The hue of desperation


Desperation is such an ugly dress,

beneath it is the reality of disloyalty,

gnash the silence with the opioid of your fetish,

oh what an incredible appetite you have my dear,

incisors and nails,

acting all frail,

your ego needs to set sail,

and there you are,

in the thick of men’s hands,

ever on demand,

and all it took,

was a rejection of,

a painting you,

a showing of,

a man,

telling you where you stand.

Be well with your dress,

or take it off,

you’re naked anyway,

why on earth would the pit of your fire burn with such rage,

if indeed you want this veil,

if after all, you indeed are frail.

Perhaps the frailty you express,

is a need to undress,

perhaps it’s nothing more,

than feeling the hands of your father hold you like you exist.


Missed chances

is a man who walks past,
whilst you sit behind a glass window wandering what if.

It’s a woman that sits fast,
whilst you rush past the glass window, ignoring what’s within.

Maybe the glass needs breaking,
perhaps you need to step outside yourself,
perhaps you need to crawl inside yourself,
or is it, you’re infatuated with looking at yourself?

-Wesam El dahabi

try to


I want to decorate her soul
with a bouquet of bewitching
but my hands are tied
leaving me mute and itching

My tongue is lit
with rhyme and resin
the knot of doubt
and apprehension

Expression and love,
blasphemous mention
unspeakable prose
allegoric intention

I’m shackled, I’m placid
I’m raging in noose
all I want for you
all I try to do
helpless, fruitless
of no use





Bring your disorder,
and I’ll bring my anger,
perhaps we’ll revolt each other,
into calm.

Does it take one,
uglier than the other,
to acknowledge how vulgar we both appear?

Does it take,
fear to persuade,
to see past,
our masquerades.

There’s nothing nice,
about two people playing niceties,
just to pass through necessities.

rising up to the subtlety of fine character,
is what is needed,
an acknowledgement,
that you are not sick,
nor am I angry,
but we’re both lazy.

-Wesam El dahabi

Art: KwangHo Shin – Untitled




It’s time to stop writing,
when you go from,
finishing each others sentences off,
to wanting them to end.

-Wesam El dahabi.

Maybe I can write through pain long enough for it to go away,
Maybe pain doesn’t get it.

Is it my sentence structure, my grammar, my grief filled quill?
Perhaps it’s pains, comprehension skills.

Whatever it is, we’re not seeing eye to eye,
This platonic back and forth, between pain and I.

You once were impervious to the fault of my prose,
And I ignored the destructive nature of the words you chose.

I took it with stride and a pinch of hope,
And hoped our relationship would blossom and perhaps we’d elope.

Wander off together to the edges of sanity,
I’d give you a voice and you’d bring me tranquillity.

Alas this relationship seems to be severed,
And both it seems at the ends of our tether.

So go, leave me, find someone else to bother,
Don’t you worry, I’ll keep writing, and find someone else to smother.

But I still love you, once tasted, there’s no going back,
I’ve got pages to prove it, once white, now inked black.



which home are you making
at the expense of the home you’re wrecking?

and this societal approval, selfless offering
senseless offering, nay, hurt covering

perhaps all this time
we begin the process of exiting
the minute our hearts are broken
and we can’t do this thing
called humaning

because it hurts too much to sing
harmonial, matrimonial
discord of no drumming-
-heart we’re wrecking
but our houses look so pretty
props and posturing
ah you homemaking, homewrecking
on we endure the suffering


Ransom for freedom – 5

ransomed for freedom - 5

Just when you think you’re finally getting into a groove,
I’ll disrupt your flow and change your mood,
Corrupt your soul and drain your hips,
Leave you gasping for just one more sip.

I don’t tread on anything but the earth lightly,
Everything else I vice grip tightly,
Squeeze the essence of you, leave droplets to drip,
Chaffed and stained, bloody lips.

But that’s what you’ll need to leave the ground,
Earthling no longer, spiritual bound,
Let me re-write, I’ll compose a masterpiece,
Torment for now but everlasting peace.