Flykick-Chick

You’re like a drug. An all-consuming, addictive, euphoria-inducing drug that I just can’t get enough of. I want to drink you in, consume you, devour all that is you so that maybe a part of you can become a part of me. I want to feel your heart racing against mine, feel it pumping the blood that sustains you and feeds you and keeps you alive, makes you what you are. A living, breathing miracle. I want to lie there and watch you… be. I want to appreciate the intricacies of your face, your eyes, your lips and your hands, the scars and lines and marks that have formed, from laughing and crying. From hurting. From living. I

Run, little angel As far as you can go Get yourself to somewhere safe Before your home explodes Breathe, little angel You will be alright You will survive although you have No food to eat tonight Cry, little angel Your grief can't be kept in Did no one tell these evil men That killing is a sin? Pray, little angel For the war to stop But surely in a minute Another bomb will drop Sleep, little angel Let your soul soar Close your eyes and rest in peace The bombs can't hurt you anymore.

I hear a gulp, a heaving breath and an incoherent jumble of words. I look up and across the road is a mess of a girl, red faced and sobbing, stumbling along as if the effort of picking up one foot after the next is too monumental for her broken soul to bear. As if she feels my inquiring gaze, she looks up abruptly and our eyes meet over a sea of traffic. One glance, that’s all it is, but it’s enough to bring a tear to my eye. My heart is pulling me towards this girl because deep down, I feel that something is wrong; and nobody should have to feel that bad alone. I bid to reach her, but I am too late; the road is filled with a mil

We bomb, and bomb, and bomb some more. We bomb because they bombed us first. We bomb because we think violence can lead to peace. We bomb because we don’t realise or care, that in between the two enemies at war, are children with the light disappearing from their eyes as they begin to understand the harshness of their world.

“Where does it hurt?” I clutch at my chest, fingers clawing into my skin, sure to leave marks which will fade before I know it. “Is it your heart? Where is the pain?” But how do I explain that it isn’t localised to any one place? That I’m lying on the ground because my legs can no longer hold me up, and my brain can’t distinguish upright from flat? That a bolt of lightning has struck my heart and now it won’t beat properly, won’t keep my blood pumping, won’t let my lungs exhale the carbon dioxide so I’m slowly dying, choking, asphyxiating? Whenever I move there are electric

People often ask me why I wear the hijab. "Are you getting married?" "Did your husband force you to wear it?" "Doesn't it feel uncomfortable?" And the thing that surprises most people, is that I actually wanted to wear it. Yes, you heard correctly; Muslim women do in fact have the right to make their own decisions. I was always a little lost in my identity. Born in Australia with parents from two different cultures, and we were the only Muslim family in a small rural town. You can probably guess how confusing that would be. When I was about five, I was playing on the swings. An older girl came up and told me to get off. I told her I was

You love me for who you want me to be Refuse to listen, just can’t see The girl I am is profoundly flawed I’m with you but I feel ignored Can’t measure up, don’t make the cut We seem to be stuck in a rut We talk but don’t communicate And when we do, it’ll be too late I say I’m not ready, we’re moving too fast You say you understand but you’re not sure if we will last You pressure me to marry you But love that’s forced cannot be true So I decline, and know what you’ll say “Either marry me or we’ll break up today” So without a second thought, you cut me f

Growing up is like not growing up at all. It's like you're going along as you always have done and then suddenly you're 18, and everyone's telling you that you're an adult. Adulthood is not that easy. Easy is being a child, getting told what to eat, what to think, what to say, being cuddled and assured and convinced that everything's fine. They say you're meant to find yourself. "That's what university is about; exploring new things, figuring it out, getting to know yourself and your limits and finding your place in this big lonely world." How are you meant to find yourself in just 3 years? The thing is, you don't. Finding yourself is like

Say nothing, and do nothing.