Get Your Premium Membership

Best Poems Written by Farzeen Rashid

Below are the all-time best Farzeen Rashid poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

View ALL Farzeen Rashid Poems

Details | Farzeen Rashid Poem

Take Me Back

Do you remember, the stars, the moon and the dazzling night sky?
And the joy of our childhood, can you hear it?
All of our giggles and the overbearing question “why?”
Can you take me back? To when my heart hadn’t split.

Can you take me back to the twisty slides that gave us electric shocks?
How about the grassy soccer fields where we’d attempt cartwheels?
Maybe hogging the swings at recess and lunch from the primary flocks,
And of course the boy next to me in scimatics, the first crush feels.

Not long ago, weren’t we flying high?
When we were tumbling, wailing, and souring on the monkey bars,
Instead of staring at the night sky,
Wondering what it’s like to be amongst thousands of stars.

Weren’t we alright? Fine?
Back when we were nine?

Why did I change?
Isn’t it strange?

Where did it go? When my burden was playing the recorder in grade four, 
And cleaning my metal mouth, brimming of brackets, wires and braces.
Take me back to kindergarten when a pink eyepatch was my internal war.
Oh those weekly visits to the dentist in Delta of all places!

Remember the excitement of the orange flavoured freezies on sports day?
What about the tech kid who’d set up the projector for the substitute?
When reading out loud from a textbook was the most stressful part of the day,
And the Terry Fox runs in the autumn rain, dancing in my pink rain boot. 

All the stupid memories of dodgeball, somehow I can only remember getting hit in the head.
All the petty Madrasa drama with the fam jam, cradle toxicity granting fear.
The erratic looking erasers we’d buy from the scholastic book fairs and the books we never read,
And grade 7 graduation was supposed to be the most magical time of the year.

How can I forget my first deodorant? Foolishly using it as a designer attar. 
My first broken bone, oh the pain! That soccer ball sure knew my weakness well!
All the car rides to our cousin’s house watching the moon, thinking it was following our car,
And all the school nights, crying myself to sleep thinking my life was Hell. 

Still the days were sweet, a haul of silly bands and rainbow loom,
A hundred and four days of summer vacation to look forward to,
The joy of hearing the ice cream van music from the playroom,
Being able to sleep when the lights went off, oh childhood, thank you.

The days were so awfully easy, recess was a tedious game of Manhunt and the deafening laughter from Red Rover.
Recess on rainy days was the awaiting of getting picked for Heads Down Thumbs Up, why haven’t I been picked? This is so lame!
Yes recess was our saviour, an escape from an awkward classroom crying scene and the getaway to friendship poker. 
Now my days are an everlasting duel of boiling self doubt except my self doubt wins each and every game.  

Summer isn’t the same without a typical Vancouver riot for the Stanley Cup, curse Boston the traitor! 
Or an afternoon road trip to Whistler in the sun by the lustrous sea. 
“I can see all of the Lower Mainland!” we holler with relish at the top of our lungs on the Hellivator.
And the PNE popcorn, the overbearing desire to be free. 

If only the distance between us was restored, 
And we could click a restart button, this year gone from history’s record. 
Long Krispey Kreme drive-tru lines and a toilet paper hoard.
All at the cost of a worldwide pandemic, oh dear lord!
If only it would bring back our summer, so very unexplored. 

Being a child was so easy, the Saturday afternoon cartoon marathons made us laugh for hours on end, no responsibilities.
Baba’s pocket money was plenty to buy me my first iPad on News Year’s Eve, 
The feeling of dread practicing for a second grade spelling test with Mama, making me question the school’s educational abilities. 
And my first chapter book, enabling me to a world of the make believe. 

We were blooming like sunflowers, a glorious life of exploration ahead of us. 
The bittersweet yet sappy puppy love sensations of an aloof crush, only we didn’t even talk. 
And the first time sitting on the benches in assemblies, no more numbing on our butts. 
The jubilation on my first day of high school, oh boy, soon you’d discover the beauty of punk-rock. 

An ocean of new emotions,
Don’t bottle them up.
A rainbow of discoveries,
Sometimes you won’t find what your looking for at the end of it.
And a pure heart, untouched by the miseries of reality, 
A child at heart.

It was the school trip days we’d snort, howl, and roar in the school bus, even after the driver told us to shut up. 
The drizzly mornings we’d gloomily wait in line under a massive umbrella for the bell to ring with soggy textbooks. 
We’d play Capture The Flag with our neighbouring class, yelling “we won!” in the faces of rivals as the sky cleared up. 
And no matter what they’d say, I’d always try to jump inside of my Dora The Explorer jungle fantasy story books. 

Innocence is a tribute of the past, 
Only children possess. 
As we grow old,
We lose that purity because we believe we’ve found something greater.
But how much greater is it? 
With the innocence of a child,
And the maturity of a teenager,
A child remains joyful,
And a teenager becomes miserable.

Take me back,
To the stars,
The moon, 
And the dazzling night sky.

We’ve been told,
From the old,
This pain isn’t pain.
We have not survived world wars like you,
But we’re battling internal wars.
We may have not permanently broken our skull from the battles or had scars from the ridges,
But we are broken on the inside and our scars are planted on our wrists.
Invisible bleeding happening all the time, 
The only difference is they were intentional.
So who do you think is more strong and broken?

Take me back.

Copyright © Farzeen Rashid | Year Posted 2020

Details | Farzeen Rashid Poem

My Dad Went To The Moon

I remember everything that happened that night.
It was vague, 
But the sounds of talking furries on the TV is still definite.  
We were together,
United as one merry family.
But everything changed that night.
I still remember everything.
The naive kindergartener could never possibly forget what happened that night,
Even ten years later. 
I was loved by a family,
Two affectionate parents, 
But internalized hostility was the trespasser of their relationship.
The fights,
The squabbles,
They meddled with the blessed aura of our family.
But how would someone know how badly an event can damage someone?
Someone so young, 
All they’ll ever do is hate,
Without realizing the broken pieces.
They’re invisible to them.  
They can forgive over and over,
But none will ever forget,
I was in the middle of 2 human being-like creatures,
Lost in a battle field of fury.
How could you not see me?
How could you not stop what you were doing when you saw me?
How could you continue to push her?
To punch her until her teeth bled.
But why?
Just why?
Why would you do what you did to me too?
I was the middle.
You tugged my arm,
She tugged my other.
Both reaching for me,
To have me for their own.
But didn’t you know,
I was only 5 years old,
I didn’t need just one of you,
I needed both of you,
To grow.
I didn’t want to choose who to fight,
I loved both of you,
But love ends when your forced to choose.
I screamed.
I am the middle,
You choose to keep me for yourself.
How could you do what you did that night?
To me,
To her,
To yourself,
But most importantly,
She’s had enough.
A woman seeing her child in pain is not weak when she searches for help,
She’s not vulnerable,
She’s a warrior,
Willing to risk her life for her child.
That is a woman.
She dials the forsaken number.
The time ticks, 
You think it’s a joke.
A knock on the door and it feels like a movie.
A blue suit,
A gun?
Who are these people?
They walk across the kitchen floor like they own authority over our itty-bitty town house.
They sit on our sofas, they look so odd.
I was so confused.
A lady greets me and amongst chitter chatter, I take her to my play room.
We talk about Dora The Explorer and all my favourite cartoons,
Like she’s my friend,
But I know she’s not.
She’s only here to take something from me,
I wonder what.
Time passes and the blue suit aliens walk across our linoleum in big black boots.
No shoes in the house,
Seems like they don’t know the rules.
My mind clouds for a split second,
This still picture becomes a movie once again.
They open the door,
I see hand cuffs.
They take ahold of his hands and seal them together.
They’re leading him outside.
My mind is fogging again,
They’re supposed to take something from me.
They leave our door, but not empty handed.
They didn’t take my toys,
Or my DVDs, 
They took something so much more.
With locked wrists, 
His face forces a smile.
He’s smiling at me,
Is this a dream?
Why is he smiling?
Where is he going? 
The blue suit aliens walk out the door,
Dragging a prisoner they’re taking to space. 
He continues to smile,
Walking out our door.
He’s leaving his own house,
With locked wrists,
Swollen eyes,
Dragged by blue aliens,
And a big smile on his face.
I hear her sob,
Why is she crying?
Certainly no one is dying.
The aliens dump him in their space ship,
It’s like a car, only with flashy lights.
He waves at us from his seat in the space ship.
At that point I guessed, 
He’s been abducted by aliens!
I can’t wait to tell everyone at school!
Even as the space ship flies away,
He’s still waving.
I wonder when he’ll come back from the moon.
The door is shut,
She collapses to the floor.
I’m confused once again.
I peak through the curtains.
He’s gone.
He’s gone.
He’s gone.
1 day passes,
He hasn’t returned.
Maybe the trip to the moon is farther than I thought.
2 days pass,
She’s crying more and more.
Maybe he’s buying us souvenir’s from space!
3 days pass,
Something’s not right.
Suddenly a family reunion,
There’s shouting, crying, begging.
I’m suddenly being dragged around again.
To the space station, oh boy!
There are blue aliens everywhere!
There’s begging, pleading, crying all over again.
3 weeks of visits to the space station,
And begging, pleading, and crying every visit. 
I begin to think of the moon again,
Seriously, when is he coming back?
I lose interest in playing with my Barbie dolls,
Something isn’t right,
But I don’t know what.
That day was another blur,
A knock on the door,
And scampering to the window.
I peak through the curtains,
It’s him.
He’s back,
From the moon.
He’s smiling,
That smile.
The aliens were no where in sight,
Not even the space ship,
How did he get here? 
She smiles in delight at the sight of him,
But her eyes show unclouded sorrow.
His eyes are bliss,
But his smile is forged and weak. 
Again, I was in the middle.
We didn’t talk about that night ever again,
But I had a hundred unanswered questions. 
There were no souvenirs,
And no tall tales from the moon.
I was told to forget that night, 
But I never forgot. 
For years the memory still replays in a corner of my subconscious,
Being the middle,
And your fragile smile.
Why did you do what you did that night?
Why was I forced to choose sides?
Why did you smile when you left us?
The blue aliens, 
They took you, 
From us.
You can’t expect us to forget,
Because I remember everything that night,
Everything you did still haunts me today.
You didn’t go to space that night,
Nor were there any blue aliens,
Or a flying space ship.
Dad, what if I told you I know,
The abuse,
The 911 phone call,
They were police officers for God’s sake!
A police car,
You were arrested that night,
The handcuffs,
And that smile.
Why were you smiling?
I know we bailed you out of jail!  
But how can I forget?
How can I forget what you did Dad?
Is it really that easy?
To forget?
It’s tormented me for years, 
And it continues to haunt me.
I’m permanently damaged!
You are my ghost,
That never fails to scare me when I’m around you.
I’ll always carry that memory,
And you’ll always carry that smile.

Copyright © Farzeen Rashid | Year Posted 2020

Details | Farzeen Rashid Poem

COVID-19 And My Inevitable Heart


We’re farther away than ever before,
Our hearts were attached, now split form the core.

A virus hugged you tighter than I ever did,
Why didn’t I say bye before we were forbid?  

Strangely I thought I would never say,
I miss the good ol’ school hallways.

Homeschooling, online assignments, and open book tests,
Burden, muddled sleep schedule, a quarantine mess!

The four walls of our house is our barricade,
From the outside world we left behind so afraid.

Sometimes I begin to stop and wonder, will I ever be able to see you again? 
It’s unpredictable, the roaring 20s and their ceaseless games every now and then. 

Each month seems to unfold a new bewildered mystery, 
But when will this year bring happy news to please history? 

Two months gone, oh what joy! It’s been as long as summer break! 
At least we got early mornings with honey glazed pancakes. 

Underneath a layer of mixed resentment and bliss, 
I’m scared, confused, and tense about life and all of this.

I wake up to risen death rates, the hospitalized, and the terminally ill. 
First Australia was on fire, World War 3, its only going downhill.  

What about the awards ceremony and my driver’s license? Long overdue. 
Will I still be able to take science AP classes or will that be withdrew? 

It’s surely not fair for all the graduating classes of 2020. 
Imagine waiting twelve years for a diploma and leaving without any. 

So I might have once said 2019 was terrible, 
But I’m sorry! Take me back! At least it was bearable! 

Though these may be very bizarre times indeed,
Try to distract yourself, grab a book and read!  

We are getting there, oh yeah you heard me, we are certainly getting there! 
We can get through this, just have faith and agony will diminish, I swear! 

Just keep chanting “we’re all in this together!” or something, 
Zac Efron assuredly didn’t sing that for nothing!

Though our fingers might not interlock, 
Our hearts are tied with a single knot.

I can still see you,
When you’re not around.

I can still feel you,
When miles apart.

A virus might put distance
But never in the heart. 

Copyright © Farzeen Rashid | Year Posted 2020

Details | Farzeen Rashid Poem


Im ostensibly merry,
But beneath the disguise,
I am divided and bare.
Craving the sweet relief of death,
Because nothing I do seems to fill the hungry belly of an overbearing culture.
I laugh to distract myself from the tornado inside.
They’re my family. 
You mock my misery,
Ridicule the bottled emotions I may have unwittingly spilt,
Degrade my emotions in front of the people I conceal hatred for.
A daughter of secrecy and bandaged ache, you question why?
Take a glimpse inside the domestic life. 
Squabbling, sobbing, silence, smiles, repeat. 
A place of stigmatizing mental illness,
The children, baffled of how to open up about feelings because if we did,
All we’d get is a slap on the face.
When I was bullied,
I longed for help.
But all I got from you was “tell the teacher.”
But father!
What you don’t understand is,
These 21st century kids, 
They don’t give a f***!
Bullying is worse than ever before,
And you wouldn’t know because you never experienced it,
Nor know it exists.
I can’t just tell the teacher, 
Because these teachers you ask?
They don’t give a f***!
They tell you “bullying kills” but won’t send assistance to the hushed suicidal kid in class.
They’ll ship you to the counsellor so they can purge their burden,
But won’t stop the kids who are causing you strain.
Mom and Dad,
What you don’t understands is that,
They persist to praise the popular kid who bullied you,
Even after you discharge of emotion.
Nothing changes.
I learned the hard way that they don’t ever learn their lesson. 
Only you do, 
That you should never address bullying to a teacher, because like I said,
They don’t give a f***!
High school here is different from an all girls school in Pakistan, Mom.
Boys are jerks and dreadfully heartless.
This loathsome school is not what it was like 35 years ago, why?
Because it didn’t exist,
And time alters everything.
I can’t leave you because I need you.
Every time you hug me I cry from the pit of my heart,
I can’t help but feel condemned of my feelings.
I love you,
But I just can’t explain to you,
How I really feel.
I open up.
And you tell me I’m an ******* and you can’t feel sorry for me.
You tell me I don’t have social anxiety and neglect my symptoms,
You tell me I’m just stupid.
You tell me you hate me.
I cry out an eternal river of tears and with tears I am writing this,
Here in the open,
Where the commonly sharp can’t see.
Nobody cares,
Not even my once faithful companion that I called my brother. 
I loved you before and thought of you as my one best friend that I could pour my heart out to.
Now that we’re not kids and third grade homework isn’t the heaviest stress load we have,
Why have you abandoned me?
But I have to say that I hate you because now I bottle my emotions up.
I can’t tell you anything without you telling me I’m stupid,
Judging me,
Telling me my feelings aren’t valid.
What happened to my once faithful companion? 
I’m an *** if I don’t open up and I’m an *** if I share my feelings.
I’m not selfish, believe me!
I’m misunderstood and was made to feel alienated since third grade,
But you don’t understand that because you’re a boy,
And boys are invariably praised here.
Girls have a million expectations they’re required to meet,
Yet they’re still condemned and considered a burden,
And boys do nothing but sit on the couch all day watching YouTube and are praised and adored endlessly?
Every family member I once loved ended up becoming deadly fumes to me. 
My cousin, once a girl of magic.
The girl I would go to with all my dilemma that would vanish temporarily with her presence is now someone I get distressed around. 
My brother, I thought the funniest boy in the world,
Who I could easily laugh with,
My pill for joy,
Is now someone I avoid conversing with because our mentality and outlook contradict one another,
He who would listen to anyone and believe their credibility,
But would be ****** if I insert my sentiments.
I have a never ending sympathy in my heart for my parents because they’re both weeping for help on the inside,
Attempting to escape from their dreadful past. 
I’m a daughter and forced to take sides,
But I belong to both.
You’ve left me confused and afraid,
I can’t seem to bring myself to choose because deep down,
I love both.
I can’t help but cry when you tell me one is better than the other, 
Why one is lying,
And why I am just a replica of the terrible one.
I can’t help but die on the inside,
I lose a part of myself when family is brought up in a conversation.
I once loved my family,
But now I don’t know.
I’m confused.
We are so unlike other families and I’m tired of comparing us to the impeccable families out there.
When they say family is forever,
Should I believe them or should I continue with my doubt.
Because I’m aware,
The blood is forever,
But the bond is fragile and can easily break,
And it’s breaking.

Copyright © Farzeen Rashid | Year Posted 2020

Details | Farzeen Rashid Poem

Anonymous Grief

A lonesome girl,
 Cursed by life.
 Her eyes veil mysteries,
 And she maliciously grips a knife.
 Her aggression in the form of a knife,
 Lay by her at the hush of night.
 The gruesome darkness at witching hour,
 Casts a spell of overdosing devour.
 A swamp of her own apprehensive emotions,
 Like a wordlessly wild, deserted ocean.
 The cascade of satisfaction under every breath.
 While viciously planning a sudden death.
 They spat at her face and told her she's worthless,
 Didn't they know that she's been down feeling hopeless?
 They made her existence an eternal hell,
 And eventually down this rabbit hole she fell.
 A knife, fiercely sharp like her majestic mind.
 Her wrist, delicately fragile like her heart; hideously blind.
 She hears the sirens of her heart,
 Her veins bleed ink, and everything falls apart.
 Her thoughts resemble a psychotic,
 One cut wasn't enough, oh how so idiotic!
 Her soul shrieks for sweet sympathy,
 Every uttered word breaks down in a howl dizzily.
 Her pain is freed,
 She watches herself bleed,
 Her heart stops its beating rhythm, so oddly.
 Her melancholy soul leaves her wounded body.
 She quit her life,
 By a kitchen knife.
 Another suicide down in history,
 And her name still remains a mystery.

Copyright © Farzeen Rashid | Year Posted 2020

Details | Farzeen Rashid Poem

The Power Of Words

Jittery palms,
 And her trembling cry.
 Dynamite bombs,
 Buried in her mind.
 Her name is called amongst dozens,
 A face of panic and blazing flares,
 Heads spiral the classroom buzzing,
 A still nightmare of alien stares.
 A room of baffled strangers,
 Oblivious of her brilliant whiz.
 Of judgmental teenagers,
 She overlooks who she is.
 Secretly an unknown prodigy.
 Her dreams, only a mirage under the desert sky.
 Words strike grimmer than poison ivy.
 Her insecurities shatter her spirit, bull’s eye!
 Her limbs mutate to noodles,
 Her arms, spaghetti, as she fumbles with her script.
 Standing in front of oodles,
 She wishes she was dead, entomb her in her crypt!
 She contains despair,
 The butterflies in her gut with their foul disease.
 They smothered her flare,
 Yet she could make a wildfire from a pure breeze.
 She begins a delicate mutter,
 They instruct her, “speak loudly!”
 She trembles and begins to stutter,
 And tears her script so proudly.
 Her words, released,
 Like a beautiful carol.
 Her tongue, unleashed,
 Spread strings of words so rural.
 A melodious harmony,
 Of magnificently tied words.
 A sacred message certainly,
 Spoken from a humanly bird.
 She retreats to reality,
 Her words have been a discovery, witnessed.
 Once brainless faces of thirty,
 Are now a serene painting of interest.
 She silently parades back to her seat,
 Long ago, alien eyeballs.
 Now praise from the bookworm to the athlete,
 And strayed eyes in the school halls.
 Her life, regifted,
 She was of songbirds.
 Destiny, shifted,
 The power of words.

Copyright © Farzeen Rashid | Year Posted 2020

Details | Farzeen Rashid Poem

Society Is Dying

Society is dying.
 Frantically chasing trends.
 Western beauty codes,
 A seclusive chaos.
 No diversification.
 Initiating an identical demeanour,
 Endeavouring to embrace imitation.
 Artificial beauty.
 Milky skin,
 Sapphire eyes,
 Slender physique,
 And blind followers.
 How can a counterfeit being,
 Inhabit authentic beauty?
 This is society.
 We learn to accept the clone,
 Yet reject the exclusive.
 The manufactured beauty,
 And the forged duplicates,  
 Cloak conspicuous insecurities,
 This judgmental society permitted us.
 We yearn to fit in.
 Some are fortunate.
 Masked replicas,
 Conceal misplaced beauties.
 Some are unfortunate.
 The offbeat,
 The secluded gems.
 When you crave to be a conventional Sarah,
 Bear in mind,
 You are uniquely radiant,
 Whether you believe it or not.
 Don’t be that girl.
 This is your life.
 Don’t live someone else’s.
 A repeated sequence,
 Has no value.
 Don’t linger your life like it’s a sequel to the primitive film,
 Pursue your life like it’s the revolutionary novel,
 Where you’re the initial author,
 Decisions planted upon your creativity,
 And everything is your design.
 Society is dying.

Copyright © Farzeen Rashid | Year Posted 2020

Details | Farzeen Rashid Poem

16 Candles Part 2

Friendship is a game, how can I escape a toxic friend? 
I’m being used, but somehow shes manages to make amends. 
First an innocent gesture, followed by a rude remark. 
Bashing my weaknesses and embarrassing my test mark. 

Walking down the school hallway is a fashion show display of my insecurities.
Suddenly I feel everyone staring at my face, my body, my hijab, I freeze. 
My differences are like the scent of crushed cumins, they can’t leave me. 
Don’t draw attention to myself, fit in! I must become the bully! 

Throw on the same clothes they are wearing! 
The same shoes they own, and start swearing! 
For I can’t be seen as an original, 
Only a clone, not an individual. 

Throw it away, your originality, 
Your colours, and become the normality. 
Learn to conform to society’s way of living, 
Unless you want to be nothing but brightly hidden. 

How is she so pretty, so effortlessly perfect? 
Why don’t I look like her? She receives so much respect! 
Why cant I be perfect? Why can’t I be enough?
But I’m only human, and so is she, I’m only strong because I have to be.

I’m dreaming about my 10th grade crush while I’m on the school bus, 
Fantasizing things that will never happen, I wish I had the guts! 
I feel foolishly youthful and bare,
A life behind me, and so much to spare. 

I stay awake counting seconds till it’s 3 am, 
Laying in my bed amongst emotional mayhem. 
My empty mind rekindles my regrets whilst burning. 
I wonder if it’s worth waking up in the morning.

My parents can’t seem to understand my emotions, 
It’s the same with my brother, I’m completely broken. 
How can I spill these difficult feelings, 
If no one here believes they have meaning? 

No one is willing to listen to my story, 
Too afraid to step inside my territory. 
I’m a lonely wanderer in this galaxy, 
My head hung low, no real friends or family. 

Being 16 isn’t about the unrealistic paradise of adolescence, 
It’s not about eternal happiness, a cute boyfriend, and a gazillion friendships,
It’s about all the nights you’d cry yourself to sleep amongst an internal tsunami, 
And learning to accept the original masterpiece and not the printed copy.

16 years of life,
And 16 years of the bittersweet. 
Decades left to discover,
And 16 years to cherish. 

16 candles and counting.

Copyright © Farzeen Rashid | Year Posted 2020

Details | Farzeen Rashid Poem


I’m crying out for help and no one seems to notice, 
Nothing but my flaws and erratic mistakes.
When he is in chaos and a single tear drop caresses his cheek,
They all seem to scamper after him.
But when I display the lion’s share of tears,
They tell me to shed more,
And that my tears mean nothing to them.
They tell me my work isn’t applauded,
And whatever I do, nothing will change. 
They tell me I don’t matter, 
That they couldn’t feel gratified about me
I’m not doing drugs, partying, or smoking.
A millions times less problematic,
And still not enough?
I can’t stand the fact that my life orbits around a planet of satisfying my family and cultural conducts.
I can’t stand having to lie to my friends about about going to a birthday party because I wasn’t given approval.
I’m a daughter but not my own person.
How can I resist comparing my family to other families when I feel all alone?
I can’t see anyone in my life going through what I go through so I resist telling anyone how I feel.
They mistaken my tortured tears for sickening snot.
They offer him a glass of water but for me not even a tissue.
Why did you move to Canada if you don’t know what it will be like for your children to grow up here?
Second generation Canadians are two clashing children on a teeter-totter,
Attempting to live up to both worlds.
Why is nobody talking about this?
For God’s sake,
Break the stigma!
Oh break it apart,
Let your voice echo!
For the dying girl,
Save the dying girl!
Why does it seem like I’m all alone?
Your tears don’t concern me anymore, because when I was shrieking for your tender loving care and comfort to talk about my mental state,
You ignored it. 
Mistaken for the melodramatic and furious girl.
You deserve the treatment you gave me.
The melodramatic and furious boy.

Copyright © Farzeen Rashid | Year Posted 2020

Details | Farzeen Rashid Poem

Miss Misfit

Miss Misfit
Freakish, fearless, faithful, Farzeen. 
Clever, diligent, organized, creative. 
Who is able to make her friends smile like delightful daylight on a mournful, morbid, morning, her family howl hysterically on road trips to Chicken World, solve a math equation as quick as the peregrine falcon, make embroidered frames, brilliantly vibrant like glaring streetlights in the dark, dim night, and create joy. 
Who loves making crochet clutch purses and DIY wall decor, painting majestic scenarios hung up on her bedroom walls, homemade biryani, who could forget kabuli pulao, and the songbirds of joy. 
Who fears the dread of classroom presentations, the humiliation of academic failure, the judgment of this subjected society, oh her heart, racing as it screams to be heard, but never joy. 
Who feels content enclosed by the 4 walls of her sweet, sweet home, at peace baking coffee cake in the kitchen at 2 pm, empty when missing a kindergarten bestie or a faded childhood memory from Pakistan, misplaced and consumed by the routine, traditional life, attempting to escape and discover the true beauty of this lifetime, and a whimsical joy. 
Who wonders how it all started, this life we so effortlessly waste, what would occur if her ground was seized and her destiny diseased, what is yet to come, an unforeseen thunderstorm, or a sunlit day gladdening the spirits from above, and where it all went, her childhood joy. 
Who dreams of touring soaring waterfalls, remarkable ruins, swimming in the turquoise sea of the Maldives, watching the radiating sunset in Santorini Greece, obtaining a reckless career as a family doctor, and joy. 
Reckless, remarkable, rare, Rashid.

Copyright © Farzeen Rashid | Year Posted 2020