BY AMR ABDUR RASHEED

The Dr. says to me, & we

to share sides of us for the group to see.

But how? Is a picture truly told through only a piece?

They say to bring an image to light

requires time in the dark.

So allow me to start, with the negative…

At thirty-five, I reside

in a reality that society would much rather hide.

Behind walls raised high, too high, 

concrete seems to meet the sky.

At times, I am able to see through the seams

the purest of blues.

Then my eyes pry apart from their dreams

I only wish would be true.

Most moments I lie to myself, religiously so,

that if I strive to replace the version of me,

that version which remains with the pains of their memory,

that the world would be willing to accept my return

into the fold. But only with a new name,

and a new face that’s become withered and old.

Far from the face I owned while in my birthplace

near the city where monuments are raised high.

Identifying a Nation whose drug is its pride.

A pride I sometimes share, down to the bone,

but the Land of the Free feels far from my home.

My blood belongs to those now known

as enemies of this State. Parents who migrate for the

sake of a promise that states,

hope and liberty awaits all who dare to escape.

A bold claim, made even bolder still by the sheer

will of those ready to sacrifice all they yield.

Their journey of misery was an investment misplaced

on the future success of a child’s potential fate

What a Waste. Damn, there it is, revealing its shape

Insecurity…a quality that I have, & one that I hate.

But no matter how hard I try to hold this part inside,

it belongs to me.

I could lock it away, let it stew in dismay,

or could this be the clay

that molds the best parts of me?

I go to the depths to start stripping away

everything used to define what was mine yesterday

Who am I, is not what I am but who I choose to be.

If that’s the case, then let’s see…