Details |
Mariam Boumarafi Poem
i feel like an empty jar,
waiting,
just for one thing.
to be filled.
i try to distract myself,
to fill the empty space,
however,
it’s almost like there’s a leak in the jar.
each effort to fill the jar,
becomes a brief moment of relief,
slipping through the cracks,
leaving me hollow,
wondering if anything can truly fill my jar
i search for the sealant,
something to fill the cracks,
but nothing feels sufficient.
leaving me with the same feeling as before,
a jar that can’t be filled.
Copyright © mariam boumarafi | Year Posted 2025
|
Details |
Mariam Boumarafi Poem
Trigger Warning: This poem deals with themes of self-harm. Please read with care.
--
my skin felt like a blank canvas
every time they faded.
i felt empty
my urges unsatisfied.
i had to give in;
just one time,
i told myself again.
i marked the canvas
angry veins of crimson swiped along the pale surface;
each stroke with more intent than the last.
the canvas wasn’t blank anymore;
it was tainted by my own scars.
i did this to myself.
the weight of my own hands agreed.
i panicked as i felt my arms sting,
was this an artist’s masterpiece or a crime scene?
i was always punished for such taboo actions,
why did i keep trying to hide what was branded onto the canvas,
always there, only able to be concealed.
even as temperatures rose, my sleeves became my bandages,
the summer sun never did see my arms.
Copyright © mariam boumarafi | Year Posted 2025
|