When he was a child, he had the world at his fingertips and the stars in his eyes, infinite and twinkling with wonder. His mind contained the secrets of the universe, the lovely fantasies fluid, ever-changing. He was full of curiosity and fearlessly approached the world for he didn't think he had anything to fear. His world consisted of beauty and friendships and other joyful things, he so childishly believed. Happiness, that jittery, warm feeling he had when he was with his family, the taste of contentedness that left a sweet taste on his tongue. But he yearned to "grow up" and see the real world, oblivious to the storm of harsh reality awaiting outside of the comfort of his home. Still, the fantasies in his head remained preserved and untouched by the monsters in the dark corners of the world. When he was seven, his mom came home one day with tears streaming down her cheeks and her eyes full of storms of fury and the turmoil of defeat. She was afraid, and he was confused when she told his father that a man had pulled off her headscarf, demanding that she "goes back to where she came from." His father was quiet, his face smooth and pale like marble, displaying his stoniness. But he was not a stone, and his hands shook as he asked his wife to take off the scarf, it's not safe anymore. To a seven year-old boy, it made no sense to harm a woman wearing a scarf on her head. He had never seen the scarf on his mother as a separate entity, for it was a part of her. He asked his parents why someone would attempt to break off a piece of a person. There was no answer that they could give that satisfied him. The fantasies that somehow always seemed to make sense now offered no comfort to him as he watched his mother cry in sorrow. The world of make-believe was not like this in his mind. In that world, no one would pull off a woman's scarf. His parents moved to the country of opportunity, where they were promised liberty and justice for all. Here he was born, and his parents hoped he would be given a better life than the one in their previous homeland, Syria. Although his father begged his mother not to don the scarf, she remained adamant. She was a strong woman, and she wouldn't let anyone dictate her actions. As he became older, the stars that once glowed so radiantly in his eyes soon began dulling when in school he began to be the object of attention as the only one of his kind. "Muhammad, are you a terrorist?" That question was a slap in the face. How ignorant could people be? Classifying an entire populace based on the actions of a mere few. He was old enough to understand that the world is not the beautiful, joyful place he had once imagined. And that was breaking him, his paper thin skin bled the joy that his heart beat with. The fantasies that once filled him with hope and wonder were now being shattered, the sharp shards piercing his heart. He was seventeen and glaring at the world through different eyes. He did not now see through those eyes full of constellations. They were now hidden safely behind thick glass which improved his ability to see realistically and enhanced his cynicism. His hopefulness and curiosity had finally been snuffed out by the monster in the dark corners of the world. Every day he endured the bitter remarks and mindless assumptions that followed him around shoving and berating him. A large creature with hair that resembled an egg yolk blocked his path to class and opened its mouth to growl loudly in his face. The creature was warning him, it's crystal blue orbs hard and penetrating. It stared at him, and yet could not see him for what he was: a scrawny boy with unkempt brown hair and and a loud mind. He wasn't who the creature thought. But there was no use in explaining that to It. So the boy listened quietly and let himself be pushed to the ground. When he was a child, he had the world at his fingertips. The world was out of his reach, spitting on him and relentlessly attacking his spirit. After school he trudged home and painted a smile on his face for his mother. He would never speak a word of what he went through on a daily basis. His mind contained the secrets of the universe, the lovely fantasies fluid, ever-changing. His mind had been wrung of the dreams he once had. His face was sore from the plastic expression, but he continued to push up the corners of his mouth in her presence. When his father came home, he went to his room. His father knocked once and asked if he wanted to go with him to the daily prayer at the mosque. He was full of curiosity and fearlessly approached the world for he didn't think he had anything to fear. He was too afraid, too ashamed to love his faith, to practice it, to embrace it. He lay on the bed staring at the ceiling, his mind now empty and his heart on fire. The world had worn down his father, now weary and grey-haired, but his spirit was still the same, his heart warm and soft. "It's okay we can go tomorrow, inshAllah," he murmured sweetly in his rough voice, full of tender chips of hope. Before he left, he told the wooden door he loved his son. His son didn't answer and the door didn't budge, and soon after the sound of retreating footsteps was heard. With his eyes closed, he breathed out some of the fire and inhaled the smoke. He was aching on the inside, itching to speak, to talk to his parents. The noise of the ticking clock and his even breathing oddly comforted him. When the ache subsided, he rose and began his daily heap of homework, per usual, when the doorbell rang. Upon answering the door he was greeted by two men in dark blue uniforms wearing blank expressions and badges on their chests. The men grunted greetings and asked for his mother. He opened his mouth but a hand on his shoulder and his mother's voice stopped him. "What is the problem?" The men in blue exchanged looks before turning to the mother and son, and uttering the words that cut into him so deeply he couldn't breathe. His father was dead. Mosque. Man with gun. The boy stiffened as the words hit him one after another. His mother's heart was broken and bleeding. The wound inflicted on her was impossible to heal, and within a few days her heart became too weak to continue pumping, and gave up. He was alone and homeless. The place he once lived in wasn't a home anymore; it was a prison and he was trapped. "Not a hate crime," the men in blue said. "The man got away but we're doing the best we can." Not a hate crime. Were they blind? Or were so ignorant that they were unable to recognize the truth? The worst motivator was hate, and yet it was the only emotion that made a difference in the world. Love never changed the world. Happiness was too scarce to fix anything. But hatred, the vileness in all humans was enough to destroy everything. And it did. It incinerated his family, stole the only ones who loved him. He cried until his eyes were emptied of tears but the pain in his heart didn't lessen. Everything he wanted to say to his parents-every word, every thought-was now forever locked in his brain behind his mouth, leaving a sour aftertaste on his tongue. His world consisted of beauty and friendships and other joyful things, he so childishly believed. His world had torn apart. A month later he turned eighteen and was able to live on his own with the money left behind by his parents. He vowed to thicken his skin and harden his heart so no one would be able to cut him. He started to steel himself over and over until he stops bleeding, replacing his once paper thin skin. He's cynical and realistic-realizing that the world is not a just place and men aren't just creatures. Happiness, that jittery, warm feeling he had when he was with his family, the taste of contentedness that left a sweet taste on his tongue. Constantly reaffirming his imperviousness, he pushed people away before they got a chance to get close to him. His eyes no longer held twinkling stars, rather they contained black holes. The world was not within his reach. He used to be able to fly through the endless sky and travel different worlds, his imagination crossing galaxies and realms. Those parts of his brain were carved out. He was hardened cement, smoothed over the cracks in the foundation of his livelihood and unaffected by trauma and the weight of helplessness. The monsters that had slipped through the cracks were his only companions, dwelling in the dark corners of his mind. He found his faith when he finally mustered up the courage to go to the mosque again. It was then he decided to embrace his religion and his heritage, and began to discover himself. When he was twenty-two, he visited his parents for the first time in years, his heart full of words. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he started to speak, beginning with: "Assalamu Alaikum." 

A

Piece

Of

Peace

Fell

To

Pieces

A

Small

Part

Of

The

World

Winced

In

Pain

A

Single

Tear

Of

Malt

And

Song

Wipes

Those

Cheeks

Dry.

And

Monotony

Is

Sure

To

Numb

The

Pain

To live on the tip of happiness. 

To not self-destruct, no matter how mad I get.

To be the person I was destined to be. 

To dig deep into my memories,

And let go of my violent tendencies. 

To accept the fact that everyone who lives, will surely die. 

To build a wooden stair case and march to the sky. 

Just to wipe the tears from my grandma's big brown eyes. 

To forgive myself, for the lives I've destroyed on the road to Wealth.

To understand that everyone won't understand-

The irrational actions of a broken hearted man.

To look evil in the eyes,

And tell em' God has a plan.

If only you knew what it Took.

To save the damaged soul of a crook. 

To understand the thing your better at then anyone,

Is being yourself.

To be me. 

I drive to school,

I bike to work,

I walk to bed,

And I do it again,

Dull terribly it's,

A repetition,

Of a hasty question,

Asked by a small rounded world,

With an abstract answer.

Chapter 1

Part 1:

Alone in her room she sat

In her red velvet chair

Long blonde hair

Cascading down her shoulders

She didn't know how long

The enemy would hold her

Here in this pretend room

Of luxury

The carpet was gold

Glimmering in the light

The war at its height

It reminded her

Of the armor

The soldiers wore

Would they come for her?

She didn't know

The fire aglow

Lit up her pale face

Once adorned in paint

She now looked faint

She sighed

Brushing her hair

This routine to keep her sane

Was brittle from pain

A knock at the door

The chair knocked over

Out of her fright

She had jumped up

Ready to fight

Hair brush in hand

She had nothing more

She dared not hide

Show no weakness

She beckoned them enter

And instead of a server

It was a soldier

Adorned in his flashy armor

Cocky and young

She held her hairbrush close

Unsure why he chose

To bother her at this hour

He came into the room

Never shut the door

He said he had news

And she feared uncertain doom

My brain is turning over

Just like an engine

I feel a new life starting

Old thoughts are fading

I'm a new me

A much stronger me

Confident now

When I once wasn't

I see things in a new light

No longer having to fight

These negative thoughts

I understand now

I'm worth something

I won't back down

I'm here to stay

I feel myself

Rising up

In protest

A burning in my chest

That says

I'm good enough

Not a door mat

I've become rough

To fight

Those who oppose me

I am cage free

The chains gone

They fell away

The beast is released

Teeth bared

I no longer care

The square peg

Broke the round hole

And I will be me

No more sympathy

I dream about space way too much.

And as I laid in your arms, comets flew behind my eyelids and you swore my lips were glowing.

You always loved when I described universes,

Especially the ones inside of you.

And maybe you saw some hopeless romanticism  in the empty space that made up my heart.

But I always warned you,

Space is meant to be empty, you can not fill it with love or darling I think I might implode.

You would laugh, clutch my wrists and silence my words.

Perhaps you thought they were empty threats,

As if my universe could all of your love with room to spare.

You never quite understood why I called myself a comet.

But thats an explanation for another time.

We were much too young,

My universe was far too empty.

And its a comets duty to...

Well, that's for another time.

They told me you were a hurricane.

They pulled me away and put their palms over my eyes.

They drowned me in black and insisted I was much too pure, much too small, to brave a storm.

But they didn't realize the rain cascading against the windows was really just my tears.

And we are really just sandstorms,

Grating away at our own hearts, and, as much as we like to protest, we destroy ourselves. 

They told me you were an earthquake.

And they left me under the table.

They claimed that your tremors would surely bring me to my knees,

And an angel should never be confined to the ground.

You shook walls to the ground and then broke the earth itself.

The burning hot center of the planet was revealed but they turned away.

They closed their eyes and covered their ears.

And I realized, not everyone can face the truth.

They told me you were a tsunami,

As they wrapped me in lace and petals.

They filled my mouth and ears and eyes with satin and held me close to their hearts.

Their pleads filled my ears and all they really wanted was a savior.

They believed I could save them,

Return the favor and cover them in gold.

Seal them in silver and pearls.

They told me your love was like a volcano and it would burn me up if I got too close.

And I swear I only closed my eyes for a second,

I just wanted to see something other than all the white, pure things in this world.

But when my eyelashes parted I was in a coffin, surrounded by white lilies.

They whispered down to me that I would be safer this way,

And they can't risk the only angel they'll ever get.

They told me your love was not for me.

But we are really just sandstorms,

And our only danger is to ourselves.

Your eyes

Dark and possessive

I shiver

From my eyes

The tears fall

The fear takes over

As you touch

So provocatively

Please untie me

Restrained and bound

I can't make a sound

Don't do this

Someone save me

From this wolf

In sheep's clothing

I thought you

Were a friend

But I was wrong

Why are you

Taking so long

I suffer in suspense

Wishing to die

I can only cry

While you break me

The blood is pooling

At your feet

You smirk

Ready to dive in

I hope I black out

But fate is cruel

I must endure

Once you are done

I'll be thrown away

No longer of use

A new victim to abuse

Behind the dirty dumpster

I lie

Trapped in my own filth

I look up to the sky

Death has mercy on me

The Reaper has come

My life is done