Hello.
When I say hello, I mean thank you. When I say thank you, I mean I adore you and when I say I adore you, I mean I will check your horoscope.
I mean when you leave the balloons that you carry in your laughter behind on my ceiling, well, I like them better than flowers. My body is a garden rooted in gratitude. “Thank you” is the biggest poem I’ve got inside of me.
Me? I am a camp fire cold hearts like to sit around and roast their marshmallows in, but when I say camp fire, I mean tiny furnace, little light lady, I mean I am not the path of least resistance. But I swear I was struck-built by lightning bang boom wow this one time at Coachella, when Jay Z brought out Beyonce, I mean I am flawless, procrastinator, my heart is a messy bedroom I always distract myself from cleaning, I digress.
When I say Beyonce came out I mean fireworks went off and I cried. When I say I cried, I mean I taught the clouds how to cry for me, Dig.
I wouldn’t say I am sensitive. I would say I am highly susceptible to feeling a lot. And sometimes, sometimes there just ain’t enough rocks; Forest Gump,
when I say my feelings are a box of chocolates, I mean I like to eat them. I also like to get high enough to look myself in the third eye but when I say I like to get high I mean sometimes after I shower I thank the towel.
Snap, Crackle, or Pop, me? Pop! I mean I got this violent tendency to see a bubble and want to pop it, which is to say I have held love. But I popped it and locked it, then dropped it and lost it. I didn’t mind. Love made me feel like I knew the answer, but when I raised my hand, I was the only one in the room. What I mean is, have you ever felt the ache of swallowing star light? That cinnamon heart burn, what I mean is his name is still a plate set on the table of my tongue, because I learn love like “wait for it”.
If I called the last person you said “I love you” to, could they tell me they felt it?
Can you feel this?
I am allergic to liars. They cause my tongue to swell and sharpen.
Bullet-flash-tongue.
I mean, my kiss tastes like a shotgun to the lips – you’ll like it – it’d make you feel brave.
My first crush was on Bennie the Jet Rodrigez, I swear that boy runs so fast, he could fly by foot. I always say I am a humming bird. But when I say I am a humming bird I mean sometimes my hands forget how to hold, become two tea cups in an earthquake, my body is a rattle of splintered bones but when I say my body, I mean blood guts and then some …. My body’s miraculous.
I’ve spent an entire year sleeping on a bed of swords and was not cut once. What I mean is my “lonely” looks a lot like insomnia when you hold it up to the light. What I mean is if I came to you lonely as a grocery store parking lot at 5 a.m., blowing smoke rings, pretending they are halos– could you believe in the magic?
Not beauty, not the beast, I am taking enchanted castle, what I mean my body is space jam, my body has ways to tell anything else but the truth. Flight response.
Hey, do you ever just sit on the end of your bed and listen to the world spin? I hear that song everywhere but when I say that song, what I mean is time. Time is holy catastrophes of Heirloom clock faces, that don’t fit my wrist, Dig.
The only instrument I know how to play is my body. I like my body best when I am not worried about how much space it’s taking up.
I mean dancing.
But when I say dancing, I mean shimmy shake and wop wop drop, my body’s got moves, yall. Like it sleeps in a waterbed. What I mean is my body sleeps in itself.
I am best prepared for the worst case scenario, the best case scenario scares me. Flight response.
My mother tells me I am a bird, but when she says I am a bird, she means the whole world is my cage. In my dreams I can fly and there is no such thing as cage. Maening there is no such thing as time.
I have been here before.

Abdlrhman Mhmd

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