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Hayat Ahmad Poem
I was told my life was set in stone.
That my fate was written.
That the ink was drying.
My demise,
My flaw,
My fatal traits.
I'm aware of it all.
How I'm meant to be,
To live my life a certain way.
They all believe the same.
Because my fate is written,
They believe my story is finished.
That it'll be like all the others.
But I refuse.
So,
To those writing my story,
Today,
I will smudge the ink.
And if the sky falls,
Then let it fall while I laugh,
While I live.
This heartbeat was given to me on loan,
And I plan to spend it.
This body is only temporary,
But the moments?
The memories?
Those are forever.
So don't forget me,
When I laugh too loud,
Or run a little wild.
I refuse to live quietly.
Chase your dreams,
Run to the ends,
Untill the sky cracks apart for you.
Grab at life,
Hold it tight,
Wrap it in both arms.
Never let go.
Be who you want to be.
How you want to be.
Grab that pen,
Write your story.
Don't become a ghost
That only remembers the living.
Copyright © hayat ahmad | Year Posted 2026
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Hayat Ahmad Poem
I'm stuck.
I have this urge,
this really deep urge in my bones,
to write.
Something poetic.
But nothing sounds good.
Not even the free verse,
and I know what I want this piece to sound like,
But the words won't bend to match the noise.
And I have all this inspiration that's just stuck,
Like some bird in a cage in my chest.
And I don't know how to unlock that cage.
And when I manage,
I just,
I don't know where to start and I get lost.
It's like all this world building,
and inspiration and,
creativity just dies.
And the pen won't move.
And I'm stuck with a blank page.
It's...
Majestic.
I suppose,
It's like poetry if it was a sound,
It's slow and marching
But it picks up
And it's like..
When the clouds part in this circle
And light filters through,
Like in movies.
And it's this nostalgic feeling
That makes you want to follow along.
Like you're watching something progress,
from a crawl to a run.
And I try to let go of it,
But it drags me deeper.
And I know I'm trying too hard,
but it doesn't seem like it it'll come out if I stop anyways,
And i know i want it so badly.
I want it to decorate my blank page
And give meaning to my pen.
Copyright © hayat ahmad | Year Posted 2026
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Hayat Ahmad Poem
I love writing.
Books,
Poetry,
I love it all.
A way to express.
Write out emotions.
Ones I dont even know the names of.
I don't know how to feel them.
But i know i feel them.
And all I can do is write.
And I hope that,
Eventually,
Someone will understand.
That I'm not alone.
That another person feels the same.
That my words resonate with another being.
Sometimes when I write,
I giggle at my words,
Or tears begin to block my view.
Because I'm writing.
And I'm spilling my guts.
And my feelings.
And I'm not sure what they are.
But they're deep.
And they're real.
And they're raw.
But they're useless.
Because no one but me sees these.
Copyright © hayat ahmad | Year Posted 2026
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Hayat Ahmad Poem
Ego and pride.
Consciousness and insecurity.
Why must they clash?
Everytime I think.
I have the ego to believe myself.
I have the pride to defend myself.
I'm loud.
And I am proud.
And everyone should hear me.
I've got it all.
Nothing is out of reach.
But then why must consciousness exist?
Why must it whisper?
Am I too loud?
Is my voice hiding all the others?
And then insecurity burns.
It's like a fire.
A rabid bird in a cage.
Do you free it?
Insecurity holds me back.
Keeps me from talking.
From moving.
Where is pride?
Where is ego?
Copyright © hayat ahmad | Year Posted 2026
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Hayat Ahmad Poem
Words.
They don't.
Come up.
Struggle.
My words.
What I want.
I know.
To tell you?
How?
Not right.
You.
Understand?
Misinterprete?
Please don't.
Too hard.
Words.
Copyright © hayat ahmad | Year Posted 2026
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Hayat Ahmad Poem
Take a sip.
It's bitter.
It's warm.
It burns my tongue.
Another sip?
No.
No, I don't like it.
Even if it fills me with newfound energy.
I'll push through.
But what's this?
The same thing?
But it's sweet?
But it's flavoured?
But it's colourful?
But it looks so nice.
Take a sip.
It's sweet.
It's cold.
It soothes my senses.
Another sip?
Yes.
Yes, I love it.
It fills me with that energy.
It's addictive.
Another bottle?
Another can?
Another brand?
Another?
Please.
It's starting to make me hazy.
It's starting to make me dizzy.
Do I take more?
Do I drink more?
It can't be the cause.
No, it has to be the cure.
It made me feel euphoric the first time.
Surely it'll do the same now.
I'm getting sick.
I'm getting tired.
It's going dark.
My thoughts,
No,
Everything is starting to blur.
Another sip can't hurt.
Copyright © hayat ahmad | Year Posted 2026
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Hayat Ahmad Poem
Now this may sound cliche.
It may sound like everything else you've ever read.
But you don't understand the fear a woman feels.
Not unless you are a women.
You won't understand the fear.
The fear of words losing meaning.
The fear of words being drowned out.
The fear of words being ignored.
You won't understand the fear.
The fear of a hand travelling where it shouldn't.
The fear of a hand resting on you.
The fear of a hand squeezing you.
And do you know what's worse?
The knowledge it doesn't have to be a stranger.
The knowledge it could be your closest friend.
The knowledge it could be anyone
That the eyes roaming your body ignored the word stop.
That the eyes undressing your body don't care.
That the eyes don't care for your weight.
They don't care for your clothes.
How you dressed up that night.
How you decided if your hair looked good up or down that morning.
They don't know how you struggled to find a good lipstick that evening.
They just think you're the whole meal.
Free of charge, no need to ask.
Their lips don't care for your gender.
Their lips don't care for your sobs.
Their lips don't care if you want them there.
So when you say you understand our fear,
You don't.
Not unless you've felt hands grab at you,
And a weight settle on you,
And your words turn useless,
And it doesn't matter anymore.
Copyright © hayat ahmad | Year Posted 2026
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Details |
Hayat Ahmad Poem
Write.
What do I write?
Anything.
Okay.
"He fought. "
Make it detailed.
Okay, fair.
I'll fix it.
"His fist collided with the man. "
How about this?
Boring.
Where's the detail?
Okay.
I'll edit it.
"His fingers curled at his sides before he lifted his arm and threw a punch. "
Okay.
It's longer.
It looks detailed.
Will they like this?
Ew.
Why is he fighting?
He should be a romantic.
Fighters are overrated.
Okay..
Scrap that.
Again.
"He kissed her. "
Better?
I've changed it all.
No punches,
No fights.
He's a romantic,
Trying to get a kiss,
Yeah?
Ew.
Too boring.
Where's the detail?
Okay...
I'll add more.
"His fingers brushed against her cheek, cupping her face as he pressed his lips against hers. "
There.
It has to be perfect now.
Right?
Ugh.
It's like every other romantic scene.
Now what?
Make it spicey!
How?
I dont know.
You're the writer.
You should know how to write a scene like this.
I should?
Why can't you just write it?
I'm not a writer.
You are.
I give up.
I can't write.
Not what they want.
And if they don't like it,
Who will?
I can't write.
No more editting.
I'll just scrap everything.
Everything I have.
Copyright © hayat ahmad | Year Posted 2026
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