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 Aug 2018 Poppi Mae
Sylvia Plath
Little poppies, little hell flames,
Do you do no harm?

You flicker.  I cannot touch you.
I put my hands among the flames.  Nothing burns

And it exhausts me to watch you
Flickering like that, wrinkly and clear red, like the skin of a mouth.

A mouth just bloodied.
Little ****** skirts!

There are fumes I cannot touch.
Where are your opiates, your nauseous capsules?

If I could bleed, or sleep! -
If my mouth could marry a hurt like that!

Or your liquors seep to me, in this glass capsule,
Dulling and stilling.

But colorless.  Colorless.
 Aug 2018 Poppi Mae
Sylvia Plath
Compelled by calamity's magnet
They loiter and stare as if the house
Burnt-out were theirs, or as if they thought
Some scandal might any minute ooze
From a smoke-choked closet into light;
No deaths, no prodigious injuries
Glut these hunters after an old meat,
Blood-spoor of the austere tragedies.

Mother Medea in a green smock
Moves humbly as any housewife through
Her ruined apartments, taking stock
Of charred shoes, the sodden upholstery:
Cheated of the pyre and the rack,
The crowd ***** her last tear and turns away.
 Jun 2018 Poppi Mae
Cné
~
Hold my hand and persuade the way
tell me all you want to say
~
Whisper softly in my ear,
all those things I want to hear
~
Kiss my lips and touch my skin
bring out passions deep within
~
Draw me close and hold me near
eradicate my pain and fear
~
In the darkness of the night,
shine your beacon, be my light
~
In the luster of the sun,
demonstrate you are the one
~
Offer me wings so I can fly
and I will soar when you're nearby
~
Infilrate my heart, break the wall,
it's time for me to let it fall
~
I've been a prisoner, extensively
Break my chains and set me free
~
Strip me of my armor tight
this time I won't put up a fight
~
Release my soul held deep within
For you’re in my heart where love begins

~
 Nov 2017 Poppi Mae
Lior Gavra
Words do not echo.
Words do not cry.
Words do not,
Identify.

Scrambled and stirred,
Frozen and baked.
Pulled when needed,
Eaten to be fed.

Pieced together,
Black or white,
Laugh or fight,
Wrong or right.

A sound is bound by key,
A picture by color pigments,
Emotions chemically,
But words contain,
Everything,
And absolutely,
Nothing.

The same word
Can be
Completely
Different,
Depending who, what, how
When it was read
Or written.

What if every word,
Was positive in meaning?
Harmless,
Could not
Destroy feelings.

Words have no senses.
Words have no bounds.
No touch, sight, taste, or smell.
Words have no sound.

Words have no sound.
Unless read aloud.
 Nov 2016 Poppi Mae
Dark Delusion
You swam in the ocean of tears.
You stayed in the forest of death.
You ate the fruit of hatred.
You killed the one of love.
You spoke the words of hell.


Kept all of the tears in one place.
Protected the nature of death.
Kept eating all hatred.
You killed the one that you love.
Only you can bear the words from hell.
you were the little rain,
and i was the hurricane,
everybody knew you were meant to fix something,
and i was meant to destroy everything.
you are the definition of lightness,
while i was the meaning of darkness.
your body is the realm of all the lost things that are found,
while mine was the other way around.
to sum things up,
we were the polar opposites.
the east and the west,
the tame and the wild,
the day and the night.
when i was young,
people would say that someday,
someone will knock on your door and when you take a look at it,
you will not recognize who the person is,
your mind will be blasting with the questions,
"who are you?", "what are you doing here?"
and maybe you would even tell the person to get out.
but the person will leave something in front of your door,
a thing that you perhaps wanted or despised,
a thing that even the closest people in your life can give,
but instead, this time,
a stranger will.
it's called the unexpected.
you came knocking on my door one day,
thinking you can settle things with the hurricane,
at first i just laughed and said,
"nobody can handle the hurricane."
however after that i never thought a little rain
would have so much effect on me.
that was when i realised you are also the thing
that you left in front of my door.
you are the unexpected.
and by means of unexpected,
you never did anything i expected you to do.
you didn't give me mix tapes of the songs that remind you of me
but my favourite songs are nothing compared to your voice,
one simple "hello" of you will make me stop listening to my playlist.
you didn't take me to art museums
and admire the wonderful paintings with my presence
but you made me feel like a living masterpiece every single day.
when i told you i love art,
you asked why don't i love myself.
you do not connect me to a rose,
or to a smoke,
you do not make metaphors for me
and you do not love poems as much as i do
but your words have the power to hit me more than any other poets could
and i am just a coward to not admit it.
you didn't call me at 11 pm to ask
if i wanted to go see the stars,
like i've always dreamed of.
but just by staring at you,
i can see the stars, the milky way, even the whole universe,
and i knew that moment
that there is no need for stargazing in the middle of the night
when i can look at you all the time.
you didn't enjoy my favourite shows,
you couldn't take it because of how much blood was shown in it,
you hated blood,
and i saw beauty in it.
you didn't think raisins taste good
when in fact they were my favourite food
(actually, you even told me they taste bad.)
and you didn't think that the wolf and the moon were in love,
when that was my favourite love story of all time.
this is probably a poem about
our disparity,
our contrast,
and our dissimilarities.
but you did something that i never expected you to do,
you did the unexpected.
you found the light in me
no matter how dark it might be.
my body was no longer the realm of lost things,
because you've done everything to find them.
and i was no longer the hurricane who is known
to destroy everything,
because for some reasons i couldn't destroy you,
you were the exception.
despite of all the things i wanted you to do that you never did,
the mix tapes,
the museum dates,
the appreciation of poetry,
the stargazing.
you did something that took my breath away,
something that i couldn't ask for more,
something that was unexpected.
you loved me,
and that was enough,
**that was more than enough.
 Aug 2016 Poppi Mae
Macy Opsima
i am not good with words
i was never good at literature
never good at fathoming
my thoughts, cries, and pleads into lines and rhymes
always on the look out
for words that i can never understand
and metaphors that dont match
but i'll use them anyway because i thought they'll look nice.
i was never good at poetry,
always forgetting to water
the flowers on my tongue
so they just wither away
and the soil of my literature
will run dry as the pen on my table.
i was never good at using words
as an outlet of my shriveling thoughts
i
never
knew
when
to
hit
the
enter
key
i was never good at this.
but your ears were always closed
and your eyes were always open,
on the look out for your next lover
so here i am.
a girl with poetry for lips and paint fir blood.
here it is.
my poetry,
in all of its pain & glory.
 Nov 2015 Poppi Mae
Li Ching Chao
Last
night
thin
rain,
gusty
wind.

Dense
sleep
doesn't
fade
a wine
hangover.

I'm talking
to her
who
rolled up
the curtains.

Are you
blind!
I
say.

By now
they're
fat
green
and skimpy
red.
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