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The writer in me

The writer in me,
nurtured at an early age
but silenced in its prime
by country-hopping, teaching, and babies
—an occasional gasp for air
its only reprieve from slow suffocation—
longs to speak again.

I've so much to say, it tells me,
but you haven't been listening.

Don't hold me back, it says
by shopping, cooking, and lame excuses.

Let me go, it says; let me speak.
Ya Allah, strengthen my voice.

(July 2018)

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