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 Jun 28 alia
Zywa
My love smiles at me,

he is good to me, he doesn't --


need to be better.
My love lies in the hospital

Collection "The Big Secret"
 Jun 28 alia
andy fardell
One day I'll be gone
Only a fading memory to a few
Curling old pictures etching out the past
One day

Some will remember a smile
A funny walk
Hairy ears and brows in curlers
One day

You'll pick up the phone
Call me
Remember I'm no longer here
One day

So let's make the most
Do the hugs
Eat the cake cos
One day
 Jun 24 alia
nuaym
lapar
 Jun 24 alia
nuaym
pagi pagi aku bangun
aku cari roti canai
rasa dia buat aku terpegun
tapi teh ais aku belum sampai sampai
came up with this in 2 mins heh
 Jun 19 alia
Pri
I bite
 Jun 19 alia
Pri
I bite.
Not with teeth.
with silence,
with sharp glances,
with walls built higher than your reach.

I’m not cruel.
I’m just tired
of being kind first
and torn apart second.

You call it attitude.
I call it armor.
Because being soft
never saved me.
It only made the fall hurt more.

So I speak less now.
Agree less.
Trust less.
I pull away before someone has the chance
to walk out first.

It’s not that I don’t want love.
I’ve learned that even “I care about you”
can come with conditions.
Even soft hands
can leave bruises
you can’t see.

I bite
because once,
I didn’t.
And it nearly broke me.
(inspired by Isle of Dogs)
 Jun 19 alia
False Poets
when you understand my poems perfectly then,

their utility is inutile,
their usefulness is, will. always be, in the

nth  

reinterpretation, a million and still counting,
as long as you must guess at its labyrinth inner wired construct,
be pleasured by the roiled and rolled curves upon your tongue,
two lives (yours, mine), a paired wine tasting, we together,
believing in the greatness of joyous frustration

some say, as I do, the world is better for the
utility of thine own struggled understanding,
the truest combination of two way communication,
surpassed only by our at last armed embrace,

when at last we understand our mutuality of need and salve...
 Jun 17 alia
Khadi Alza
On the dull, glittering white pearl,
A shining, soft light of swirls,
And on that pearl lives a little girl.

The leaves in her mind have blown away,
Leaving a bare branch in the bay.
She wonders if this is the way
Of thinking—on this pearl she stays.
 Jun 12 alia
The last Poet
I was just a girl
You had no right
You crushed my light
I could not fight
Bad memories
The real question may not be,
"Who's good and who's bad?"
It may be,

Who's trying to save the world,
Who's mislead?

So when we look upon the mess that we live in,
Consider it,
Who's trying to save this world,
Who's manipulated by it?
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