me.
I write to feed my ego.
I write because ink travels faster than sound.
I write because I want the deaf to hear me loud.
I write because no one else would write about me.

I write because I don’t know what else to do…

Mazin M. Saeed