Because my blood can’t flow into your streams without killing me
the way ink can flow from my hands
to this page
to a million different nerves in your body
Because, in person, most people would never stop long enough
to read the lines that mark my face
from my eyes
to a chin too salty for most lips
Because the wind that destroys us is incapable of telling the story of those it destroys
Because I testify 
I testify 
I testify 
These texts will live after the men have died 
Because priests can no longer drag demons out of flesh and bone 
But know demons stick to words in pieces
And writing long enough can get them out 
Like peace is a harmony only those who write have seen 
This is why I write 
Because rich teachers said I wasn’t worthy 
And poor teachers said I couldn’t 
I write because dreams no longer satisfy my need to exist in another dimension 
Because Utopia exists only between the space before it and the space after
And it’s there only because I write 
I write for you 
I write to touch you
I write to massage ever strain life has inflicted upon your frail form
to caress your spine to goosebumps 
to drag freshly shaven hairs out of your pores like goosebumps 
to torment those who love you with the knowledge that the words of a stranger, my words, have found places in you they’ve always dreamed of reaching
I write to live, to die and still be alive
to breathe when my lungs have decomposed
to anger when there’s no place for revenge 
to please when my fingers are nothing but bones 
I write for immortality 
I write because speech is unkind to me and my tongue is always heavy
And the words I never say haunt me like nightmares when I’m awake
I write because my mother couldn’t 
Because her mother couldn’t
I write because Iqra 
Because the first versus in which I believe say “read” 
I write for those who believe

I write for them to read

because they know that
there’s shelter between these lines 
and warmth within these words
And maybe, just maybe

light at the end of this page.