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.