Star Literature
FICTION / Storm child
The majority of my early childhood was spent in a big house filled with endless possibilities. At least, that’s what my preteen self thought at the time.
POETRY / Raw Magnolias
This is a garden, these are my petals; this is my armoring plant
POETRY / burnt honey
i quite like the smell of cloves, even more when they're burning/ turning charcoal in front of my eyes
POETRY / The searing beast
Sweat beads upon my brow, my shirt begins to cling/ The vile monster's tendrils reach out, adhesive
POETRY / I've seen love
I've seen love/ Rolling down from a mother's eyes/ As she picks her lean child, bathed in innocent blood
POETRY / A means to an end
go further than/ what the hills have seen/ through their ice pick scars
FICTION / Hair cream
The mosque committee was quite displeased with Rashed, their young muezzin.
POETRY / A childhood memory
Dust patterns have gathered around my landline phone, huddling around the maroon. my fingerprints take some dust off of it, and they rejoice.
POETRY / How to exist
When there’s a lull in the air, I get the feeling that I’ve scraped the bottom of my fleshy insides.
Storm child
The majority of my early childhood was spent in a big house filled with endless possibilities. At least, that’s what my preteen self thought at the time.
burnt honey
i quite like the smell of cloves, even more when they're burning/ turning charcoal in front of my eyes
Raw Magnolias
This is a garden, these are my petals; this is my armoring plant
The searing beast
Sweat beads upon my brow, my shirt begins to cling/ The vile monster's tendrils reach out, adhesive
I've seen love
I've seen love/ Rolling down from a mother's eyes/ As she picks her lean child, bathed in innocent blood
A means to an end
go further than/ what the hills have seen/ through their ice pick scars
How to exist
When there’s a lull in the air, I get the feeling that I’ve scraped the bottom of my fleshy insides.
A childhood memory
Dust patterns have gathered around my landline phone, huddling around the maroon. my fingerprints take some dust off of it, and they rejoice.
Hair cream
The mosque committee was quite displeased with Rashed, their young muezzin.
A building, a tree, and a kid
Buckets of water I pour on my head; my vision gets blurry./ "The blurrier, the merrier", my mother said.
