Empty Space…

September 10, 2009

Ever since we had our first piece submitted by a young woman from Nairobi, Kenya, other people have been submitting works as well.

I love this kind of involvement and encourage people of all creative styles to submit written works, photos/art, or videos to be premiered on our blog.  I hope you enjoy this piece (as it’s from my boy Muhi) and encourage each and every one of you to get involved in the fight against domestic violence…



About the author: Muhi is a senior at the University of Michigan-Dearborn and is majoring in History with a minor in Psychology.  He’s always been fond of the arts and sensitive towards the development of communities.  Muhi has many aspirations, but one of his favorite passions is to mobilize others.  Muhi plays rugby for UM-Dearborn and is a well connected and involved optimistic humanitarian in the metro Detroit area.  For more of his poetry, check out www.xanga.com/poetichermit85 or for his daily dose of thoughts find him on Twitter, www.twitter.com/michiganmuhi.

Empty Space – 1/10/2008

It’s too late to hate,
I’m one step passed ‘had enough’,
It’s like nothing resonates in his head when I say ‘stop’.
He says ‘I love you’ and it frustrates me beyond belief.
Those deadly words have bruised me, they’ve scarred me.

Part of me feels torn, and the other feels nothing,
There is an empty space that eats me up inside,
The warmth of his body cuts me cold,
But I can’t seem to let go.

It’s too late to hate,
I’m one step passed ‘I’m done with this’.
He doesn’t seem to care and promises he’ll stop,
I don’t trust him anymore and the look on his face hurts me so much,
As his hand connects with my face,
This empty space engulfs in flames and destroys a memory bank of pictures in frames.
‘I’ve had enough, I’m done with this’.

It’s too late to hate,
I’m one step passed ‘I’m leaving’.
NO man will ever raise their hand against me,
This beauty is profound and I’m a woman on a mission,
To help with getting past the remission,
Barren trees and dried up leafs,
I can only love when it’s in season,
I’m single for a reason,
Maybe it’s cyclical in this empty space,
The void between love and hate,
Maybe you can relate,
But in some way this was my fate,
I’m here to give a voice,
To tell you there is a choice,
To be bold and brave,
And not living in a grave,
To stand up and fight,
And give the abused their right,
To take this empty space,
Give it up with haste.

It’s too late to hate,
I’m one step passed ‘I’m going to make a difference’.
This new reality is of the essence,
It is the only thing that makes sense,
I am finally reasoning for myself,
Finally respecting myself.

This empty space mutates and isolates,
When all I really need is someone who can relate,
We all carry these empty spaces,
Lets shatter these vases,
That are holding flowers blooming with sensation.

It’s too late to hate,
I’m one step passed ‘living my life right’.
I got past the empty spaces,
I’ve filled them with smiling faces and happy occasions,
Thank you for the courage,
Thank you for the support,
Thank you for helping me find my own worth,
It’s too late to hate,
And I’m one step passed ‘forgetting him’.


The Fire Unnamed by AJ…

July 28, 2009

Ever since we featured a piece by a young lady from Kenya on our blog, we have been getting more interest from others as well.  So I decided to lay another piece for you all written by a friend of mine, Asad Jaleel.

If you are a writer, artist, photographer, singer/performer, or have some type of talent and want to submit a piece on domestic violence.  I have had some people contact me asking if they have to be a victim of domestic violence or have to experience it to submit a piece.  This is not the case at all!  We welcome any people who have a creative way to portray domestic violence from any viewpoint!  So if you have something and would like to share, please feel free to submit it and we will feature it on our blog.

Enjoy it and spread peace…


About the Author: Asad Jaleel is a graduate of the University of Illinois at Chicago. He has a B.S. in Biology. He has taught with Kaplan, the Chicago Public Schools, and Islamic Foundation School. He is a published poet.

The Fire Unnamed

In fever dreams
I hear her cries for help
Her quick steps across the kitchen floor

Moon and stars witness
As do I from the stairs
Veins in his head throbbing

His angry shouts
The curse-words spilling from the mouth
Words that belie the ancient vows

Flesh on flesh
Two locked in a struggle
But one so much weaker

When I turned eighteen
I left the madness
And told her to escape too

She said it would stop
She said not to worry
She said it wasn’t his fault

Buried rage
Hidden but not forgotten
Simmering like hot soup

I swore to myself
I would never be that kind of man
I feared becoming feared

Missteps I’ve made
My blood has boiled
But I remember the heavens watching