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The Woman in The Kiss by Gustav Klimt -- poetry by Madeline Yang

In some other world

I am not wrapped in happy gold swirls,

no silver-dust showers, medallion flowers,

I am no whisper in a picture of some magic land.


In some other world

I am no shadow only glimpsed in a passing glance

instead I slip from your ravenous hands,

I am no whisper in a picture of some magic land.


See the way 

I hold your hand down

so I can own who I am- how 

well I command your strength with my grace. 

How they may mistake my touch for my gain. 


And the way I turn my face, away from your own

my mouth closed like the stone they rolled over the grave


you remain unable to contain your twisted pain

so you face the other way 

to obscure the gold flaked yearning in your face.


Once I stood different. Looked 

innocent. My hands swinging free, 

eyes and mouth open and dreaming

 

but what you said and did in this meadow 

got to my head

and now I’m led to the edge of a cliff


and here, 

every thread of a vein 

and every cell I contain 

starts to move a different way.


Who is this skit for? 

The painter?

The people in the frame? 


I’m steady, though I’m left at the world’s end. 

My feet are flexed. 

Ready.


In some other world 

they’ll paint me with obsidian glass from volcanic ash

the madness in the aftermath 


of an explosion.


 

Madeline Yang is a 16 year old writer from California. She has been previously published in Cathartic Youth Literary Magazine. When she has free time, she loves making music and taking naps. 

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