I’m better

Nah, ain’t writing about you
Art will never be a thing for you.
I’m just spitting a truth
justice to my youth

Rue des Artistes, just a bit more Egyptian
circus of life, bumped into a magician
We need a beat: Snare, kick , high hat
and the death of the bunny in your hat
Something I should have known
but you said we should only care for the crown.

thought it is the one, peaces
tore me into two pieces
No more bright stars
just deep scars
Every smile frontstage
was a lie backstage
your friends clapping in the first row
You, happy , take a bow

But baby, mama raised a scorpio
you gonna learn how to dance the tango
and you won’t know your loss
until the curtains close
and you’ll think you’re a blackhole ready to swallow
until I end that show.


Thilleli G.


The angel died

Blue light, red light
sometimes both
but that night
the angel died in a laugh

Reborn with sick eyes
set himself free from Stella
told me his tired name, few lies
and asked ‘whatcha doing here Bella’

Got a cut from a safety paper
escaping a twisted irony
you got your answer
I’m gambling my sanity.

Held my hand, went out of the line
spinning in reverse, threw the fake
and got back in time
ended up younger than my mistake.



Thilleli G.

I’d like to speak to the manager

How does it work ?
Is it only for iOS ?
Does it have a Facebook page ?
What is the password again ?
TVA included ?
How many calories are in there ?
I am allergic to peanuts, does it contain peanuts ?
Is it made in China ?
Can I do it online ?
Should I pay by cash ?
Is it pro-LGBT ?
Does it come in black ?
Do you have that in a smaller size ?
Where is the user guide ?
Will I get reimbursed ?
Buy two get one free ?
Is there a winter release ?
What gender is that for ?
When is the next update ?
Where is the ‘download’ button ?
Should I water it ?
Does it like cats ?
Do you deliver ?
Can I get it Wednesday ?
Is it Halal ?

What do you mean ‘you cannot buy a life’ ?
I have the money for. How much do you want ?
I’d like to speak to the manager.


Thilleli G.

2 381 741

You are Algerian.
You know betrayal closely
carry its open skies on your skin.

As a child, your father told you
that if you repeat a word several times
it loses its meaning
its gravity
so you’ve never been told ‘you are worth it’

On your sixteenth birthday
you decided that your body
couldn’t hold your secrets
you open up, let strangers
lick the untold stories out of your hands.
But light, also attracts predators.

Your mother makes you walk
because your feet are the only thing
you can stand on, even though
they don’t know the direction yet.

You smile
You show your white innocent teeth
and it is scary because you
were supposed to be guilty.

You are a flower in a graveyard
watching the dead , until, you too
are dead.

And I won’t pray, because I don’t know how to, but
God bless the day you drank enough to believe
that you are worth it.


[ Picture by Ibn Ibn Battuta ]

Thilleli G.

Love story or Why people drink

At first, it felt like a prison

I made things blurry

Somehow it became a church.


You came in.


My native tongue is silence.

I made things blurry

Somehow you heard the echoes of love.


Nothing lasts.


I found out you’re leaving.

I made things blurry

Somehow your shadow stayed.


But shadows disappear by noon.


I was falling apart

I made things blurry

Somehow, I was enough.




The world is twisted

I made things blurry

Somehow the path looked straight.


Thilleli G.

Drunk Texts

I know what you’re gonna say
‘you could have canceled the ride’
but then again, it was not my account
besides my breath was already filling the car

The driver slams the brakes
and I contemplate the neonlights
letters, illuminating street cats
dancing on the choked sound of the pub.

Dash of grenadine, orange juice,
ice cubes and Jagermeister
I start feeling that tickle,
that fracture in my words.

Liquor stained fingers,
whom do you drunk text tonight ?
Can I talk to God, say that
‘I was thinking about him’

See we are meant to carry
things that weight us down
and when I lift my body
I just realize you are everywhere.

It feels that,
sometimes, somewhere,
I’m a part of


Thilleli G.


You see love as survival,
and survival doesn’t exist,
if you do not run.

So you run.
You escape.
You swallow your words.

Your body shrinks.
You are easier to carry
for your lover’s heart.

You can now take a picture
of her, of you
wearing the man she wanted.

Your soul
celebrates its death,
and starts singing.

Don’t shut it.
Why are you afraid
of the past ?

Afraid of who you
were and your body ?
Oh, they didn’t tell you…

Boy, your body is amazing.
Your body can actually change
world’s history.

Ask Adam about Eve.
Ask your father about that girl.
Ask your mother’s bones
that you took for home.

Your cells are a rebellion.

a rebellion against
what people say and the time
that runs away.


[ To : Z ]

Thilleli G.

عن الحياة

أجمل الأزهاروُجِدت بالمقابر
أجمل امرأة ترعرعت في الأطلال
أجمل القصص أُلقيت بالمتاحف

الصمت أكثر من غياب
إنما الصمت هو حياة تطلب المغفرة
و ليس للغفران ذنب



Picture taken by : B. Ala’abed

Thilleli G.