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Alia Smith Poem
I’m from the piano in my living room,
from the music and melody.
I’m from the old, shabby couches,
(Placed proportionally,
opposite side from the TV)
I’m from the mirror,
the clear reflection
whose face I remember
staring at in the morning.
I’m from the mud under the cemented ground in the yard,
(Brown, lumpy
filled with the elements of Earth)
I am from the fruits grown in my garden,
delicious when freshly picked.
I’m from the swing set,
run-down and tattered,
yet bringing back sweet
and wistful memories of the past.
I’m from the neighborhood mailbox,
beaten down and ragged.
I’m from the local Starbucks,
freshly brewed coffee.
From the dental clinic my father
worked hard to build.
I’m from my Uncle Benajir’s love,
an unconditional and spoiling love.
I’m from Aunt Helena’s
big mouthed personality,
causing trouble and anger amongst many.
I’m from the love and support from my cousins,
Rahat and Tasfia,
whose love has affected me greatly
throughout my life.
I’m from the judgmentals
and the backdated,
from the close minded and ignorant.
I’m from the Islam is the one true religion
and a Quran I have learned to read
throughout my childhood.
I’m from the Dates eaten
during Ramadan.
I’m from the fuchkas
brought from Artesia,
the Indian market of California.
I’m from the biryanis,
the cultural grain
of my ethnic group,
made especially for get-togethers.
In my closet are family albums,
filled with old pictures,
an array of familiar and unfamiliar faces
bringing about stories from the past.
I am from those memories --
stories about my long distant cousins
to my maternal grandparents --
I am from those memories.
Copyright © Alia Smith | Year Posted 2018
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Alia Smith Poem
Love is sacred,
Given to the deserving.
Trust is sacred,
Given to the worthy.
Love can be Misplaced,
Like a pair of gloves.
Trust can be Broken,
Like a mirror.
Misplaced love can be hard to recover.
Broken trust can be hard to repair
Copyright © Alia Smith | Year Posted 2018
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Alia Smith Poem
It’s hard for me to breathe
Where I’m from.
Stuck in a small room
By myself,
Hopeless and alone.
Feeling like a burden,
A useless and worthless person.
It’s hard for me to love myself,
Feeling like My Heart Is on Fire,
No way to put the flames out.
Can’t get out of this
Small room,
Arms and Legs are on Fire,
Paralyzed.
My soul is gone,
Along with my faith,
Faith in God and myself.
My Body is on Fire,
Suffocating,
Unable to breath.
My hideous face,
Filled with scars,
Reminding me
How ugly I am.
My Face is on Fire,
The last bit of me gone,
Forever lost,
Forever gone.
Copyright © Alia Smith | Year Posted 2017
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Alia Smith Poem
Older and Wiser than most,
yet stuck in a child’s body.
Ugly and Useless,
filled with Anger and Contempt.
Treated like I don’t belong,
afraid to stand up to my Tyrants.
Why was I born like this?
Why couldn’t I be Happy
And Love myself?
My face filled with Scars,
forced to cover it with
Face Paint.
I am forced to live each day
Sad and Depressed.
I am forced to live each day
wishing I was stuck in
another Body, another Soul.
I am cursed to live the rest
of my days in a childlike body,
a Tormented soul,
an Angry and Contemptuous persona.
Copyright © Alia Smith | Year Posted 2017
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Alia Smith Poem
Obsession, Fears, Anxiety,
Waking the mind of the suffering,
Losing the comfort of Normalcy,
Gaining the feeling of Confusion about one's own mind.
My thoughts and fears haunt me,
Feeling as though I might never close my eyes again
And feel the comfort of blissful dreams.
Copyright © Alia Smith | Year Posted 2018
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Alia Smith Poem
The Change of Color in Fall Leaves,
From Yellow to Orange to Red.
From Hope and Honor to Happiness and Joy
to Desire and Love.
From Cowardice and Deceit to Distrust and Dominance
to War and Danger.
Negativity and Positivity flowing in the air,
In the leaves of Fall, redesigned week after week.
Copyright © Alia Smith | Year Posted 2018
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Alia Smith Poem
A damsel-in-distress day and night,
Waiting for the sun to shine
in her gloomy heart.
Waiting for her knight
to sweep her of her feet,
For she will feel incomplete
without her other half,
Ending each day with a laugh
and a kiss.
But is individuality not key to loving yourself?
To finding yourself?
No knight in shining armor to save
a damsel in distress from her worst enemy,
Herself.
Copyright © Alia Smith | Year Posted 2018
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Alia Smith Poem
As the Soul leaves from the body,
Bare and naked,
Senseless and Worthless.
Enough is Enough,
No more Pain,
Can’t feel anything.
Enough is Enough.
Copyright © Alia Smith | Year Posted 2018
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