Image: Unsplash, downloaded https://unsplash.com/photos/9YHZ1DIT0pg (12.6.2021.)
Time
My loneliness upends me
Sends me to myself
I am only half a daughter, sister, friend, lover and neighbour
The core of my being molted
They only see what they want to see
I am unto myself what time is to humanity
I am isolated while my neighbour extrapolates numbers on a graph
I am supposed to write, what do I write about?
I exist by myself
I come home to the bitter sound of desperation
Anger and grief
I come home to myself
About the Author: Aisha Malik is an emerging writer. Her poems have been featured in 3 Moon Publishing, Dreams Walking, Sisters of Frida, The Bitchin' Kitsch and The Door Is A Jar and she has upcoming work in Pink Plastic House. She hopes to publish a book one day. She can be found on twitter @aishatweetsalot.
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