I should be cold but I am as warm as his blood as if it has found space to stream through my density. He clenches me tightly as if he is attempting to break me, as if he belives he could do that very thing with passion alone. But I am as his spirit: too hardened to break. I have seen many things as I lay on the roadside before he found me and for these things I have seen he has come to me, to use me as his last defense, his only hope. He has no one left in the world, and perhaps he clenches me so tightly becuase when I leave his palms that have aged before it was their time, so too will one of his many cares. His calloused hands are emblematic of two hardenings, inside and out. He is but a child, and he should be as smooth as I outwardly, but I fear the things we have witnessed together have left him unsanded; rough without the soothing hands of his mothers which were burried, along with my brother: the clay.

They say it is impossible to draw blood from within me, this is true. The blood lies on my surface but it is not his, it is the blood of all the people this child belives he has let down, his mother, his father… his Ummah. And this is why he throws me. Not to hurt, wound or harm but to save. Save his Ummah from opression and save himself from the guilt that he knows will plague him if he stands by and watch another do harm as I have done, motionless until he found me.

He released me and I too feel I have saved; until the next time when another boy with too many cares warms me, saves me from my idle watching and allows us both, to save.

[Basically, I write things. I have no one to share these things with, but my inspiration is you so I feel you have the right to see. Below is what my usual format will be.]

Oh Land I never knew. You we’re snatched from me, left empty, lying in wait for those who love you; claim you to tread your soil once more. You were ripped from us and left tainted stained with our blood, stains that time can’t clean from wounds that won’t even begin to heal. Stolen for a time. Do you know that I wish one day for you to bless my heels, if only one time I wish you breeze upon my face, ruffling the black cloth that my ancestors wore with such pride, before it was stripped of them leaving them shamed.
Oh Land I never knew, I am miles from and I too wait for you to hold the name that was intended for you, for you to be crowned with the flag that you once knew. I abide in hopes of a day that once again it will be raised high as a kite for the world to see.
I will know you one day becuase you are still mine; ours. I fear I have abandoned you, but I confess I had little choice but to. Will I know you dear land? Were you intended for me or the person that stold you from me?
Oh Land I may never know, I wait until my bare feet and your blood stained soil can be united and that my flesh, my bones can one day too be walked on as if I am the blood that runs through you.

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