I could list a handful of things that make me who I am today. I could go on about my love for farming, photography, painting designing and music, but what led me to discovering these things was writing.
As a child, I grew up repressing certain emotions because I was afraid. I was always afraid. However, each and every time I had a pen in my hand, I felt powerful. I’d write my thoughts on my arm when paper was unavailable.
As a 20 year old, I am sure that I would have never discovered my strengths, softness and my ruthlessness without writing.
Photo credit: Felix Russell-Saw
By Daniele Farah
Guitar riffs reciting your play’s lines
They ring the neighbor’s ear like crowd cheers
Violins wheezing, portraying the decaying paint running down the oil painting, drown me
Force your heart down my throat
I’m not alive if I am loved
Spirals shot from empty water basins
Spoons of sugar bring hell to the liars
Steady the levels of righteousness that bring feathers to your rusty net
I am not the message for peace
I am barely peaceful with myself
If music will sleep against your chest
I’ll be covering your naked soul during the night
Photo credit: Hakim El Haj
By Daniele Farah
I don’t know how my words whisper themselves back to you,
I don’t know how a line of thorns melt as you look at them,
But I know the art of talking and miscommunication,
I know blades and wars,
I know your heart.
I feel clouds ripple apart, making wide open spaces for rain.
I deal with three raindrops on each cheek,
I don’t listen to the white, sheltering talking walls, I listen to dialed phone numbers while I sit.
The flickering beats blow the dying light,
They tell me to unveil treasures of lost trash lands.
I read out loud, brain and eyes, I have trouble doing so.
I am a sinister mold that formed a jail cell,
Site for the wars and catastrophes.
I am a heart of knowledge and adrenaline.
A heart of lust and desire, of fate and quiet, of roses and cascading autumn leaves.
I know a heart of fever, a heart of passion,
I know an intoxicated lover.