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Amy Anderson Aug 2019
A girl who sold her soul to you
Begs to take it back.
Can you hear it?
Can you hear her whimpering cries,
Her miserable desperation?
Or do you choose
To shut her out again,
And leave her hanging
Yet another time?
Another girl cries, wounded,
Her blood spilling freely
Because you offered her a rose
With no warning of the thorns.
Her heart will forever carry
The scars they left behind.
Did you plan on hurting her,
Or was she simply a casualty,
Unfortunate collateral damage?
You used this one as currency.
You liked the look of her,
But you never planned on keeping her.
You spent her and tossed her away
With no regards to where she'd land.
Do you regret any of it?
Do you hear her screams
And shrink back in shame?
Or is it like music to you?
You take one heart and break the next,
The shattered pieces at your feet.
You hurt and hurt and hurt again,
But you do not seem to care.
Do you feel no remorse?
Do you choose to ignore those you've broken?
The curses, the screams, the cries...
Does none of it reach you?
Why can't you ever just
Amy Anderson Apr 2019
I feel as though I am an ocean.
So many things lurk inside me.
Thoughts flow like waves,
Floating around in my waters.
There are no words capable
Of completely portraying my depth;
So many vast parts of me
Still remain hidden, undiscovered.
Some days, I am calm,
And my waters flow free and gentle.
The sun shines above me
As I softly reach out,
Gently caressing the quiet shore.
Then, I am satisfied with my lot.
I wave at the land and nod to the sky,
Utterly amicable and content.
Some days, I am a storm.
I am violent and untamed.
I want much more than I have,
And I crash upon the shore,
Ravaging every spot of dry land,
Consuming, wanting to make it mine,
Wishing desperately to hold it,
To love it, to bring it closer to me.
I do not see the lives I destroy
Until it is much too late,
And then I wallow in my misery,
Letting myself sink into my darkness.
I close my eyes and dream
Of those long-lived days in the sun,
And I wish to be someone better.
I approach the decimated shore
In naught but humble remorse,
Begging, pleading for forgiveness
As it dries and recovers,
Becoming once again what it was.
Somehow, every time it forgives,
For it knows me too well;
It knows that you are my moon,
And you have always controlled my tides.
Amy Anderson Mar 2019
I am not some silent painting
Whose sole purpose is to gain
Your praise and admiration.
I am not some treasure
Waiting to be sold,
To be owned with greed.
I'm not a set of open doors,
Free to walk through at your whim.
I am not inanimate.
I am a woman with free will,
Not an object to be owned.
I am thought, feeling, life,
Not something to be stared at.
I am passionate, vocal,
And I will never sit silent,
Putting on a show for the world.
I do not exist for you.
I am human, independent.
I don't want to be looked at;
I want to be seen.
I don't want to be listened to;
I want to be heard.
Who are you to define my purpose?
Who are you to say it is my place
To sit in humble supplication,
Bowing to your throne of convention?
That is mine to decide.
I am more than what you want.
I am myself, I am I,
And I am alive.
Amy Anderson Mar 2019
I have never had the kind of faith to shake the world,
Never seen seraphic hands stretched out in grace.
My eyes have never seen a wondrous work:
No seas parted, nor stilled hearts resuming their beat.
I try to cling to desperate seeds of faith
Sown in the soil of a faithless world,
And as I rise, brushing the dirt off my hands,
My eyes lift to meet your own.
All the answers start to fall into place.
I may never see the parting of the seas,
But the parting of your lips will suffice.
I may never live to see a dead heart revived,
But you make mine dance and skip and race.
I may never see an angel fly on silver wings,
But I think that you are miracle enough.
a piece I wrote for a friend a while ago
Amy Anderson Mar 2019
Pain ****** at my eyes as I try to escape,
Try to shut out the cacophonous clamor
Attacking me from all sides at once.
I cannot defend myself from this.
I raise my hands to shield myself,
To clutch at my ears, drown out the noise.
Sensory overload, they call it,
Overstimulation and unfamiliarity.
I gasp and plead to be taken away,
But my words fall flat, and I suffocate,
Heart racing, wild, dizzy as my head spins.
Is this what it means to be lost?
I’m going to lose control, going to slip,
I’m going to I’m going to I’m going to-
A hand in mine.
An anchor.
Grounding me.
Pulling me back.
My mind calms,
Slowly, surely.
You, patient,
Never pushing.
I collect myself.
I gather my thoughts, one at a time.
One moment, one person, one deep breath.
Do you know what you’ve done?
Do you know what you saved me from?
You were there, strong, firm,
The touch of your hand on mine,
Your hand gentle on my waist,
Soft and utterly secure, there with me.
You let us just be, silence growing;
You led me back from the edge,
Into safety, security, serenity.
I am back in the moment once again
With you, safe, warm, happy.
Is it strange of me to say
That you feel like home?
I was lost inside my own head and you were right there to help me home
Amy Anderson Mar 2019
I wish I could believe
The stars controlled my fate,
Pulling all of my strings.
Maybe it'd be better like that.
No fault would be my own,
And my successes would come
Naturally and with ease.
Those shining stars
Could thread together
In beautiful constellations,
Pulling me to you.
Then again, maybe not.
Maybe I'd rather know
That my success is truly mine.
Maybe I'd love the satisfaction
Of rising after a fall.
I certainly know
Above anything else
That in any galaxy,
In any universe,
I have never needed stars
To find my way to you.
Amy Anderson Mar 2019
Take my hand
And I'll take yours.
The world has tried
To turn us two
Against each other,
To foster a hatred
Of flaming red.
And for a time,
We were monochrome,
A blinding scarlet.
But now, let us change
And fade into blush,
A quiet softness
And gentle love.
-a message to the mirror
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