Somewhere between the restless whispers and silent promises,

before this war even reached the homeland,

ex-lovers lingered like relapses and fractured friendships staggered

like fresh brush strokes distorting

 the unfinished canvas of collaboration

My art has become casualty to a tainted struggle over land unholy

I have been left blinded by the stillness

of abstract portraits of pleasures past

Intoxicated by the fumes of jealousy

My name will not be lent to this revolution

I will not fall deaf to these bombs and chorus of laughter

My faith will not die in these battlefields

These bones will not be buried beneath a battle

that is not my own

Terrorists may wander aimless with words as weapons

seeking refuge in the rumors of religions worth salvation

But as someone who has learned to survive since the age of three

My advice is to look into the eyes of the enemy

You will soon realize we are all just children

searching to be held by our fathers

hoping they remember our names

Had they known I was gay they would have killed me

None of my poems about peace and unity

would have kept me whole

My thick skin, my loud mouth, my anger, my fists

The God above who watches over everything

Nothing would have prevented death

The redefining of machismo taught by fathers they never even met

At the age of three, I already experienced

the damage men would do to establish manhood

My spirit had already been destined to be destroyed

at the brutal hands of my own brothers

There have always been men aware of this fate

Lovers willing to risk their lives and take me with them

Boyfriends who strike when caught in their lies

This blood has tainted many throughout the years

It has not been spilled over foreign wars or in the name of any flag

It has not been sacrificed for any revolution

or to save someone else

My soul has been sold many times over

during childhood, for a few dollars, in the name of love

Whoring myself to regularly recapture lost innocence

All of this would have only fueled the passion

of fifteen to twenty young men

Apologies would not be considered

Religion would provide no reason for regret

Mothers would celebrate their sons as saints

Though I was raised on these streets

there is no right for me to walk them

Someday I will truly get what I deserve

Men like me looking for trouble, converting little boys,

destroying family values, luring husbands to sin against wives,

This is not the world where we belong

We are not entitled to protection

The next time I find myself alone on this road

I will already be half deaf

so as not to hear the threat of their coming

I must remember to remain silent

So as not to disturb the neighbors