More Poem by Ibn Ali

I wish you fought a bit harder,
Or were just a touch more stubborn,
I wish you told your parents,
This one, I have to have him,
I wish that you were stronger,
Or stood that bit taller,
I think that I'd be good for you
Could help to make you more,
They see the colour of my skin
And think that I need papers,
I was born a Brit, as was my mother,
And her parents,
They only see me for my hue,
I wish they wouldn't do that,
They hear I'm black and in their mind
Their daughter's marrying Tupac,
Morocco I'm much more,
Hearts were made for loving,
Don't imprison yours,
Or make your chest a coffin,
Morocco you're much more,
Make sure you get your worth,
I wish I could be poetic,
But this is my heart's soliloquy,
No analogy, or metaphor, or simile is similar,
Morocco,
Anything you wanted within my grasp, I'd reach out for,
My fear for you is to hear that you not get what you deserve:
As many souls about you as your heart could love but love you that much more,
Morocco,
Men are shallow and lay in shallow graves,
Find someone who appreciates the depth of you,
In this life and what prevails,
Morocco,
I dared to dream and in doing so woke up,
But I'm not afraid to sleep,
As dreams weren't meant to last,
But I wish I slept a bit longer,
As I don't get to dream much,
Morocco,
I still feel your eyes grazing on my brow,
Descending,
I feel your frustration on my lips,
Or perhaps mine on my own,
I'm famished,
My greed for you remains unfulfilled,
Morocco,
To close my eyes I see your contours in the wind,
Your brown pearl glazed eyes,
Perfect hair,
I catch your scent in the breeze,
And to breathe is bliss,
Morocco,
I could make you laugh,
Till the laughter lines are engrained,
And you, being a woman, would detest it,
But I'll gladly take the blame,
And I'll call everyone to witness,
So they see the joy we've made,
Morocco,
I could make you loved,
I could fill the void,
Maybe I could be enough,
Banish every insecurity,
Make you numb to all before,
Replace the pain with joy,
I, for you, am more.