Poetry

A Constellation of Me

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I fold cycles into stars:

dim; bright.

I hang them boldly

in the shape of me:

a constellation in my image.

And the stargazer will look

and he will say

‘Oh how divine! A majestic collection of misery’

I don’t make birthday wishes, I make birthday reevaluation. I consider the changes I’ve made in the past year and quantify the gains and losses: most times than not the scale have tipped in favor of loss. Year after year I promise myself ‘This is your year Hafsah’ but year after year it never is.
This year I started a new birthday tradition: pride. This year I decided to be proud of myself for everything I did and everything that was done to me. I reveled in the blessings and curses of the past year, I embraced all the scars and all the kisses, welcomed the monsters with the angels and i displayed my pain alongside my joy, I completely and with exhilaration emptied myself and I can say with absolute conviction that this year is my year. Not because something amazing is going to happen but because something incredible has happened: I am here.

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