Naked Feet

I decided to join these 
words together.
Slit my arms from
the joints
to my withering wrists,
dry my arms 
of my blood, so
I can use it to stitch
these words together,
to make a poem
that might be broken 
into two halves by 
a white wall that is
not as pure as the color suggests
a wall made out of dead skin
broken teeth and
that were squeezed out
of a red-shirted kid
who is inhaling wet sand
and crusted with salt.

I hope my blood is sticky
I hope by the time
I get to the end of this
poem, the last 
word won’t
I hope 
this poem
I hope this poem will be joined like four lips that melted into each other.
I hope this poem will
flow from between
your fingers
when you
try to cage it between
your stripped palms


a boarder interrupts:

I can leave heavy rocks
in my pockets
and kiss the running river.
I hope I have words within 
me to scream out
the fatal symphony
that my vocal cords are playing.
I hope,
your ears are soft enough
to listen to me:
I wish I was broken in half
instead of breaking things in half
to make room for my heaviness.
I cut,
but my fingers yearn to stitch.

You think it makes my heart smile
when I peel off lips from each other?
When I build a red fence around your
two hemispheres?
when I make you see nothing but shadows?
Black holes
ready to suck you in,
and just when you 
see that new light
you’re drawn into
Just like how
I wish to be:

Take a sledgehammer,
take a forbidden idea,
take back your scattered minds, 
take your love.

Underneath that gentle skin
inside your insides
see the glow that is 
melting off your bones
listen to that 
It’s reminding you of something.
Something about 
an embrace
intertwining guts
It’s telling you to forget
the warm hug that burns your core.

Dissolve me,
fracture me.
take me,
use my shattered ribs
to save this poem.

Let it mingle
let it hold together.

I’ve always wanted this:
all I ever wanted was to extend my arms
and with each hand,
I could feel
two different things
and my face breaks with smiles
when I 

Show your support

Clapping shows how much you appreciated Ahmed K. Ali’s story.