33
I am in love,
Without you
Infatuated with a thought
Born and raised within fiction
I am in love with a story
As a writer should be
23
Even roses are cursed,
Imprisoned by thorns
Made out of their own skin
How can we not be?
When our veins run with sin
9
For these words to rhyme
A part of me must die
My lungs must be filled with poison
My blood with ashes
And my lips with the taste of your skin
2
When love lives,
Thrives beneath the skin of a woman
Choices are easier to make
Your vision is clearer
Love becomes nothing but a math equation
A calculation of moments, laughter and tears
One I will continue to explore anew
But when the odds are low
I’d rather break my own heart
Than have it broken by you
63
I smell of you,
Of love,
Lust and doubt
I smell of life,
Evergreen forests and imperfection
Meryem Ouelfatmi is an aspiring writer and a master student majoring in Language, Communication and Society at University Sidi Ben Abdullah, Fez, Morocco.