life poetry

  • I hate war. But what I hate even more are those who glorify war from the safety of their homes, having never seen its cost firsthand, having never felt its pain down to their bones, having never lived its wounds through their generations. — Sadia Hakim

  • Resentment— I had never known this feeling until I saw my parents hate me yet love other kids devotedly. More times than I can count, I have sat on the stairs, watching them laugh and tolerate those kids—their most vulgar language, their unbearable moves—and thought: If only they had poured this love and patience into…

  • Choosing yourself will feel like losing everyone and everything. That’s when it cuts the deepest — when you’re forced to decide between you and the world.

  • I am claustrophobic. Do you understand that? This heart is caged in this body, and this soul is buried in its darkness. Can you understand my pain? Can you hear my screams? Can you feel my suffocation? Can you know my madness? I am horribly confined. I am disgustingly limited. I am claustrophobic. Do you…

  • I will be envious if they see you in my words and poems, and God forbid if they fall in love with you. Ey gönül yoldaşım! — multilingual poems by sadia hakim

  • The ones who scream that the house is burning are called mad, while the ones who set it on fire sit on thrones built of ash. 

  • How many times must I apologize for simply existing? Somewhere along the way, I learned that my presence was something to be excused. That my voice was something to be softened. That my feelings were something to be hidden beneath layers of “I’m sorry”—as if breathing too loudly was a crime, as if needing space…

  • I think that’s the problem. Either I love too much or not at all. Either I enjoy your company or feel disgusted by every moment. I live to the extremes. I think that’s the problem. Either I dream too much or not at all. Either I crave the silence or drown in the noise. Either…

  • If I am visible, why do they treat me like a ghost? And if I am invisible, then why does this mirror reflect the light scattered by my silhouette? Even a mirror acknowledges my presence but people won’t. — Sadia Hakim // Letters Unsent Read, I am a black butterfly poem, here.

  • I wasn’t a terrifying monster—until life pressed me into its darkness and made me one. Perhaps that’s how the universe shapes its creations—under pressure.