a sign flashes open, and a man walks, smoking outside.
i sit here trying to justify my being alone to every eye here.
why is it not ok for someone like me to be alone?
i think about yesterday,
and the questions, as i caressed a sweater with elbows.
how do i admit things to others, that i have a hard time admitting to myself?
is admitting something that’s in my blood, like cancer in lungs, really admitting to something, or is it just showing someone something they couldn’t see on the xray before.
you know so little of me.
why cant people see beyond the face i was given?
do i have to wear a flashing sign on my doors too?
a man is smoking outside, i join him.
maybe if i breathe in more cancer, the illness in my blood wont kill me.
i know these words will get me in trouble.
even if it’s just from my brain.
"but sometimes love, real love, is fucking rude."
“I also thank Angelina for dressing in hijab while she visited not just Iraqi refugees but refugees in Afghanistan and Pakistan. Not only did she look good in it, she showed respect and appreciation for their culture and religion and made sure that the focus was not on her looks but rather her mission.”