It’s a miracle that I’m still around
After I lost my skin
And walked all over Tehran’s streets,
Absorbing all the noise and pollution
Directly into every little muscle and bone.

It’s a miracle that I still love—
Even if very selectively,
And surgically cautious.
Even if from a distance,
From my carefully curated living space
Where only music, art, and fashion are allowed,
With no pre-screening and constant monitoring for letdown and betrayal.

It’s a miracle that I still smile—
Even though, if you look closely
At the corner of my mouth,
You would notice a trace of unbreakable sadness.
That’s why, when I feel too deep,
I look away.

There was a time, when I was younger,
When I loved so freely,
So carelessly,
So curiously—
But I got pushed and pulled,
Hurt and burnt
Beyond the point of my breaking.

You cannot see it,
But my soul carries all those wounds
And burn marks on her skin.
And she carries them
Like a badge of honor.

Because it’s a miracle that I still breathe.
And it’s a miracle
That I kept my dreams.

It feels so sad to say out loud
That the good old days
Didn’t last that long

But I know that Human beings make mistakes
That’s how we grow to remain steadfast and strong

In the early morning hours I sound the alarm
And it’s extremely alarming
Cause It feels like nobody cares

All I feel is empitness
Cause now there’s nobody there….
to shelter me through the storm…

It feels like an eternity
Since I felt happiness
I thought our love was strong
But I was wrong…

How come back when I was young
You taught me right from wrong
And told me “Actions speak volumes over words” but now your contradicting your own words

We spent half a life together but
Being with you turned into a living nightmare

We live
We learn
We crash
We burn
Sometimes there’s no shelter to shelter you through all the raging storms…

Words of wisdom
Are coming from the voices in my mind
Telling me to give life another chance.
Cause you’ll never know if you never give it a try…

Remember that nothing lasts forever.
Not even wars or stressful times.
So this raging storm CANT and WILL NOT Last forever.

And it may not even last that long…

I have dealt with many things,
but to you I am just dramatic,
a lier even.
Whenever I open my heart,
you shove it into a box,
making it harder every time.

"I'm Depressed"
I finally tell you,
seeking comfort in your words,
even though they scare me further.

But, you let me down,
you told me the words I feared the most.
                  "Your just a teenager, you don't know what that means"

Then, what's wrong with me?
Why do I dream of jumping off,
of never coming back.

Maybe I'm just being a teen,
or maybe that's just a lie.

If Truth & Love are an object; I’m objective to that statement;
For the girl of my dreams — I’m maybe lucid dreaming,
Or just another hopeless insomniac; a hopeless romantic!

Dreamt up love stories – mostly are their unhappy endings;
Falling in love, while quietly hoping my feelings aren’t,
The only ones to catch me; it’s all going to be so tragic!

Falling too hard now — having no means to get up;
Having no pieces of a heart left, to cope with the feeling,
Of breaking up; knowing I’ll start to act so dramatic!

These are the insecurities of being in love;
It's so rough; the one I once loved became so traumatic!

Once upon a time
a father with his belt –
(with black shiny paint
and a steel which is melt)

And a son, a pen in his hand
A book by his side
A lamp blowing light
Tears in his eyes
The fear in his veins
With his wimped tiny mole

(A cry in his neck and
a gulp in his bones)

Whimp whimp strikes the ground
Wipes the tears,picks up his pen
Shakes up his head,
Gives him a cloth,
to blow up his nose

(A smile on the boy's face
The fallen tear on the page's lace
It dried his shake on hand and
moved him a pace)

Whimp, whimp, whimp – strikes again
(A posed fear on son's face)
Whimp, and he strikes again
(The clueless child, shakes with his pain )

The blats on the floor
and its black remains
The years of slaps
which slashed up cement

(He comes back..
drops his belt   )

A relief in boy's breath

The steel fallen,
relief is felt

The father with his red hands
(Blood flows out at a spot's end )
Smiles at the son

Dark is his eyes like year's repent

(A strung in his mind
He shakes only once,
As he picks up his belt)

He sits on his couch and
acts as he had a father –
with a belt-
(with its black shiny paint and
a steel which is melt.)

they changed
you can see it in there eyes.
you can feel it in there touch

theyre not the same
theyre never coming back

because i remember
everthing that you
forgot