Losing Count

Don’t want to go back

Don’t want to go back

Don’t want to go back


So, stay.


But I don’t want to be here either


I want to be where I can’t


I want what I can’t have

I want the air to smell sweet

To come home and feel like it is worthy of its name


I want my life to start


I want my mom.

I miss my mom.


I want to feel important.


I don’t want to feel alone anymore

I don’t want to be alone anymore


I want to hug people not toys


Everything is not all right.


I am not all right

I am not OK

I am not anything


I am nothing.


I am damaged

I am my problems


I am anywhere but here and now

Not wanting to die

But not wanting to live either



to run. Wanting

an escape. Wanting

to feel good about myself. Wanting

my calorie intake to not be the numerical representation of my self-worth. Wanting

to stop hiding from the world.


I want


the world to stop hiding from me


Well, the good parts at least.


I’m running out of steam

But never seem to be running

out of sadness.


Copyright notice:

© Zeinab Hassan Fawaz and Broken Dolls, 2016. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.


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