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Azizah Oct 2020
How are you privileged to drink tea
while they're huffing and puffing.

Should you gulp it down
while it's boiling hot,
gushing down your throat.

Let a chug of it burn your desire,
left blisters on your scorched tongue,
like your mouth caught on foul-fire.

That's how I should have it,
if I were you.
Azizah Oct 2020
Maybe love is a warm cup of tea,
and a bowl of mie rebus
with half cooked egg,
that he made when you're
pouring rain

But when it gets cold, bitter
and lost its flavor bliss
you simply left because it's
unpalatable and you're
full of yourselfㅡ
Azizah May 2020
I'm now far away
more distant than ever.

Here shall I hide
where you can not run to:
a ridiculous, stormy place.

Can not you see
the wall I built high?

Dear, how can not you see this?
Azizah May 2020
write a little,
delete
delete
delete.

this goes too long,
'til i forgot how to write anymore.
  Mar 2020 Azizah
Stanley
Poems aren't written,
they're found,
Somewhere in your head the words are waiting,
They're sprawled across the floor,
You just need to pick them up,
Make a path with them,
Let your path guide observers,
And if you can't write,
Walk down somebody's else's path first,
First poem I've written, to anybody who reads this is hope you enjoyed it and it made you day a little better
Azizah Mar 2020
There will always be
something broken left
in the attic.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
Kissing the dust,
A hide out
from sun rays.

There will always be
something silenced right
behind

the closed door:
mom's chapped lips
dad's cracked hands

Shushed— "let our child sees no traces,
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ let them think it's alright."

Not even a brave wave
could sink it down

they’re holding still
the water's rising, seeps
through every nook and cranny.

but,
won’t a small leak sink a great ship?

He loves antiques, so much
he would turn it into
a shipwreck—reserved and intact.
Azizah Mar 2020
Our love is a sacred hardshipㅡ
shared,
in one portion.

and every bits
of our goodbye kiss
will be the very time of us.

As if the Time
was once made
just for us.
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