Going ‘Home’

My tongue fumbles around

Clumsily trying to speak

Your language


I trip over it

And find myself

In the ‘FOREIGNERS’ line


Queuing with my western passport

My provocative attire

And strong accent


But you have branded me

Burned your identity into me

Giving me two faces

Neither complete

Both hungry

For wholeness


A hyphenated existence

Two names

Fighting to be heard first


I walk

When all others are seated

Unsure of where I am

Where I’m supposed to be


A man screams

Telling me to choose


We’re about to land

Where’s your seat ma’am?


At baggage reclaim

I search for my red-tagged past

And throw the future

Onto my back


I am greeted by

A piece

Of a missing family


I try to say hello

But they can’t hear me

Over the rattle of happy pills

Waiting to be popped


Their eyes pry

And their hands impinge

I try to crawl into my worn out skin


Welcome home,

They say

As they make their way to leave


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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