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It blooms

Open its velvet petals

The colors burst from within

The years of melancholy and Gloom

Are over

From within Red colored

It flourishes

with time

The green leafs grow slowly

And they beautifully sprout

Like the cherry blossom I see

when I look through your window

It blooms

The spring of feelings in my heart


Am I free ?

The little me is proud now
Of the nos I can say
And the yes‘s i stand behind
The people I let go off
And the people I let it
The fear I faced
I befriended
The gift I acknowledge of
The spark within I let out
She is without a doubt
Looking at me with
An admiring big black eyes
I got out
The freedom price was high
High and drunk on the freedom
I convince myself
Am I free ?
Totally free ?

No questions

You leave no questions in mind

Answer them before I ask

It’s new

I am used to the questions

and the wondering

I wasted a lot of time in the unknown suffering



Creating stories in my head

Till I became a fictional storyteller for a non fictional life

My life

And now I don’t have to anymore

What a waste

I could have saved me a lot of

A lot of energy

what a shame

I could have become a better writer

I could have used my fantasy

The one that got drained

For stories with better endings ..

A world

I imagine a world where you become the colors you feel
I am between the chapters standing behind a lot of commas and no full point . Just gray !

Trying so hard not to go back to black
Longing for the fresh start, becoming green
the bright yellow day where your ghost no longer exists
I miss the days where I shined red and pink

How would it look like if the hidden rainbow in me came to life ..


We danced very well.. We became masters .. We moved our hips with avoidance and let the touches of anxiety everywhere on our bodies.. We danced until we bled blood flowing and tears droping on the dance floor.. Waiting for someone to declare the end of the dance I realised late that it was up to me to stop. Dance dance dance.. i set myself free … I could breath again. but I was dying inside, crying and shouting to take me back to the dance floor..

how it all started (April 26)

A couple days ago i was talking to a friend about time managment , she recommended me an application to organise my to-do lists, after downloading it i found it that i had a 4 years old account there with my to-do lists , grocery lists and two notes , it hit me hard reading them.

it was the time right before starting my therapy Journey, when i was in the middle of a toxic Friendship that pushed over the edge and had a toll on my Mental health; exactly four years ago.

i remember starting countless of blogs over the years only to not ever write in them, or forget totally about them that at some point i just gave up ever putting my thoughts out there.

Fear that someone i know would read them and the doubt that what I write wouldn’t be enough anyway , indecisiveness in which language should i write in? do i have what it takes ? i am not disiplined enough ,maybe my Grammar is not good enough ,if i exposed what i think i would be naked out there to be judged and ridiculed

what will i have left for me?

writing has always been something magical for me, i started a blog on Tumblr back in the day in 2009 and i really liked it; having someone to read my words and at the time i was all about science and school grades,i didnt allow myself to discover my creative artsy side and started making articles about science just copying articles from wikipedia and it was educational and got some attention, at the time there was a feature on tumblr called editor pages according to each topic and my blog got picked many times and at some point i could even pick other blogs and edit the science section with other bloggers.

honestly i was flattered but deep down i knew it wasn’t my work , i shouldnt be praised nor picked for anything because i only copied ; i mentioned always my sources but it wasnt original.

i knew i had things to say in my own words i just i could not allow myself to.

the thing is i started writing since i was 9-10 years old with short poems and notes here and there to get me through a troubled and strict home and a lot of confusion in the family and school.

when it felt like there is no air for me to breath at home I would just learn and read and write.

i just didnt know where to belong and what i felt or thought ,Homework and books were my refuge from everything, my safe sanctuary …

They still are but i guess after four years of therapy i can now make sense of almost everything that happened in my life and i get to tell the story.

and that’s s what i want to write about here !

Nabila 🙂