Malfunctioning Scar

Grocery stores contain the
light of everythingness in
them, which is what I need
on my bad days. I turn to
any aisle to find shelves
stacked with things that
may fix me.

The first time we ever went out,
the Sultan next to school was
our last destination. It was the
first time I felt a hurry in it; there
were too many things to see
and too many aisles to count.
I knew that store by heart but
your rush turned it into a maze.

I still go there, love.
Turn around the aisles
unsure whether I’m
hoping to find the
right shampoo or
stumble upon your
scent at the corner.

The edges in your eyes
always contained the
dark of everythingness.
Maybe that’s why
I sank in them.
Maybe that’s why
it felt like they could fix me.

The fluorescent flash of
your memory burns my eyes.
With every step towards
clean sunlight, I hope that
my compass turns towards

Engy Ibrahim is an eighteen-year-old who’s always running out of words but never out of thoughts. As Vice President of Kuwait Poets Society, founder of The Write Club, and a sophomore the American University of Kuwait, she rarely has time to breathe. When does, each breath is a statement against shrinking herself – her fears, worries, squeals of excitement, or even her anger – for someone else’s comfort. The truth she reflects through her work is that of a confused teenager that isn’t afraid to ask/wonder/philosophize about our significance, or to answer her own questions, perhaps stumbling upon something fruitful in the process. 

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