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Anita 2d
For now-
Go to sleep
And wake up a better person.
Anita Sep 25
Smother the Smoldering flare inside.
Simmering, Seething ***, kettle scorched black.
Subside wrath, suppress anger, succeed.

Be still.

Coldness, chilling ice, constant hush.
No thoughts, no collateral damage.
Control it. ||How can I help?||

Space, slight, broad.
Inexhaustible darkness with few stars enticed.
Burning, ashes caught in the back of my throat.

Shhhh. ||What are you feeling?||

Boundless frost
Desultory embers.
Be nice, be kind, breathe, exhale.
1, too, 10.

Go to sleep.
Anita Dec 2019
So why don't the polar bears melt with the stars in the sea, and the fish in the clouds?
      With the wind blowing the ice away, it makes no noise.
    If we are surrounded by water why have we used all our water up?
    And even still we sit on damp land where hamsters live as solicitors and sharks as arbitrators who consume fresh oysters with no eyes who recognizes the world more clearly than I, and we'll all go to Mars one day... just not today
A little nonsense for you, and a little nonsense for me.
Anita Dec 2019
I hear the tone of a thousand galaxies. Only sweet angels shed whimsical tears

    Some thoughts form bubbles in the mind, and with a pop, they are gone. Prancing further and further from the fingertips of those who wish to comprehend them.

      They still their breaths and try as they might, halt their lungs but thoughts are fickle things that only come when one does not call for them. This mind experiences assorted thoughts, some plunge like rain from the sky, rapidly and frigid, with no notions of passing by.

While others are sweet and delicate murmurs, some thoughts hold nothing but lie full of animosity and self-hatred, there are those few certainties that cling to our senses like moist cloth on heated summer days.

       And there is a singular truth that none can deny. Through these sights, soaring belts of asteroids and the birth of newly hatched nebulas can be seen.

     For these gazes see freshly pickled specks of lights dispersed across the realms and heed the sounds of a thousand galaxies.

And in these galaxies, holds dust and nothingness
We are all star children. and we have fallen from our hidden temples
Anita Dec 2019
Have you seen my brain today?

     I woke up and it was just gone. I'm wondering if those crafty gnomes didn't sneak off and haul it away.

            Oh, what a dilemma. I simply don't know what I would do without my brain. How can I think or fasten my shoes, or lick jewels off shelters or watch beetles go passing by?

            How can I compose or sing?
    How can I burn fire with my eyes or watch liquid turn to ice or plants thrive?

             But wait, I can achieve all of those things. My brain hasn't gone missing at all. It's been in my head this whole time
I've lost my brain
Anita Apr 2019
In a kingdom full of inclemencies my hubris does not fail me
Profuse and Fierce, Some may call me arrogant
'Hubris!' chuckled I, 'Yes Hubris!'
It's a recording of my failings.  
'It's that amorality,' I muttered.

My hubris is my substratum towards my nescience.
It is that aspect that will lean me towards drowning in the sea of my own incoherent imbecility.
It's a deep program in my faulty code, a nightmare towards monks.
It's the ink on my arms, tattooed to my soul.

'Hubris!' chuckled I, 'Yes Hubris!'
It does not fail to show in my wording.
It's the ferry to sea, the net in the ocean.
It is limber as it is inventive, with every exception.

It has no ingenuousness, it is unlike modesty and threatens to surmount me.
It's a sandwich in which has caught every hitch of breath, it leaves me bewitched, no certain pitch that I can tell afore it chokes me.
It leaves no correspondence with those around me, too caught up in my own fantasies that I can no longer celebrate or verbalize felicitously.

Many times I wished that I preserved my receipt so that I could trade in my Hubris for something a little less mucusless for it is something akin to Judas, and I cannot utilize it for anything utilizable.

If I could somehow find a way that would lead me to a resilient recuperation. I would judge that to be more utilizable then this Hubris that encumbers me. No matter how many times I beat it down, it war's like a lion and a bunch of tourists on a safari.

If only this grotesque lion-like hubris was shot by the doter of a hubris poacher. Every generation would be gratified and they would find that it is much more facile to coerce without that unpleasant Hubris.

Of course, I suppose in a way hubris could be utilizable in some situations that required it. If I somehow found a way to trade my hubris for something like modestly and found that I missed my hubris quite dearly. I would laugh at my incoherent imbecility and perceive myself to be remotely mad!

These ravings of my hubris I'm quite sure because I found it so consequential to indite a poem of stark preposterousness. In a contingency like this, I suppose my hubris is getting quite polished, so sharply able to strike down any sense of modesty.

I conjecture this is the terminus of this arrangement, please omit my hubris for a moment. I suppose I should give you some tea afore I dose myself in a salubrious dose of radiation.
I'm in a mood so I decided to ask the answer to life's most sizably voluminous question. Of course, I found that the answer was the number forty-two and so I found forty-two arbitrary words and shoved them and their synonyms in this cockamamy poem. Visually perceive if you can find them :arrogant, recording, foundation, ignorant, aspect, drown, program, rider, nightmare, monk, arm, sheep, wording, ferry, net, agile, exception, unlike, threaten, sandwich, correspond, receipt,trade, recovery, judge, beat, safari, shot, lover, generation, friend, coerce, perceive, soul, sea, general, accident, polish, strike, arrange, exclude, radiation
Anita Feb 2019
There is a boy whose name is grain,
In a place of mental pain,
And he sits across the room,
And he looks at me.

There is a boy named grain
In a place full of pain
And he sits across the room,
And he watches me.

There is a boy who is grain,
In school
And sits across the room,
And he stares at me.

A boy called grain,
In school,
And sits across the room,
And he stalks me.

Grain who is a boy,
In school,
Sits across the room,
And has pictures of me

In school,
Across from me,
Annoys me.
I have a bit of a stalker issue, this is twice that I’ve been stalked, the first time that I know him personally. People don’t like him, I thought it was wrong, I became his friend, he became infatuated.
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