When you are serious about starting a new relationship out of nothing you end up living with nothing; while, meanwhile you wander through thin air feeling uselessly punked.
You thought you couldn’t possibly bring me water; bring in some tea, coffee, or iced tea or coffee.
I’ve had a dream and within that dream we were referred to as; “The two girls.” Now hear me good there was Hell on earth. And on that earth, Hell was spreading thick and mean taking everything with it—non-discriminatory. It didn’t hurt; hell no, it was non-discriminatory. And so I didn’t want to get wet I skipped back and looked over my shoulder only to find a haven, but within that haven you could lay your feet safe and sound on a place where you could find nobody—else.
Ever thought about what to use for all of you sensitives who sleep & dream about the ultimate all purpose cleaner; what about baking soda, warm water, and manual scrub. What about going crazy and dash it with essential oils, lemon juice, natural soap, white vinegar, and/or what is left of your dignity.
Stranger; “I present to you Ms. Stranger.”
Me; “Wait, I thought your name was Ms. Sun G. Lasses.”
Anger management much; she’s a fine angry woman, let me tell you that.
Instagram has just took off, for a testing now, the ability to view from the viewer’s perspective how many likes a post gets; not so much of a competition of numbers now, eh. Let’s see the real matter matters—your motherfucking content.
I, now, have Instagram. @aminebatbouti
The truth is that one who wants to pass as someone else will always be off. An off beat view about the way they look. An off beat intellect about the way they sound. An off beat feeling about the way they act. An obvious and rudimentary learned social behavior which would be typical and expected of that said individual, or race; I mean there are reasons why spies are on a timed schedule.
How to spook yourself up; wake up forgetting about your last dream and have the brilliant idea to give yourself a self-reading about it. Only to find yourself a few minutes later remembering; and that also, you’ve just got a taste of its deadly accuracy.
Start. Stand by. Take a number. Wait in line. Denied. Shit pretended. Receive the cold shoulder. Shit laughed. Ignored. Shit talked. Attacked.
Fight back and leave.
Never look back.
Yesterday, the cat kept meowling back to another cat who was yowling and strolling the streets near by. She wanted them to live with us because, you know; this is a lovely home. I told her that it’s worthwhile waiting for someone nice who would have the decency to respond back to you.
In an era where family photo albums start a person’s story there aren’t any pictures of me which has started my journey.
How many times my parents tried to acknowledge, on my behalf, that my love is not reciprocated; given time of peaceful circumstances, why would a child’s love for their biological parents would ever be questioned.
I want to play with your mind. So remember when we used to fix things; just like new.
Stranger; “Can’t you use scissors.”
Me; “We use our teeth.”
The thing is, which nobody tells you, is that when you go shopping for giants like myself, anything needs to be a little bit bigger than small.
My parents, the providers, would say to me; “We found you in the trash,” followed by mockery and mimicry in a strong French accent. “Our blood is running through your veins,” and they would stink in vain. “You grew up in my belly,” and they would look at each other bursting in laughter. “You are not my child,” words would be spat in my face, two inches away from my eyes. “You are not my child. I am not your mother. Go see your mother,” words would again be spat in my face, two inches away from my eyes. “You’re mixed up,” were repeated twice in laughter when I would share flashbacks of my birth in my mother’s arms with my father near standing still in the corner. My parents, the providers, would never provide an explanation of which my brain, some time on its own, tried to rewire; “Remember when you said that I am not your child. Why, why did you say that to me for,” and they left me—in silence.
In this world there are people who hate you so much, your guts—so bad, so sickeningly awful—that they actually act in such a way that may make you believe that they like you.
My father, the shelter and lifts provider, once said to me; “It’s not my problem.”
My mother, the food and clothes provider, once said to me; “After I die, I want you to visit my tomb every year and it must be at the day of your birthday. And, you must not cry.”
A picture is worth a thousand words.
To my biological mom and dad; Mourn me not for I have spent a lifetime in doing just so.
Who does not truly hate a Jew; “The Jew.”
Elementary sexology class. This one question that I raised my hand for and NEVER got asked so here it is; “Yes, Amine, what is your question.” Thank you. My question is; “Do animals give birth to humans if they get impregnated by the semen of a man.”