Poetry by Farah Lawal Harris

Posts tagged “pain

From the Day We Met (Haikus)


from the day we met,

God has grown closer to me

indefinitely.

 

from the day we met,

past pain doesn’t feel so bad;

smiles have replaced tears.

 

from the day we met,

“more than i ever prayed for”

is how i see life.

 

from the day we met,

i lose myself in laughter

and love feels so good.

 

from the day we met,

each time i look in your eyes,

my heart skips a beat.

 

from the day we met,

my life hasn’t been the same.

i’ll never look back!

Advertisements

The Time of the Month Blues


pain, cramping, bloating;
blood clots, tear drops, emoting;
gas pain, headache, egg waste.

void of child and patience;
one more month of freedom;
emotional clock still works
(strong batteries run in my family).

caged body, sweaty forehead, foreign smell;
gross-feeling, penis-envying, horny as hell;
quiet, reflective, sensitive.

28 days are not long enough.
7 days are just too much.
but at least I’m still young enough–
either that or life has a slow way of catching up.

whatever it is,
whenever it is this time of the month,
my heavy breasts make my heart sink a little;
each body part that once was little
grows before my eyes
as my capacity to deal with it all shrinks.

potential life exits
only to recreate its possibility
again and again.


Retrospect Haiku


i lost all i had,

then met you and gained it back;

maybe pain’s not bad.


Midnight Eyes


midnight eyes with dew on lashes
wish for love in the daylight–
a reason to burst with emotion
other than anger or tantrum.
if love were a tantrum,
how would it express its youth?
would it stomp hearts and scream obscenities such as
“Don’t leave me!” or “I need you?”
or would it just stream down tears of joy
and sit in a corner of the world known by most
but frowned upon
once left?

midnight eyes dream of stories in books
transformed into reality
so that days become pages
turned slowly and dog-eared for later reference,
an experience that good.
“That’s good,”
midnight eyes whisper when viewing
movies with method actors using realism
to display fantasy only realized in screens.

midnight eyes want to become alive,
want fiction to turn real–
not “keep it real” real,
but “blood pouring out of feet when glass is stepped on” real;
undeniable like the hour when yawns take over energy
and eyes get droopy until morning.

midnight eyes do not want to wake
until full moons shine too bright
and stars sink into sight lines without effort.
until then, midnight eyes stay closed
until sunrise.


Accidental Epiphany


on a sunny summer day
at one of my lowest points,
i walked alongside a river
and casually considered jumping in
as a way to end my pain.

i stopped moving for a moment
and took notice of the beauty
that coursed through everything around me.
the water danced in ripples back and forth,
and in it, ducks swam.
they were so precious and careless and abundant.

it occurred to me
that if God could create this life-giving body of water
that flowed before me,
and could take care of creatures so much smaller than me,
then of course,
he would watch over and provide for me.

an epiphany–
when overused cliche words
finally became real
all because of pain
i didn’t want to feel.


Old Me


i now sometimes wonder where
the old me went.
did she die a miserable death
to match her painful existence?
or does she live in my chest,
keeping my heart beating
through reminders of what she used to be?
or maybe she still lives in me,
a skinny, emaciated girl
underneath the skin of a woman
who smiles even when she’s sleeping now.

her tears keep me hydrated
and her scars only make me more beautiful.
her pain i wear like a necklace of rememberance,
perfect pearls all unique. wherever she went,
i’m happy she’s not as present
when i look in the mirror,
glad that when i dance now,
she’s not stepping on my feet.

she kisses my feet now,
washes them with tears
and absorbs the fluid in her afro hair.
she serves me
and is near,
perhaps closer than i think she is.

i think she is me–
only happy.


Still Born


i feel frozen,
hard to do anything,
not justified in joy,
stuck in anxiety,
crying while running
because there is no time for stopping.

my mother,
example of strength,
template for beauty,
example of generosity,
standard of selflessness,
feeling of family,
antidote for insanity
is struggling.

my soul is still connected
by an invisible umbilical cord
feeding me medication and hope
and faith and pain
and they course through my veins
as i try to maintain
with a smile on my face
but i’m losing some weight
and my mind can’t erase
how life shouldn’t be this way.

but what do i know?
i am a mere embryo
floating in a world outside of my control,
sharing the same heartbeat as the woman who birthed me,
questioning, wondering, still living,
always praying
that our loud cries make it up to God’s big ears
that can’t possibly be deaf.