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Best Poems Written by Safiya Al-Bahadli

Below are the all-time best Safiya Al-Bahadli poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Existential Realization Dream

I dreamt of a situation in which I had chosen the option of lightheartedly losing my life with full knowledge of was I was doing, but not of what was next to come.
I dreamt that I leaned against a large tetrahedron shaped sculpture of ice and widely ruptured my torso, all while giggling with a close friend.
I then moved on acknowledging I had no heart yet continuing to breathe.
I chose to leave the world of the living, not knowing what to expect after, but if I had known beforehand that I wouldn't face immediate death and would have time to discover what would happen to my surroundings after I joined the world of the rotting, I may have chosen a different path.
I had watched those closest to me arriving at my funeral, cherishing my memory, seeing myself as a cliché for wishing I had spent more time with them, wishing I could spend more time with them now.
I was given space to ponder my decision when I no longer had a beating heart in my body.
I walked around in a world full of nostalgia and hope for me, waiting for my body to eventually give out.
I wished deeply that I hadn't chosen to give up my life without a second thought, I wished deeply that when I did lose ownership over the organ that keeps me going, I had just gone suddenly.
I drifted around my loved ones and the world offering me life's delicacies, just waiting to die, waiting for my body to realize that I should be gone by now, waiting to eventually fall apart.
I was displeased with the unappetizing sight of people mourning me, watching the world run, knowing I can not run with it.
I no longer had the control over my body to continue on.
I had the control to take my own life yet I can't decide my fate now?
I woke up finally with the ability to see what I needed to.
I now understood that the message in my dream had gotten through to me, even when my real surroundings did rather dull everything out.

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We Dont See

We pray to the honor tree in hopes we will gain some of its beauty, the gaunt and shaking world tends to aurify is edges.
We see his amort body a relic, sad for once a bel esprit.
We refuse to perceive the wrapped hands satisfying the longing of defenseless ankles.
We sojourn under the care of a corpulent manager, an egregious screecher, for his burdly lips a tunnel.
We ignore a clangor, he could foresee it would bring a caterwall springing through the fields of a rotting Seattle.
We are ebullient about the war we sense to come, for the coarse sleep in waiting is less than ideal.
We daren't condone his actions for we know he is capable of both it, and of less, and of better.

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Ezra

His name was Ezra but you didn't and wont know him.
An observant nihilist, pouring out vile play scripts in 400 word messages.
Researching one's hyper-fixation so the insomniac has someone who he may believe will enjoy talking to him, rather than a constant concern of lack of interest in himself.
Piss and cock and semen, ripped limbs and drum sticks 
Someone with a want for psychedelics, but no need for them, for his mind a wonderland, tripping on DMT.
A hidden understanding in a monotone voice, only used to comfort and the occasional tangent.
A musical genius yet will always prefer the company of harsh noise over another person, for he cant make his mind believe they will stay pouring into his head, ripping his eardrums.
Drowning in self pity, the half-alive man rests under a blanket, eating a pound of raw meat, to build immunity.
Sexual acts in exchange for one to take care of their corporeal form.
A shoulder there if you need it, but the chest, weak and cold.
Piercings attracting the magnetic ankles of those with a savior complex, or so he believed.
Language used to its maximum capacity, yet a smile barely broken in.
A type of thought process similar to that of an electronic, but the ideas stemming from it, usually were rather vile.
Dismissing religion left and right, acknowledging the claustrophobic concept of fate.
only for him to wave the white flag, due to a lack of effort, which wasn't unlike him to do.

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My Bucket List

For one to mark off a box in completion, then comes a sense of joy. But what's confusing is that all the tasks he did as a boy.

To feel what you want to be able to is a privilege of itself, to experience emotions in which you have not felt, sympathy and guilt are on my top shelf.

My bucket list is not filled brim with black cats, nor is it filled with sorrow. Instead i want to reach into my hat, and pull out my feelings of tomorrow.

A feeling in which i have never felt is something i wish to see. As for the thoughts i find inside of myself make it difficult for me to breathe.

Longing to be pushed into other shoes, i do my best to make them fit. But with the blisters and the rashes I should probably assume that their just not my width.

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As To Prepare For Theories

For one's time to be taken for granted,
theories will arise.
Within them,
confusion is awaken.
As for the truth being taken from the stretch of ones speculation,
then leaving a dent in his or her concentration,
pausing the breakage soon expected in his or her mind.


Email: safiyatheredpanda@gmail.com
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Who Does My Awareness Help

I see her face crumble down when she hears something new.
Ill wait to tell her what she needs to hear, the information yet to be due.
I might be angry with her sometimes, but right now she doesn't need a clue.

I wait
I wait
I wait
I wait till her silence comes to an end, oh, oh I know.
I could read it off her face, how she felt and the scratching on her clothes.
The tension brought higher, sooner than expected, I can sense the attitude on her nose.
An angry angry woman, an incorrection decision?
Well I suppose she knows.
A sentence whipped without precision, she sews, oh, she sews.

This time will be the last time i say, as if that could be true.
A conjured up face she brings to the table, how could i refuse.
My eyes are chewing on a lime, my reflection being a muse.
Understanding both sides, I'm the trout with many hues.

I wait
I wait
I wait
I wait until I'm fine with scrambling my case, defensive off the bat she'll be.
I know it is not the best time but please, oh please, please let me be free.
Sharing my thoughts, looking as if I don't understand the situation that is near me.
I promise I know, but do I need to restrain myself when she always acts so witty?

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Don'T Open Up Your Mind For All

He shall never dampen his morals following blemishes in them pointed out.

It shan't bother him for the meer fact that the misting off opinions of others do not concern him.

For his vision to not dim, the sentry is ordered to stand down, for only those with the most crooked visage shall traverse.

As for those who share their wits, never will they be pinned to a wall, protected in glass, which to them is the most they think to accomplish.

As for others being aware of their mind could be pernicious, or fatal, for the idea that you are unable to differentiate from others if you are all known to be wired the same.

Never will those who find problems in their morals, due to the pity of others, near an astral change.

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Oh Father Father

Oh father father.

Oh father father, to bat with no winde.
Oh father father, to howl gray with no eyes.
Oh father father, to kill with no mines.
Oh father father, shall he lay with no mind.
Oh father father, when will we wash away your kind.
Oh father father, I start to resemble your cold bind.
Oh father father, why do I hate their little cries.
Oh father father, will they take our silver spines?