|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
i am me, you, him, her and us.I am a man, who can't go and get a cure for his agonizing back pain, because he doesn't have enough money for a heal-insurance.
I am a girl, who only feels the razor against her skin, because that is the only way to get the pain out.
I am a baby boy, who is being abused at age one, because he is unwanted child, that his parents refuses to give him into adoption.
I am a woman, who deserves a better job and a raise, but can't have one, because she is a woman and because her bosses are chauvinist men.
I am a man, who wants to live so hard, but can't because he's kidneys and liver are about to fail, but getting a new one is quite hard for a prisoner.
I am a girl, who looks into a mirror everyday and sees herself as incredible fat, when in reality, she is starving herself to fit in society's expectations.
I am a man, who wants to help the world by donating blood, but can't because he is gay.
I am a girl, who is too tired of smiling, when all she wants to do is to give up.
I am a boy, who is
dance of a homeless man.I was walking in the streets of New Orleans.
Music came through everywhere - filling my soul.
I saw a lonely, homeless man sitting in a bench.
I sat next to him and he moved his stuff,
a radio and a cardboard box.
He looked at me,
and I asked him,
why is he sitting here?
"I use to play in a band,
but I got kick out,
my groove was too much,
I guess." He said and smiled.
He told me, how he use to play,
and make everyone smile,
and when he moved with the music,
the whole crowd moved with him.
I looked at his sad eyes,
"would you like to dance with me?"
He looked at me and smiled;
"I'd love to."
And we stepped up from the bench,
walked in the middle of the street,
and took one step,
fall into the melody.
And he smiled,
as he mumbled the lyrics,
of his old favorite song.
We sat back in the bench,
to catch a breath.
He told me about the times,
when he used to feel alive.
"You should have seen me,
I was rich and then,
I lost it all."
He told me.
"Drugs and everyt
you are strong.the only she can breathe is through the scars on her body - little cuts and bigger cuts, deep wounds and shallow wounds. each of them tells a story; "i wasn't pretty enough", "i wasn't smart enough", "i just wasn't enough".
she can't speak about her pain, not write it or even sing it. all she can do is to keep inside and try determinedly to get rid of it, but it consumes her, eats her alive. and just like that another razor blade running down on her skin, another slightly reddish wound, another deep exhale - and she feels nothing.
it doesn't get easier, better or worse. she is still there, sitting on the bathroom floor, looking down at her wound and thinking, how could she deserve all this? who lost a soul for her to suffer? who held their last tear for her to cry? how did this all happen? how did she end up here?
she stands up and faces the reflection of the mirror. tired, pale, overused, lost - so many adjectives looks back at her with empty eyes. and her shivering wrist b
truth of the old prom queen.she use to be the prom queen.
she use to be the most gorgeous of them all.
they all wanted to be or have her.
did anyone see the pain?
i read her from the magazines,
i saw her in the tv.
they told me,
she married a millionaire.
i just became a journalist,
as she became a rich and unhappy.
some point in my life,
i got to interview her.
"i tell you how i met him. i loved him from
that moment on, when he asked me; "baby, why are
you crying?" And we left from the party together
and laughed at each others jokes on the beach.
we had the time of our lives.
tell the readers, what they wanna read.
don't tell them about the make-up, that covers
the bruises. don't tell them about my regrets
and deepest shame. the shame of marrying the money,
because this old prom queen is broke and she
still had to be in the top of it all."
she said to me,
and a pretty little smile just faded away.
"my modeling wasn't enough in the couture weeks
in Paris. I wasn't enough to the people in the
how could you possibly know?you are sitting in the same cafeteria you've been sitting the past three years. everyday the same old people, the same old orders.
that woman who's sitting in the corner looking absently through the window, she's been sitting in that one place from am to pm, every single day. her eyes watches the people passing by on the crowded street outside the window. it took you three years to see the bruises and the cuts, until you realized that this cafeteria was the only place she could escape her unhappy, violent marriage.
there is that dark haired teenage girl, sitting in the chair and reading her book. you think, she likes poems, edgar allan poe and writers like that. she's always shaking this time of day and keeps looking nervously around her, trying at same time to read the words from the book in front of her. it took you three years to finally figure out, that when she was reading, she wasn't shooting drugs.
that man in the counter, he's slowly sipping his beer. he seems like a tough guy,
teacher's story.He rises from his chair to give a lesson to his students, but they are too distracted to learn anything."Can you look at me for a while?" He asks and looks at the crowd of idiots, with their phones and games. "Can you look at me for a fucking second?" He says a little louder and the swear words turns the students heads.
"Thank you." He lowers his voice.
"I should be teaching something here, but right now. I don't give shit, do you learn anything or not. No one cares. I have too much going on in my life and I don't want to teach, because I am out of subjects. I am out of words." He says and picks up the pen from his desk."I don't know, what the fuck are you doing in school, because the last thing you do here is learn. You fuck each other in the hallways, but you cannot pick up a fucking pen to write down some notes!" He yells and breaks the pen into two pieces.
"Mr. Cole, why are you so angry?" One student asks from the front row.
sneaking out to see you.when the night covered the city,
i heard rumble outside my window.
i opened it and saw her beautiful face.
like i promised.
in the middle of a night."
this is her.
this is the one,
that i dream my life with.
this is the one,
i build my life with.
this is her.
"you did know,
that this is a bad idea,
you really not suppose to be here."
i told her.
but i still came."
and i can't help smiling.
i take her hand and she climbs inside.
she sits to the bed,
"did you know,
as she tried to dried up her hair.
i sat by her,
close enough to feel her breathe,
and her heart racing.
"i really wanted to see you,
because i can't...
"you can't what?"
"...be without you.
i can barely live without you.
i really wanted to see you."
she says and blushes.
she leaned against me.
i feel her hand on my back.
and her lips against mine.
"i could do t
10-20-2010she was happy and beautiful red-head.
she loved her home and had a good grades.
she had the most perfect smile,
and eyes like an angel.
but she was lonely,
until she met a young woman,
a cheerful blonde,
with a careless hair and blue eyes.
a young woman with a wild dreams,
and heart full of love.
and after the talking they talk even more.
and when they kissed,
the ground beneath them shook.
it was love, pure love.
until the beautiful blonde's parents find out.
they kicked her out.
and red head was kicked out of her home too.
in the alley they both cried,
the bitter tears,
was washed to the drains.
the beautiful blonde couldn't take it anymore.
she went back home,
told her parents she was straight again.
they brainwashed her,
to never meet the red head again.
and the read head cried.
she cried rivers,
when her heart broke and her soul crushed.
from the pieces on the ground,
she could make anything anymore.
she didn't exist without her.
there wasn't any r
long hidden love.brunette standing on the aisle of a building.
she had a small heart and a beautiful soul,
and it all belonged to a blonde.
they had know each for years,
but never said a word to each other.
and in those speechless years,
brunette came through a weird feelings.
she believed they were called 'love'.
she tried to hide them deep inside of her heart,
but it was too small to keep those huge feelings as a secret.
every time she saw the blonde,
she felt she could burst into tears,
blonde was so beautiful.
one day on a lunch break brunette came closer to blonde.
she looked her to the eyes,
"i need to talk to you. let's go somewhere. just you and me."
they went to a park. sat to a bench and looked each other to the eyes.
brunette felt like she could drown into the blonde's blue eyes.
they were so deep, that she could just sink and be lost forever.
"i've known you for years. years without a word.
and now i wanna tell you a one small thing."
brunette started. she felt the rush of emo
Love?She's so beautiful.
I love her just the way she is.
I shouldn't feel this love-
I'm only just a kid.
Her smile lights up my whole day.
Her eyes are brighter than the sunlight.
Her body has the perfect complexion.
She's who I think about at night.
I want to keep living, just for her.
She's about everything I've got.
I wish she felt the same way about me.
She's got me completely distraught.
My emotions for her go far too deep.
She has no idea how I want to hold her.
Without her, I'm painfully dying.
My body keeps getting colder.
When I look at her, It's impossible to look away.
She's so gorgeous, it's got me hypnotized.
When I close my eyes, all I see is her.
She's so amazing, she has me mezmorized.
I'd give her everything,
like she's the only girl.
As a matter of fact,
She's like the only person in my world.
So what I'm trying to get across,
I need her in my soul.
I want to be with her forever.
Even after we grow old.
I want her to be mine,
I'm so caught up in my emotion.
I wish I could
Some Good Islamic WebsitesHere, I'd like to share some islamic websites I found and I feel they are good and explain Islam well. if you know any good websites about Islam, feel free to comment and let me know. I think having these websites as reference for non-muslims may help them understand Islam better. after all, learning something about the others is always helpful in dealing with them :
Websites marked with are newly added.
Some General Websites about Islam:
FAQ about Islam
The Modern Reli
Islamophobia in DAFOR MUSLIMS: (Non-Muslims can also read. I have no secrets to hide )
Alright, we are in an Art community here where people express themselves through Art.
well, that's great.
we have people of different faiths and religions here in a great community.
From time to time, there are some people who, through ignorance or hate, produce something to insult Islam or represent Islam in an offensive manner that has no truth. some people try to make a bad representation of the last prophet of Islam -peace and blessings be upon him- hoping it would offend Muslims. these people believe that this is their right of free expression. well, not all people would agree about it, but this is not the issue I want to talk about.
Now it's a fact there is a bunch of people trying to spread a corrupted image of Islam. these people All have crappy art style. if I had a chimp, I am pretty sure he would draw better. but this is also not the issue.
Now these people believe that Islam is against freedom
The Voice of An Aborted ChildI was never given a name
I have a face that no one will see
I can't grow up to be whatever I want to be
I have no voice
I have a mother and a father that I have never seen
Neither of them wanted me anyway
I endured a torture no one should ever have to face
I was torn apart piece by piece
I could not fight back
I didn't ask to be conceived
But when I was I just wanted the chance to live
I am an aborted child
What did I do wrong?
Did they think they were giving me a better life?
Did they think that I was just some inconvenience?
I'm sorry if I caused you pain, mommy
I would have liked to see someone's face at least once or hear someone's voice
But if I had been disabled that would have been ok too
I just wanted to live
Maybe I wouldn't have liked life so much
Maybe you were trying to do what's best for me
But isn't that something I should see for myself?
Maybe they didn't tell you everything
That's ok, I'm not mad, mommy
At least I'm with Jesus now
I'm a Bad Kid and I'll SurviveI like to stick up my middle finger at you.
Relax, its a joke.
Its my twisted way of saying I love you.
And sometimes it means exactly what it means.
You'll piss me off and I'll flip it up
when you turn your back towards me and walk away.
I like to swear.
Its a way of releasing that anger that builds.
The f-bomb can be quite therapeutic if you say it a lot.
(Fuck, Fuck, Fuck)
And its not only for when i'm pissed off.
The f-bomb (and many other offensive phrases)
are a part of my everyday vocabulary,
simply such as "thats what she said."
Those jokes never get old.
I roll my eyes and make weird faces
when you say something I find to be idiotic.
Yes, I know, I know. That means I have an "attitude."
But I can't help it, really.
I let it be known when I think somebody
is talking out there ass.
I call you out.
Whomever you are. It could be anyone, really.
I just need to hear something that I feel deserves a reaction.
And then I react.
It really makes me itch
when I hear bullshit being
Knite FlierI can't see the stars tonight
Covered up by our human pollution,
Smothered with our ruthless destruction
I am a dreamer,
I have hope
I'll fly my kite
Into the lonely night
Above the smog
And put my stars in the sky
I throw my swallow into the void
The others follow
Delusions of happiness hover in the night
Bringing hope to dreamers
Call me hopeless
Call me a fool
But I know someday
I'll make things right
China's stars will shine.
Why?Why do I have to be so ugly?
why do I have to be so fat?
why am I so different?
why do I get hurt so much?
why does my family ignore me,
to the point where I want to die?
Why am I me?
I dont wanna live this life....
houseI lay one my blood stained bed
night after never ending night
i look at my arms whose blood has been shed
slashed open left and right.
no one hears these voices
no one cares to listen to my screams
no one dares give me choices
they rarely ever let me dream
I'm so lost in my anger,
my heart's some sort of disease
i put all our lives in danger
with a simple melody
no food I'd rather starve.
no air I'd rather drown
no flesh's been left un-carved
as my house crashes down.
no this isn't my home
no this isn't my family
trapped in this house i am alone
i need to find my skeleton key
that women is not my mother
nor that man my dad
that simple boy is not my brother
a family I've never had.
so I'll lie awake
and I'll regret every breath
there's not much more i can take
because I've got nothing left
i cant wait it out any longer
i cant stand another year
as i grow weak they grow stronger.
I have to find my way out of here.
Nayzak FAQAssalaaamu alaikum (peace be to you),
there are people asking me questions from time to time, so I made this FAQ about me. feel free to comment and write any question you have in mine, I'll update this journal regularly with the new questions/answers:
What's your name?
My name is Nayzak Al-Hilali.
What does Nayzak mean?
The Arabic name Nayzak means Meteor.
Where are you from/Where do you live?
I am from somewhere on planet Earth.
why you don't like to tell where you are from/Where do you live?
Most today's countries and borders are set by the western occupation started in the 19th century. why should we follow it and let it divide us? "nationality" concept divides people instead of uniting them... in Islam, all people are just one nation. so my origin is of no importance.
Besides, revealing my origin may affect the way people perceive my work
a box.i hate this box i'm living in.
i hate it's every black and white wall.
i hate it so much.
this box was so much bigger,
but since the day, that i realized,
i was in this box, it has become smaller.
second after second,
it becomes harder to breathe.
i can't be myself,
and nobody sees it,
because nobody has to see it.
just sweep it under the mat,
and just smile, when they ask;
"what is wrong with that?"
i don't want a diagnosis about the fact,
that they think of passing moment in life.
i don't want a diagnosis about myself,
about the part of myself,
that nobody understands.
they all have hard times in their life.
can i have that time too?
i have a hidden side of myself,
that no one understands and seems to dislike.
nobody says it out loud,
just guessing and pushing away.
i'm not straight, i'm half gay.
and everything is so fucked up,
because no one understands.
Keep in Touch!