Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Anna Apr 16
We never wanted a house, the kitchen, the foyer. We could give barely a ****, really. We just wanted a room, a desk, ceiling to floor bookshelves filled with books and windows that overlooked tops of large oak trees. We wanted the sunlight all morning and afternoon, the rain, the vines that grow around the windowsill and music from old turntables spilling through the storm. We wanted the groves of apple trees and strawberry bushes for our morning walks and the expanse of the entire cosmos for our viewing pleasure during the evenings. We wanted prancing on mountain tops and kissing the sublime in paddle boarding excursions and free diving to a pod of sleeping ***** whales. We wanted sunlit art studio with watercolors and oil paint and graphite pieces on thick white paper and raw clay on the wheel and ***** splattered aprons on wooden stools. We wanted
wrote this sporadically throughout the day
Anna Dec 2020
i've asked stars some questions
she said, 'sorry, nothing dear.'
i've asked moon if you were sleeping
and the sun answered in his stead
she said, 'i've just put him to bed, you should also get some rest.'
i just sighed and looked to the clouds
and they just cried with me.
this could be sung.
Anna Sep 2020
.
to realize i was loved
is love too
Anna May 2020
it ended
a milestone, a fire-
work without the blast
quiet, underwhelmed I fell
asleep

but this end,
the bittersweet replica of
the memories and books and words
of crowds and hallways and people
whose faces pass and pass and pass

this end, it has to mean some-
thing, thing that I can't hold nor revisit
but the thing that sinks in the encrusted
bit of my heart. The thing that will manifest when
years down, in a new home, or a new country or a
new mountain. This thing, the four years of life here,
there, nowhere, is, in many ways,
everywhere.
a graduation poem (i finished college today and my thoughts processed it like this)
Anna Sep 2019
heart beats to
the taps of
your keyboards.
Anna Sep 2019
turning over it's teeth to
brush the tongue
the beast, scared and revered, tip-
toes down the stair-
case. It breathes the air of the
brine down the Atlantic where
the poet once left small
footprints.

who can see such a magnificent
              hush my child,
             shh shh shh for the storm comes
star, a crocodile husk hiding
it salmon skin

lover, lover, lover
breathe it in
for the wind will knock you
dead, prior.
Anna Sep 2019
stopped crying over
the leaves; their footsteps echoing so far
that i can't hear it
everyday.

let them go, truly.
Nothing bitter left to commemorate
but now good times makes me smile,
faint.

wished them well
for they are good, still;

become ashen and risen
like a golden phoenix
into words

known that they would too,
just a different bird.
i've finally let go.

And it feels so **** good.
Next page