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Anna Jan 2015
Trying to write poetry again after months and months
is
like
rereading all my Shel Silverstein poem books
&
attempting to create a time machine to go back
to
my
*good old days
applies to both scenarios
    sorry for this but I am beyond thrilled to be back on this site!!

much love
Anna
Anna Aug 2014
the lullaby the silence sleeps in
is
the vibration of your laughter

the rhythm the eternity breathes out
is
the thumping of your *heart
the melody  (immeasurable & unseen & beautiful)
is
you
Anna Jun 2014
all I need to remember is that
no one has everything,

*but everyone has something.
Anna May 2014
We blame beauty for all our societal issues.

The problem in our society
isn't
beauty
:|ˈbyo͞otē|
noun
a beautiful or pleasing thing or person

It is
conformity
: |kənˈfôrmitē|
noun
behavior in accordance with socially accepted conventions or standards
what does "socially accepted conventions" even mean?
Anna May 2014
we save everyone
but
the one we love the most
.
we may be of body of solid
we may be of speed of lightening
we may be of heart of gold

but we are all pathetic fools
who

let go everyone we love
love everyone who let go
Anna May 2014
At least when they leave

the

e a r t h
                               for good,

you could

t
e
l
l
                                                yo­urself,

that they
s t i l l
love

you.

But when they are
breathing,
healthy,
glowing in someone else's arms when you are standing

           in
                   front
                                of them,


*how the hell do you explain that
to
your
self?
they say that self-pity is the worst medicine
but then again
you were my worst habit
Anna Apr 2014
a little heart imprinted with beautiful words
English breakfast tea and
London postcard that never reached its true destination
an old-fashioned antique mirror

but do these things define us?
shy quiet pretty intelligent
I suppose there is a guardian angel or God or something watching me
because...
I don't know just how I met a friend like you

memories and books and cups of tea and inside Austen jokes
lovers of words and Darcy and kindness and joy
New York or London or Here
one year and 8 months and counting

when we've grown old and our backs crooked and our vision dimmed we will always have that cup of English breakfast tea with a little bit of milk
thank you
for
existing
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