I hereby publicly denounce jihadis, extremists, radicals, and scapegoats

I hereby publicly denounce jihadis, extremists, radicals, and scapegoats.

I started a new blog over at mariamunir.wordpress.com, which will be for less personal posts about politics and the like. Feel free to head on over and see this post I wrote about recent moves to make Muslims publicly condemn jihad, or face suspicion.

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Forgetting Time

Screams line my mask.

Eyes clouded, milky-white with confusion,

Traces of yesterday –  timeless on my lips,

Utterances of sin and blasphemy –


Bloodstains creep up the neck,

Mirrors tell no lies, they tell nothing, but

Silent observations of your unraveling and saddening


Forget time.

It already forgot you.

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Things I never wanted

They started talking about marriage, and for the record, I do not want anything they are offering me ever. I don’t care who they pick; I am not marrying them.
No, I want to live my life freely and do the things I wanted without fear of emotional or physical retribution.
I want to be free to breathe and smile at people without knowing I’ll face interrogations when I come home.
I want to be free to choose a partner who will support me rather than hold me back.

I confirm that I do not, under ANY circumstances, want what they are offering me. This blog shall serve as a diary of sorts from now on so that I can mark any worrying signs. E.g. my mother is talking about moving to Saudi Arabia, my dad is repeatedly talking about “izzat” (family respect and stuff). They will emotionally blackmail me if they need to, which they do every day anyway, along with death threats. YAY. I’m so exhausted. If they find this blog and figure out it’s me, then I’m dead meat. If they knew what I’ve been up to in terms of who I have told, I’d be even more dead meat.

Please, if I say narwhal on here, that means you need to help me. Please, please, please, make sure your friends are happy and that people aren’t just lying about life. Save them.

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Portrait of the living

Specks of dust, encrusted crown-

Portrait of the living with

My head upon your knee, so that I may be forgiven.

Jewels tumble to your feet, aqua blue with being strangled

And entangled in your ring-less fingers’ greedy grasp.

I breathe golden embers, glowing and pulsing

Infatuated with the drug that presents a gift for me to bear.

Upon my shoulders, the weight of a heavy silence

My head throbbing with echoes of stories, times, places, dreams

Frozen solid like oil, waxing and waning in short bursts

Rhythms pounding with desperation.

Classical opera ringing in my ears like a dainty bell

Time for tea, dinner, breakfast, lunch, tea.

A gentle sip is all I need; just one intake of that perfume.

Slender wrists for eyes, glinting cloak for hair

Ebony musk for breath and poppies for blood.

Gentle swaying of a breeze, I feel it in my fingertips

Kissing them so lightly, grazing my face and lips

And it slides over my body and I’m adrift

Sailing through my mind with nothing but an empty casket.

I am ever so lethargic.


Stretch deep and feel.

Feel it slipping away.

Live it.

Live a warm, dizzying feeling of calmness.

Be the lamb who settles down.

Breathe out.

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A hasty return

Sometimes I remark at how foreign I seem to myself. I look down at my body and I see folds of skin marked “brown”, the gentle dips of pores dotted over my hands, and the width of my thighs as a frame.

I haven’t written on this blog for a while. I know I say that a lot, but like life, my posts have troughs and peaks. Though, I would hasten to call this a peak, so to speak.

It seems remarkable, in fact, that I should look at my posts and chuckle at the girl who wrote those words with tears in her eyes, looking at the door constantly in case someone should walk through and smash into her life with a word-shattering force, rendering her mute. It also seems remarkable that the girl in question is a past version of me, for I have no empathy with what she mused.

That girl is dead. She’s dead to me.

You might find such a statement curious. But the fact of the matter is that I am increasingly prone to forgetting who I am. These things come in cycles, and I do not recognise “myself”. It is not even frightening anymore. It’s just a fact of my so-called life.

My posts might start to be erratic. I might seem gloriously dark and gloomy one day, and then absolutely vile as a person the next. Then an hour later I might be the sun shining over mountains yelling at people to wake up and enjoy the view; that is, the sunrise.

Overall, I encourage you to ignore me. I always like abrupt endings. Now I’m getting distracted. I forget about the reader but then, this isn’t so much for you as it is for some function of me, is it? Hello people who know me, goodbye those who don’t.

Au revoir.

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Looking for silence.

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I have this friend who likes to

Stab me in the back and

Shake me.

Shake out all the bad blood so that I can 

Twist on the blade and dance

To sing-song remedies and

Blunt-edged melodies.


This friend will lick my neck and

Kiss my brow until

I’m lathered in moist drops of


Ears bleed from constant chitter

Chatter in my head like a nutcracker

Dim buzzing on-and-on-and



I can’t stress enough-

We’re just friends.


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