Biography

I'm a Greek girl, I am 26 years old and I started writing about four years ago when I was diagnosed with cancer. Writing helped me cope and got me through. I am not exactly a poet, I'm better at writing stories or anything in prosaic form or free verse. I joined WOL in an attempt to test myself and my abilities, see if people like my stuff, if I'm any good and also in order to read more stuff written by regular people like me and interact with them. And I've enjoyed every bit of it! I've met some interesting people and I've learnt a lot, besides the joy of rhyme! Maybe I come off too strong sometimes, maybe I'm too intense...But I've received the baptism of fire very early on in my life. That's not something you forget; it makes you tough. I've been through hell and back, so I apologize for the occasional excess intensity. But I'd never offend anyone, not deliberately at least. I always try to be a decent, humble as possible, just not an arrogant ass kind of person! I'm more than open to criticism! In fact I welcome it! Otherwise why show your work to people, right? If someone doesn't like me, that's ok. But I am what I am, I've fought hard to preserve this earthly shell and all its contents: grey, scarlett or white; warts and all, and I will stand by and defend myself and my views no matter what. Because everybody deserves that much. I won't try to impose any of them on you though, that goes without saying. I'm always eager to read your work! Also I don't have favorites! You're all great, each one in their own way; you and your unique contribution! It's precious and I thank you for it!🎈 And that's all folks.

Samples

Fleeting -It's on my left arm; it sears. It's on my wings; I try to bear it; in tears. It's in my chest; It beats. It's in the air; I suck it in and it fogs my wits. It used to be inside my mother. It still resides within my father. It's growing inside my sister's womb, as we speak. It fills every second of my time; be it minute, hour or week... I have it here, somewhere...Among my daggers and swords... Look! It's almost out but it's still lit! -Lovely. Any last words? -Yes. I wish I had some more of it. ------------------------------------------------------ It does not promise to deliver souls across the sea For it is not the ship of hope. It is meant for the Powers that Be that won't let me be; it was that or hanging rope. It is courtesy for the fragile fierceness that is my pen; and ash kicked at Their judging eyes It is the black garment meant to be worn only when I am in need of a good disguise. It is not the pulchritudinous bud of purple or white no fragrant blossom of a tropic shade! It is not the last crisp brushstroke of a spring night before rite of passage to summer is made. No hint of vague promise, no "perchance", “ perhaps”, no “maybe”, “possibly” or “might”. It stands for "I am mine"! May the old order collapse so that I alone decide what battles to fight! It is not plaintive of any permissions, no polite pray to be excused; feigning to be cordial. It is not the white glove of propriety, the polite way to offer a suggestion or proposal. It is not meant to poison you with doubt; albeit cryptic it is no vilifying naked tooth. It's an impression to hopefully lure the unbiased critic while taking the focus off of the dismal truth. It is meant to conceal, fog; a decoy till I make it safely outside; slip away when I must; be elusive. It is a meaningless empty herald that's there to hide the tedious person within; it's all illusive! It is the passport that will help me cross the border from cowardice to bravery; llike so many before me- It is necessity; mere letters arranged in a certain order: Mae Foreman: It means nothing! It's just a name for me. "Art is the imaginary solution to a problem that is unsolvable in real life."

All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.

Audio entries by Mae Foreman

Wrongdoer (17/02/2019)

GR (In the South) (09/02/2019)