Here by Nora Abdullah

Posted on February 7, 2014 by


Take me back when I did not feel estranged from my skin and bones.


I am too young to feel dragged by my throat when I stutter under my breath.


Forgive me for my adolescent mind, I do not think I have grown up yet.


I hide because I do not want to hear the tone of your voice saying my name, making me hate the day you named me.


I make myself believe that I am protecting you but I am only protecting myself.

I am selfish and I have been lying to you.


But my love, we have lied to each other consistently.


I am here.

I am your fears, your guilt, your stress, your forgotten imagination.

I am not your reality.


I am you nostalgia for a lie.

I am your unachieved dreams.

Your failures.

Your regret.

Your denial.


I am not what you are.

I am not what you want me to be.

I am not what is in front of you.

I am not what is in front of me.


I fear the day when it is too late and my sanity forces me to dig in the ground just for the touch of your skin against mine.


Why are we so afraid?

When will you stop?


I am not going to stop reminding you that I am your daughter.

Posted in: Here