A Palestinian's broken body

How the genocide has fundamentally altered our state of being

They stole my heart,

while my mind crumbled under the weight of grief and stomach starved by guilt.

I can’t give the children crumbs while bombs fill the streets with their blood.

How can I move on when what I search for is gone.

In my dreams I go back,

but I wake up missing you, hoping you’ll come home.

My mind gone, still asleep

My stomach burdened, paralyzed

My heart bleeding, stolen

My body broken, anything but whole.

If I wrote of hope would you believe me,

I don’t believe myself.