tastes like a sandwich at recess when you’re six,
a breath waking from unconsciousness,
like a kiss from an ex who takes you back,
a child’s voice asking for help with their homework,
before you swallow a blade.
It’s staring fear in the face and letting it beat you,
it can’t rob you twice,
once your bravery is gone,
it will stop picking on you.
It’s spending everything you have,
content to receive nothing you want.
It’s waking at two a.m.
depriving yourself of sleep,
just to taste the crickets song on your lips.
Freedom sounds like the wail of a cello,
the longing of it’s string to be touched,
so it can arch the body of aged wood,
to the ear of heaven.
-Wesam El dahabi