rc. 19. second year journalism student. toronto born and bred but currently living and learning in ottawa. forever on the quest for knowledge, but it appears the more I learn the less I know.

“Do not be people without minds of your own, saying that if others treat you well you will treat them well and that if they do wrong you will do wrong. But (instead) accustom yourselves to do good if people do good and not to do wrong if they do evil.” - Prophet Muhammad (Peace Be Upon Him)


Click here to watch The Daily Show cover the latest on the Bowe Bergdahl story.

I cried one day when I was a student in Madinah, and we happened to sit around some of the people who had a few stalls. Someone wanted to buy a cloak from one of the brothers. The brother had the cloak and gave the customer the price and so on, but just when the deal was about to be struck, he said — and I was witness to this — that another brother outside there has a shop similar to mine and no one has been to his shop today; he’s got exactly the same stock and I’m sure he’ll give you the same price.. please go there and buy the cloak from him, so that he too could have a bit of sustenance. SubhanAllah.
- Mufti Ismail Menk  (via zsrmx)

(Source: bluestockingreads)

I was born on July 27th
I hear that makes me a Leo
I have no idea what that actually means
Iʼm 5ʼ6”
I weigh 145 lbs
I donʼt know how to swim
And Iʼm a sucker for a girl with a nice smile and clean sneakers

Iʼm still learning how to whisper
Iʼm often loud in places where I should be quiet
Iʼm often quiet in places where I should be loud
I was born feet first and Iʼve been backwards ever since
I like ginger ale… a lot

Iʼve been told that I give really bad hugs
People say it feels like Iʼm trying to escape
Itʼs probably because I am
Secretly I get really nervous
Every time someone gets close enough to hear me breathe
I have an odd fascination with things like sand castles and ice sculptures
I assume itʼs because I usually find myself dedicating time to things that will only last a few moments
I guess thatʼs why I fall in love with women who will never love me back
And I know that sounds crazy but itʼs easier than it seems
And to be honest I think itʼs safer that way
You see relationships often remind me Iʼm not afraid of heights or falling
But I am scared to death of everything thatʼs going to happen the very moment that my body hits the ground

Iʼm clumsy
Yesterday I tripped over my self-esteem
Landed on my pride and it shattered like an iPhone with a broken face
Now I canʼt even tell whoʼs trying to give me a compliment

Iʼve never been in the military but I have this purple heart
I got it from beating myself up over things I canʼt fix
I know this sounds weird but I wonder what my bed sheets say about me when iʼm not around
I wonder what the curtains would do if they found out about all the things iʼve done behind their back
I have a hamper thatʼs over flowing with really really loud mistakes
And a grave yard in my closet
Iʼm afraid if I let you see my skeletons
Youʼd grind my bones into powder and get high off my fault lines.

Hi, my name is Rudy
I enjoy frozen yogurt, people watching, and laughing for absolutely no reason at all
But I donʼt allow myself to cry as often as I need to
I have solar power confidence and a battery operated smile
My hobbies include:
Editing my life story
Hiding behind metaphors
And trying to convince my shadow that Iʼm someone worth following

You see, I donʼt know much but I do know this:
I know that heaven is full of music
And I know that God,
He listens to my heartbeat on his iPod
It reminds him that we still got work to do

- Rudy Francisco,My Honest Poem (via cloudyskiesandcatharsis)


Amy Poehler’s advice from “Poking a Dead Frog”

“Letter to Anthony/Critical Resistance” Suheir Hammad.


this is not a pre paid
call this is not a poem
this is not a letter written from a woman
on the inside this is a

dear nazik aka nymflow-9 aka
bronx bomber aka anthony aka
42851-054 5812
hey brother i hope
this finds you well and safe

i have carried these words for
months through ports and air
and i still have a hard time
five years later writing
you when i travel

but your letters i take
with me the graffiti you throw
at the end of a dozen
handwritten double sided single
spaced muslim oil scented legal
sheets offer me a home
in polyester hotel rooms

you have never been on an airplane

i think of that often when i try
to help women place words together
into rhymes or lines these women
try to make sense of their lives

what makes me different i mean
people actually pay you 
they say to
read some poems and talk? shit i got a lot
say let someone pay me to talk. fuck that
just get me out of here and i’ll talk sing dance
shut up if they want

i don’t tell them i get
paid just enough for rent
rent means a home even
if you broke it’s home

we workshop poems and their stories
are not original or fictional
a woman will tell you
every home she has ever inhabited
has been broken into
starting with her body

i never leave a prison
without my head splitting
down my spine an iron
hand on my lungs

when you call anthony
and that woman’s voice says
this is a pre paid call press 5
to accept this call
 i press 5 count
to 3 take a deep breath and pray
we talk and when the voice
interrupts any intimacy
we’ve embroidered via phone wires
with this call is from a federal prison
we pick up the shards
of our conversation desperate
to finish before the next


i have always loved criminals
i tell people who try to shame
me into silence

with words like television conjugal
college libraries 
they say
can you imagine a library in a nigerian a chinese a
colombian prison do you know what happens in the world americans are spoiled no idea
how lucky 
we are here

even you often write how
your time has offered reflection
meditation deepened your faith
but you 27 and have 10
years to go nowhere how much deeper
you going to get until a system based
on money deems you rehabilitated

i have always loved criminals
and the way you bomb my tag
butterphoenix all across your letters
reminds me our affirmation is
considered vandalism

i have always loved
criminals and not only the thugged
out bravado of rap videos and champagne
popping hustlers but my father
born an arab baby boy
on the forced way out
of his homeland his mother exiled
and pregnant gave birth in a camp

the world pointed and said
palestinians do not exist palestinians
are roaches palestinians are two legged dogs
and israel built jails and weapons and
a history based on the absence of a people
israel made itself holy and chosen
and my existence a crime

so i have always loved criminals
it is a love of self
and i will not cut off any part of
me and place it behind fences and bars
and the fake ass belief
that there is a difference between
the inside and the outside

there is no outside anywhere
anymore just where we are and
what we do while we are here

and there
are people anthony who make a connection
between you puerto rican rhyme slayer beautiful man and
young girls twisted into sex work and these
people nazim they are working to stop prisons
from being economically beneficial to depressed
communities and these people
bronx bomber they imagine a world
where money can’t be made off the hurt
of the young the poor the colored the
sexualized the different and these people
nymflow they never heard you
spit lyrics and they won’t
see the brilliance from these mere words
but these people
42851-054 5812
they believe human
beings can never be reduced
to numbers not in concentration
camps or reservations not in
refugee camps not in schools
and not in jails

these people
brother they resist

i will share these words
with them and i will
in your name and in the names
of all who imagine

stay well
and safe
and love


“I am tired and this ride so lonely this outfit, this smile, are a uniform armor of cloth and enamel i was not born a soldier siri am a poet and poor at war can defend myself but would rathereat watermelon and watch the sky”
— Suheir Hammad 


I am tired and this ride so lonely this outfit, this smile, are a 
uniform armor of cloth and enamel i was not born a soldier sir
i am a poet and poor at war can defend myself but would rather
eat watermelon and watch the sky
— Suheir Hammad 



n. frustration with how long it takes to get to know someone—spending the first few weeks chatting in their psychological entryway, with each subsequent conversation like entering a different anteroom, each a little closer to the center of the house—wishing instead that you could start there and work your way out, exchanging your deepest secrets first, before easing into casualness, until you’ve built up enough mystery over the years to ask them where they’re from, and what they do for a living.

sonder (noun): realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own - populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, worries and inherited craziness - an epic story that continues invisibly around you like an anthill crawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives that you’ll never know existed, in which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, as a lighted window at dusk
VIA - ©
We often think of peace as the absence of war, that if powerful countries would reduce their weapon arsenals, we could have peace. But if we look deeply into the weapons, we see our own minds- our own prejudices, fears and ignorance. Even if we transport all the bombs to the moon, the roots of war and the roots of bombs are still there, in our hearts and minds, and sooner or later we will make new bombs.
- Thich Nhat Hanh (via thecalminside)
VIA - ©