THE GIRL THAT SAID INSHALLAH: BEAUTY
By Maysa Saadeddin
I see beauty, am I the only one
I see beauty in the patterns that show
I see the beauty in what I learn from
Did it make me a better writer
A better artist
A better person
Will I continue to see the beauty?
Inshallah
I see beauty in the patterns that show
I see the beauty in what I learn from
Did it make me a better writer
A better artist
A better person
Will I continue to see the beauty?
Inshallah
The supposedly non-guilty men left the courtroom with smiles, as I sat with the bloody petals in my hand. The only evidence I had, surrounded by the same eyes, the same bias.
“You’re trying to make your family look good, trying to play the victim, you should be ashamed.”
“Your putting everyone through so much pain just for yourself.”
As time forwards the terrifying memory never leaves my mind. However these memories show in my art. Do the patterns show beauty or tragedy? I can’t control it anymore. I can’t control the movement of my brush or my pencil. I can’t control the words I write, they all come naturally, I keep wondering where this strong force comes from. It comes from the memories, the good and bad. I’m not able to fight the memories or fight the past; it took over my body.
The bloody petals appear as I draw, to remind me of the fragile me, the weak. To overcome this, I put on recently bloomed flowers on my head to create a hijab, on my body to create a dress. These flowers come with new friends, a new environment. Will it be better? I will take the chance, to see if I’m truly not as lonely as I think.
“You’re trying to make your family look good, trying to play the victim, you should be ashamed.”
“Your putting everyone through so much pain just for yourself.”
As time forwards the terrifying memory never leaves my mind. However these memories show in my art. Do the patterns show beauty or tragedy? I can’t control it anymore. I can’t control the movement of my brush or my pencil. I can’t control the words I write, they all come naturally, I keep wondering where this strong force comes from. It comes from the memories, the good and bad. I’m not able to fight the memories or fight the past; it took over my body.
The bloody petals appear as I draw, to remind me of the fragile me, the weak. To overcome this, I put on recently bloomed flowers on my head to create a hijab, on my body to create a dress. These flowers come with new friends, a new environment. Will it be better? I will take the chance, to see if I’m truly not as lonely as I think.
