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hi Jul 2019
She once let the world see her as a glass, fragile, delicate, transparent. She used to pray like God was listening. She used to make her parents proud. Until she was caught between two things: Who she needs to be and who she wants to be.

She was daisies, calm and safe
But she wanted to be a rose, confident and wild.
Into the forest she goes... to lose her mind and find her soul.

"You've change for the worst", they say.

Why should she apologize for being the monster that she is, when nobody apologized for turning her into one?..

She was not born to be soft and scared,
She was born to make the world change
To have it shatter and shake in her fingertips.

It's for you to decide whether she's heaven wrapped in hell
Or hell wrapped in heaven.

You may not believe in magic, but wait till you see her.
Her heart was never this brave, she dances with her Devils, they call her "Queen".

She had been in so many heartbreaks that her own heart learned how to saw. Forgotten flowers in lonely gardens, grow wicked blooms. She is fragile in nature, But that's what made her powerful, she made a fragile thing unbreakable. She wears her strength and darkness equally well. She's half Goddess, and half hell.

//K.P, 07022019
impromptu
ghost queen May 2019
which one was i, the meddlesome moth or the bumbling butterfly
was i instinctively drawn, to an open flame, on a lonely night
or, caught in intricately, meticulously, woven spider’s web
how could i avoid either fate, all men are dumb and succumb, as did i
both end the same, in death, only one is fast, the other slow
how sweet it was, to have kissed her lips, to have been, her lover
English Jam Feb 2019
The grey noir ambience posing on the wall
Shiny black whips that won't hurt at all
Listen to the rustle of the chains on her hips
Leather velvet skin and satin lips
Fall to your knees

Femme fatale
High-heeled boots on the bed
Femme fatale
Frame the words she said
Femme fatale
As she strikes the blow
Still you can't go
Your femme in leather is waiting

The foreboding cold that breaks you into a sweat
That rushing cacophony you won't forget
You feel her eyes pierce your skin
As you realise who'll win
You softly whisper please

Femme fatale
Watch her mouth turn red
Femme fatale
Hands lightly tread
Femme fatale
To her a debt you owe
So put on for her a show
Your femme in leather is waiting

And despite all this you know
That you still love her so
Your femme in leather is waiting

How good it is to please
Well, this isn't very subtle is it?
Jade Sep 2018
As women we are conditioned to love what breaks us
Because unconditional love isn’t a skill to be cultivated,
It’s an expectation we so painfully fill.

As women we are told that there is meaning in our silence.
That our beauty lies within what stays untold,
That our voices limit our inherent value.

As women we must mold ourselves
Into one of a hundred cookie cutter
Versions of the same person that
We deem an acceptable form of femininity.
They tell us that this is our identity
When really it’s a way to make ourselves
Palatable.

As women we must apologize for conformity
And we must apologize for breaking away.
The female population lacks the luxury
Of confidence without judgement
Because we fear it won’t make us as simple.

As women we are tailored to please the world.
The burden we carry aches with all of the moments
We wish we could have done something different and didn’t.
I am tired of the rules.
I am tired of the chains.
This is more political than my poems usually are but whatever
Pao May 2018
you are a storm in the sea around you
my words don't express much
but your eyes twinkle in the starlight
heavenly, even the gods are envious of you
your heart of gold beats louder than any lion in the wild

it's all you
it's you whom they want
it's you whom they seek
enticing, your thoughts bigger than your own words
you are celestial  

take your hand in mine
twiddle with my thumb
i'll keep your heart in my palm
i'll keep you warm
safe, even build you a home

a woman sculpted out of ocean waves  
you are celestial
I believe I wrote this in 2016 and I was working on telling a story in poetry. I write poems about my experiences but sometimes it doesn't have to be that way. I wanted to paint a picture to the readers even though what I am writing about has never happened to me. This is for the femme fatale.
Sara May 2018
Hair long and dark like a silken night,
her eyes glazed over, lips pastel silent.
Every so often sips a cold long island,
no jazz musician but her feet tap in time and
she's skin like China, won't crack even for a smile.
While people try to please her she will only check the time and
she's not a people pleaser for she'll bore within a while.
Perfume carried by the breeze,
she's freezing, smoking outside.
Her cheeks are apple red but her eyes, quitely tired.
She claims your jokes are dead and then she'll laugh like bitter cider-
a bittersweet pink lady brought to life beneath the night's limelight
the apple of the eye of every single man in sight

He'll ask her if she knows this song
and she replies 'no, not tonight.'
He'll ask if she enjoys herself.
Blankly, she says 'yes, quite.'

The room a-brim with deep jazz sounds:
she sings sweet melodies aloud,
she sways as if no one's around,
she sighs, it doesn't make a sound.
Pourquoi pas?
.

Metre based on the new arctic monkeys album
Rahama Apr 2018
The heart of a dragon;
A young girl tames.
Her femme fatale;
Will be the end of him.
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