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AnnaMarie Jenema Nov 2016
With every thought,
You come to mind.
With every whisper,
Your name seems to be shapen.
I cannot run away from these thoughts of you,
And I would not wish to.
No matter how hard I concentrate on other matters
All I can think of is you.
I am captured by you,
A captive in my own mind.
And yet,
Freedom is not what I ask for.
AnnaMarie Jenema Nov 2016
I have no faith in myself.
I cannot believe that this is true.
I live in a dream,
and you are that dream.
I wish for someone to share these feelings and the dream responds.
How could you like someone like me?
How is it possible?
I'm not cute,
Not even pretty.
My personality is gloomy and shy,
I am the moon,
while you are the sun.
Such a bright and cheerful existence,
but the sun and moon can never see each other.
as the saying goes,
their as different as night and day.
How could you ever like someone like me?
It shouldn't be possible.
God forgot to create my special someone.
I am alone.
That's all I've ever been.
And then you came around.
All smiles and jokes,
a laugh that resounds throughout the room,
a melody on repeat.
Such a wonderful person should not be contrasted by one as gloomy as me.
I don't want to be a burden to you.
All these pieces of thoughts,
could only be called:
My Insecurities.
AnnaMarie Jenema Nov 2016
So near yet so far,
All I can see is you,
There's no one here,
and all I can do,
is think about you.
I need to concentrate,
to get my work done.
But all I can do,
Is listen to you,
the clicking of your keyboard,
as you diligently work,
the soft sounds of your breathing,
being here,
well and alive.
You think I'd be able to do my work,
to continue my studies,
but my mind keeps wandering to you,
From across the small room.
These words I'd hardly be ale to say,
how much you fog my mind,
how little I'm able to concentrate,
being so close to you.
And yet I enjoy your company,
despite my silence,
and at times awkward talking.
I'm so shy,
and never know what to do or say,
but being with you,
That's all I need.
AnnaMarie Jenema Oct 2016
Sumimasen, chotto.
Donde esta la bibliotecia?
Yo tengo un gato in los pantalones.
How can I even speak english?
The simple answer,
I can't.
My words fall short,
I loose my train of thought.
My grammer tries to autocorrect itself in the worsest of ways.
I'm often teased that I have my own language,
and yet my writing comes across well.
I can speak a mix of languages,
but barely.
I speak Annanese,
I can't speak at all.
I just get nervous and my sentence structure falls to ruin.
I'm too shy for my own good.
And yet I can become too bubbly and worry that I speak too much.
It's always too much,
or not enough.
Never balanced.
Why can't I just speak my mind?
AnnaMarie Jenema Feb 2018
We are a poem,
My mom and I.
But I’ll never let her read it.
We are the kind of poem who laughs over pizza,
And my little brother crawling on the floor.
We share stories of her history,
Each one a fossil,
I try to recreate its towering beast.
But even so,
I can never get a word in.
A mask was created,
As to never let her in,
Block her from meeting the real me.
I crave her acceptance,
But hide through lies.
That’s the kind of poem we are.
I wish we had more in common,
Things we like to do together,
But excuses slither from her tongue,
As if these snakes are second nature to her.
Most nights I dream of what life would’ve been like,
Had I stayed with her,
And the nightmares begin,
Soon I catch myself crying in my sleep.
Because of her,
I am scared of myself,
And any potential for evil I may contain.
This is my least favorite poem,
The kind I wish I could chop off,
But somehow it’s seeded itself into a heart,
And grew there,
A wilted tainted tree which should have never sprouted.
We are a poem,
My mom and I,
But I’ll never let her know.
AnnaMarie Jenema Jun 2015
A feud had been lit,
firing since the beginning.
I was never good enough for you,
and could easily be misplaced.
Had an event occurred, one in which I wished to invite you,
you would come up with a million other things that you had to do.
I know it's not your fault,
you never choose to ignore your own daughter,
yet as years passed our distance wavered.
Your getting married again?
How long will it last?
I have another recital coming up?
No one ever said you had to go.
I was aggravated,
frustrated,
enraged even.
How could a mother ignore her own kid?!
But it's not your fault, and it never would be.
I could never hate you for distancing us.
For lying to me and always breaking your promises.
Don't promise me a thing with twisted fingers hidden behind your back!
And yet It never will be your own doing.
A mental disorder halts you from caring,
is your reason for disappearing from my life,
gone without a trace.
I see you, yet I can't reach to you.
That day over text,
I thought my words reached you.
I hoped you understood that your presence in my life means the world to me.
Yet again, you disappeared.
apparently my voice fell short,
as it always will.
This is my reconciliation.
This is who you are,
and I cannot blame you,
but I will never again trust you.
I love you unfaltering,
but only from a distance.
This is how you taught me to care for you.
AnnaMarie Jenema Feb 2017
I've never felt flustered for so long,
Never have I turned so easily red,
and yet it's been on my mind so much,
I keep wondering - how can I tell you,
How can I explain in a way that won't embarrass me from head to toe?
And the answer is simple: There isn't.
For even the smallest of hints will be so minimal,
So many friends keep saying the same thing,
but I'm too shy,
too embarrassed,
It's not as though I don't want to,
Nor as though I can't,
It's simply new territory,
and I'm too shy to initiate such a thing.
I love them to the moon and back,
for millennium to come,
And this is the best way to surprise them,
to show my love,
my appreciation,
..... and yet I'm way too shy.
Plan C : Activated.
AnnaMarie Jenema Jan 2018
Cascading light,
Feather's falling from smiles like giggles,
Tall and confident,
Sure but uncertain.
How I love a lie,
Yet lies are wistful beasts,
I cage myself from.
She glows,
He glistens,
Who am I?
They are unsure.
Glass shatters,
As theses shadows in my heart resembles shards,
Or perhaps it always rested there,
Wishing,
Dreaming to become a lantern.
But will they hold it?
All that they see,
and bring the petals to their lips,
Kissing the taintedness,
Making it beautiful once more?
AnnaMarie Jenema Nov 2017
I do not wish,
To put feelings to paper,
To write of this heartbreak,
And it's agony.
Of the mosaic they created,
Before you bashed it.
I do not wish to tell of all the tears,
Nights spent crying,
The pain and questions,
nor the desire for death.
Feeling the rumble,
as my world fell,
The sky lowering in pieces,
as I cower,
worrying that they may hit me.
Because if I told you this,
It'd be all too real,
and I can't stand a reality without you.
AnnaMarie Jenema Nov 2016
I am worried for her,
for her future,
for all the school she's missing.
Worried that I can't be there and hold her till all of the nightmares go away,
worried that I'm not good enough,
that I've failed her.
Scared to death of her loosing this race,
that she means every threat she utters to herself,
That she's not teasing us as she says she is,
that her nightmare's will  become her reality,
more so than they already are.
They say not to worry,
to concentrate on school,
and not let it affect my grades,
and I'm trying to,
but I can't help but tear up at where her life may take her.
There was a meeting recently,
in order to spread awareness to the cause,
and after fleeing the building,
tears wanted to build up,
And let out my anguish,
But my eyes are dry and unable to cry for once.
A rare occasion.
Few understand how horrible it's effects,
how much the creatures torment her,
I can't even imagine what she goes through each day,
as we just watch as they eat her alive,
and the rest of the world calls her insane,
a danger to society.
It's getting worse,
day by day.
medication failing,
tests being reevaluated.
They told us it was psychosis,
that it wasn't as bad as it could be ...
only to find out it's worse.
How can I not be worried?
My thoughts are a vicious cycle.
AnnaMarie Jenema Feb 2015
Am I good enough as I am?
in my own heart, I want to believe that I'm intelligent,
a family of frauds and drop outs,
studies say I'll only ever be as smart as they are,
however, my report card is lined with A's,
while she didn't make it past 9th grade,
Did my environment save me from stupidity,
or am I a fool,
tricked by myself into thinking I'm something I'm not?
comparing our lives,
It's obvious I've made wiser decisions,
so why does science defy me?
Saying I'll only ever be as good as them?
Do the laws of scientific reasoning not apply to me,
or am I only deceiving myself, and what I can do?
which turned me into me?
Nature, or nurture?
or could it be a combination of the two?
AnnaMarie Jenema Sep 2014
I'll never be able to fulfill her needs,
her empty and lonesome life is the one dream I can't cease,
Don't expect me to come running back into your daydreams,
I can't satiate your needs.
You say you dream of love and family?
what about me?
a daughter who still visits you,
but thats not enough?
Don't expect that he'll love you forever,
they've all left you,
I pity you and love you,
but I'm forever gone,
you lost my trust and longing,
my life is a fairytale without you.
I love you,
I'll visit you,
but this is goodbye mom.
AnnaMarie Jenema Nov 2016
My chest grows tight,
not of fear ... well maybe a little,
but mostly of joy,
an unending pooling of emotions.
Mixed in a little joy, a little regret, and some unsureness.
So many others follow suit.
I want to talk a walk,
to do something and anything to give my mind release,
but wherever I go my thoughts follow me.
I can't escape these feelings,
not even in order to get a grip of what they may mean.
Or how I truely feel.
AnnaMarie Jenema Nov 2015
'Awaken my creation'
A gentle whisper that resounds in a fog of dreams.
Slowly my heavy eyes open,
adjusting to the light.
Sitting in a chair I see another across from me.
'Is that Me?'
I wonder, unable to be sure.
Their eyes open too,
taking me in,
unsure what is reality.
Is this another dream?
"Who are you?"
Our voices call out in unison.
I stand up from this metal seat,
walking around the room.
"Where are we?"
Another voice joins mine.
"Where ..."
A nearby mirror confirms our fears.
"I am you."
"and I am you."
A body no longer human,
we are confined in suits of iron.
Our faces are comprised of nothing but a screen.
My eyes I sworn had open,
"Was that only an illusion?"
"Our memories?"
"Do we share them the same?"
Our past was one and the same,
copies of each other.
"Who is the original?"
Are we truly the same,
or one who became two new beings?
And what of humanity?
Who all is left,
our family,
our friends?
Are they out there,
do they exist,
or are they nothing but copies,
left to rot just above the ocean floor?
I love the youtuber Markiplier, and after watching Soma I wanted to write something. If your mind was copied, is it still you, or something else. Are you still human, or now machine?
AnnaMarie Jenema Jan 2015
Words and Phrases that split the mind,
Chaos hidden from deep within,
Confusion and frustration surface without rhyme or reason,
Sadness, hate, fear, tears,
these urges are random and unwanted,
Secrets buried from the past,
shoveling their way out,
why do these memories haunt me?
Shards from a mosaic,
come together to unleash an image of devastation.
AnnaMarie Jenema Sep 2017
Nostalgic you say?
You look back at slides and swings,
As if nothing but brightness became of them.
Friends & laughter,
Running free & wild,
The good old days when nothing mattered.
How could one be nostalgic,
Of something they never had?
I walked that thin, grey, concrete line.
A ghost,
Invisible.
Their mocking resounding in my memory,
Why would I mourn my past?
I was a captive,
Friendless,
Hurt,
Alone.
Family was never a way to escape,
I couldn't find peace from anguish,
Except for within Beauty.
The beauty of nature,
the beauty of writing,
The air through my hair when I swung.
How could I feel nostalgic,
When I see children playing?
Instead I conjure a prayer,
And wish that they don't end up like me.
Another anti-elegy. Goodbye rotten childhood.
AnnaMarie Jenema Jan 2015
None of these memories are formed through myself,
They are re-enacted by another me,
The past moves with time as I'm trapped here,
re-living, yet far removed from this time,
It's not me, but my shadow,
I'm not included in my own darkness,
are they truly mine,
or just scenes to be replayed in another dimension.
AnnaMarie Jenema Jul 2014
When friendship seems to be in play, I'm no more than a novice,
I wish to understand them,
I wish to be part of them,
my glowing, shining friends,
Their kindness illuminates everything they entangle,
If only I knew what to do,
when I talk to them every possible subject alludes me,
nonsense of books I read or what I've done recently clatters from the abyss that seems to be my mouth,
I bore them with my unneeded knowledge,
When situations arise in their presence,
my only answer is to run away and escape to a place that I can be angry or cry without hurting anyone.
I'm too serious,
and can't make them laugh,
my wish is to be the reason they smile,
but all I seem to create is hurting agony,
and a failure of a friendship.
It's always been this way; and I've always been terrible when it comes to others.
AnnaMarie Jenema Mar 2016
I am numb to such emotions.
I do not cry at funerals.
I do not feel sorry for the lost.
I can understand the sentiments buried on their face.
I can feel the pain they show,
but I do not feel it in my own heart.
But today I cried for a friends loss.
Something I have never done.
I wanted to help her,
to ease her suffering.
I did not cry because I felt her loss,
nor did I pity her.
I felt betrayed,
and selfishly mourned for myself.
This poem is meant to feel controversial since feelings are fickle things and more than one emotion can surface from something so simple.
AnnaMarie Jenema Sep 2017
What do your pages say?
For I am blind and lost
I cannot read you.
Distance,
Misunderstanding,
The embers,
Are they still lit?
Depressed at lunch, lead to another sad poem.
AnnaMarie Jenema Sep 2017
That canal where we fished,
The passing of ships,
Bringing with them waves and wind.
AnnaMarie Jenema Oct 2016
Beep* Beep Beep
My arm flies for the alarm.
I groan and turn over in bed.
It's another one of those days.
It's another one of those weeks.
A clumsy lazy week where tiredness is absolute.
Forgetfulness stands above all else.
Forgetting my key, walking in the wrong direction,
When was dinner again?
I lost myself in time as I painted most the evening away.
...
Wait .. What was I writing about?
AnnaMarie Jenema May 2014
I was Only five years old,
The world wasn't a fun place to play,
I wouldn't run  around,
I refused to smile,
Adults were harsh,
but children were worse,
I was more grown up than those around me,
I was sad,
lonely,
hated,
broken,
My smile was crooked,
my eyes were full of tears,
My stuffed animals were my only friends,
and my class,
the enemies,
I sat alone,
talked to no one,
There stares penetrated my heart,
their laughs were sharp and pointed,
arrows ready to fire,
I was told I was an unwanted burden,
a child without a future,
a nuisance,
I
knew
every
one
would
disappear,
especially me,
A terrified girl by age five.
AnnaMarie Jenema Apr 2017
Optimal Illusion
I wish that's all she could ever be.
A ghost,
Haunting me for a time,
but eventually the fear would dissipate,
Were I to be born of their flesh and blood,
were I their biology,
could I be happier?
Would this shadow in my mind disappear and happiness take root?
This constant fear,
lingering,
telling me I'm broken,
that there's something wrong with me.
My own demons hold little against me
and yet I take their lies and truths,
turning from them as they wave their daggers,
allowing my heart to be shred.
Spewing forth lies such as,
"I deserve this"
or
"I'll never be good enough"
I allowing my own pain.
I am unwelcome,
Unwanted,
all alone.
Or so I have always believed.
But could there be a future where all my sadness was only that,
An "optimal Illusion"?
AnnaMarie Jenema May 2014
Mom should’ve been here by now. I sat on my frilly blue and purple polka-dotted bed waiting for the knock on the door telling me mom found my dress. Finally, it raps on my door. “Mom! Did you find it?” My eyes widen as the silky blue sways in her arms, it’s beauty sings as a caged bird let free. I gasp in admiration. “I-It’s wonderful!” I pick it up and it glides down into a perfect fit.  “I’m glad you love it. Come down after you finish getting ready.” The door thuds after her. Looking across the room I note my honey brown hair that curls into pigtails. Restraining the squeal that is caught in my throat, I travel the length of my room to the mirror.

     The mirror sits on an antique dresser that my mom found at a garage sale. At first I didn’t care much for the ancient wooden junk that is at least half a century old. Now the gold-tinted metal gleams with pride once again. Rusty gems were in carved into an arc surrounding the mystic glass. “Lydia! Can you go upstairs and get that box down for me?” Mom’s request interfered with my thoughts. … Go in that dusty attic? “Sure mom!”

       Out the door and into the hallway stood a door like any other in our house. It squeaked open as eerily as what you’d expect in a haunted house. ‘A box, a box’ than out of the side of my vision I thought I saw motion. I shook it off as just being a spider or mouse. Soon my footsteps lead me to come across a dresser and mirror identical to the one in my room. It was cluttered with cobwebs and spiders. “Not very well taken care of, are you?” I muttered the joke. I looked into the mirror expecting to see a light blue dress covered in dust and sparkly silk material, but there was no reflection at all. I looked even closer at the mirror, before realizing, there was no mirror at all.

     I looked around until I found it behind the dresser, sitting on the ground. I touched one of the gems that surprisingly glowed despite the rust. Something shone until I was blinded. A tingle ran through the hand that brushed the mirror’s gem and flew through my arm until it encompassed me, racing into my every feeling until I couldn’t feel anything. My eyes shut and refused to open themselves.


     A gentle breeze grasped my hair, as music descended from the air. I could smell what seemed to be a banquet of some kind, mixed with perfume. Slowly my eyes lifted their veil to lock with waves pounding against a brick wall. I was looking down from a balcony into the erupting sea. The white brick-made balcony was large and lonely even with the brush of people walking by. I hid behind the rose-red curtains to look around. People danced and talked. Some ate. The music paved the trail for their feet to follow, all very gracefully. The men wore suits that tails drip to their knees. Their white shirts buried under sashes of gold, red, or blue. Sometimes holding medallions, some only dressed in ties. The woman wore Victorian dresses of every color and shade. Frilled hats with flowers were arranged on their heads.

     Wait, I’m not supposed to be here. I was in the attic, going to the café with mom. What was I doing? My head ached from the effort to recall my actions. Why can’t I remember? I stumble backward only to reach the balcony’s edge. Where is this anyway?

      I dive back into the curtain to search for my answer. The softness of the curtain was a rose pushed to my nose. I peeked through the small gap to find a page carting some clothes past my hiding spot. I sneaked next to the cart being wheeled into a doorway, planning to find a way out. I lost the page and walked around until I went through an archway door. The cool air spiraled against my silk-trapped skin. The scent of flowers bloomed around me. I found the garden labyrinth.

     Walking through the maze’s hedges I arrive at a beautiful fountain displaying crystal clear pouring waters. Everywhere I gazed, flowers embraced the greenery. My breath deprived my lungs of air as I took in the sight. It was so magnificent under the light of the full moon. A few lamps lighted a sidewalk path maneuvering along the hedges. I circled the fountain, taking in the surroundings. My silk dress was shining in the dim glow. The sceneries beauty entranced me.






     I didn’t see a shadow before me, and almost fell to the ground. In a graceful swoop an arm latched around my waist to pull me to my feet. “Be careful to look where you’re going, please my lady.” He bowed his head while his slim rimmed glasses started to fall off of his face, suddenly he looked up at me; sliding them back on with a slight wave of a finger. “That garb isn’t from around here.” He noted my sky blue dress with interest. I’m not even sure where I am. “I seem a bit lost. Will you help me?” he stares at me closer, a deeper curiosity shines in his green eyes, daintily brushed by his dark hair. “My dear, if it brings you comfort to know, we are in London at the Buckingham palace.”

      I gasped; London was so far away from New York. It’s across seas. I gulped at my next question as sweat pricked the nape of my neck, “What’s todays date?” His eyes sparkled at the question. “Why, it is June 28, of 1838. The entire castle is bustling at these very words. It’s a day to remember. Now my dear, I must take my leave and see to the ballroom. Farewell.” He bowed, than turned to leave. His slow stride seemed like a dance all on it’s own. My gaze was caught on his figure following the foot trail until he had disappeared. I sighed at my first encounter with someone in this grand place. The Buckingham Palace, in 1838. …1838!! That can’t be right, it’s 2014. Then the shock hit me as if bricks fell from the castle onto my forehead; the clothes, the language, the pages, and royalty. This couldn’t be London in present Great Britain.

    I circle the garden once more before I decide to go back inside. The young noble had realized my clothes didn’t belong here, probably anyone who sees me would recognize this too. I start off towards the footpath. The melodic rhythm still swirled in the breeze. Than for a second I thought I heard a footstep. My head twists back only to see a shadow move. The cool air now seems icy. Multiple possible things to say to the night air gallop through my mind. “ Such a lovely night,” is the one I decide on. From behind me a few feet back I imagine a sigh. No, not imagined, but actually there. It’s too real. I turn on my heels just to catch a glimpse of a black cape caught in the wind, as it’s master floats into the open. “My, It is lovely. However, I didn’t realize such a strangely dressed commoner as you could enter this palace.” His smirk shows sarcasm as easily as his eyes. “I never intended to visit a palace, even less in London.” My honest answer only has him conceal his laugh.




     “I’m sure you didn’t. Yet, your dressed for a fine occasion.” His hand reaches for mine. I pull away from the willowy figured glove. “Why not allow me this dance in the garden?” I back away, aware that his voice is too prescient and I should be careful. “Are you going to be wary of me?” his gaze turned pained, his blue eyes that were once full of playfulness now melted into hurt. I unintentionally reach out for his gloved hand. His laugh echoes past the foliage. “Such a naïve girl.” Dread decided that this nobleman should be avoided at all costs. I ran towards the palace. “And so the chase begins.” He snickers and rushes after me.


     I pass through the archways, glancing back now and again to find the caped captor flying along my tracks. If only there was some way to lose him. I ducked into the nearest doorway. At the far end of the hall I could see a door with a sign saying, “Dressing room”. I flung myself under a table and tablecloth to hide myself as my pursuer rounded the corner into the hall. I tucked my head between my knees and waited for his footsteps to fade. The warm place that held me trapped was close and too easily discoverable. I held my breath and tried to sink into the darkness. I’m not here. No one can find me.

     After enough time flew by to ensure my safety, I crawled out from under the table. The cloth draped over my head. I looked back and forth, half expecting to see a smirking smile, and haughty eyes. A girl stares down at me. She’s at least ten years old. “Shhh.” I press my finger to my lips and gently smile at her as if we’re keeping a secret between us. She giggles, copies the motion to her own mouth, than delightfully skips away. I let out a sigh and stand up. I follow the hall to the dressing room. The door creaks open and I look around once more, startled by the sudden noise.

     I sneak inside hoping find that the room is abandoned. In the darkly lit room, only my footsteps sound. As far as I can tell, no one has entered lately. I walk over to the carts of clothes and run my hand over the first one on the stack. It’s a ruby-red dress with fine material and some gems similar to those in the mirror. … The mirror. Not in my room, but the attic. My head hurts again, but I know I touched its gem before winding up here. How? I look through the dresses until I find a light blue and white one. The bowed sleeves come down to my elbow with frills encasing the bottom. The neckline forms a squared area of similar white frills. A small white sash acts as a belt that drops into the skirt of the dress. Two similar white ones come down each side. I pick up the light material and set it near my feet.
      My old silk dress easily slips overhead, making way for the new clothing. After tugging tight sleeves and bodices into place the light dress swoops over my feet. I spin through the dark room only to stop at catching someone’s eye. I immediately turn towards the frozen face. It is my own reflection in a mirror. I face myself as my sight settles on the dress I wear. My honey brown hair curled over the dress from my pigtails. My eyes sparkled it’s matching blue to the dress. In the corner of the room, next to the mirror, sat a large wooden box. I looked through it to find that it was full of jewelry and accessories. I prodded its contents until I found sky blue bows to wrap in my pigtails.

     I walked into the open hallway, now littered with people going to and fro. Anyone from passerby’s, young nobility, servants, and pages. Once the hall emptied I fled the room, hurrying through the corridors until I met with the room that created the harmonious trance. At the ends of the great ballroom sat crowds eating and laughing. Clusters of on-goers danced and chatted. In the middle of the farthest side of the room sat a throne that was embroidered with metal marks from centuries of legends. On the throne sat a woman at least eighteen of age. Her regal crown shone despite other attractions surrounding the dance room. A page strode over to her as she flourished her hand for his service. He stood and listened intently to her whispers. Finally, he stood and roared for the room’s attention. From his mouth spilled cheer and wistfulness, as he demanded the crowd’s ear. “Our young Queen Victoria’s coronation has completed. Now starts a new era! Let the celebration proceed.” The room reverberated with hope, love, and admiration for their new ruler.

     ‘Queen Victoria has been crowned’ having no clue how to find a way home, I disconsolately decide to join in the festivities. The crowd moves into a larger room. I stagger after them; the mass pushing everyone forward. We pass the kitchens. The aroma of cakes and deserts of every kind rises into the cool night air. The only smell more perceptible than delicate delights is the perfume penetrating the entire castle. We enter a by far more spacious ballroom. Empty amphitheater seats loom overhead, tied into the walls for onlookers to watch the ball unravel. Once again I glance at these to notice black material hangs over the edge. A head moves as people fill the seats. A nobleman with a black cape and familiar blue eyes takes their seat next to men and woman of high status. I walk into the mop to hide myself, while watching him. He laughs and chats with them as if he’s known them all his life.


      Unable to watch where I’m going, I trip. The harsh, solid ground hits my knee as if I’ve met a tornado. I wince at the pain as I strain myself to stand. A firm, but careful hand grabs mine. I look up into green eyes shaded by recognizable glasses. “My dear, you are very clumsy.” He smiles at me as I pat my dress back into place. “I see we’ve met again.” My response comes weakly as the sore from my knee makes me flinch. “I don’t think you’ve told me your name.” I inquire. “You have not requested my name, so I haven’t told it. However, if you do me the honor of a dance, my secret may be leaked.”  He bowed and offered me his arm, as I timidly accept it.

     A new song disrupts the last, as new pairs take the stage. He walks me onto the floor, and diligently starts to dance. I watch my feet, not wanting to mistake my pace. “Lift your chin, my dear. You don’t seem to but much of a church-bell.” I looked up at him puzzled. “Church-bell?” As he tried to conceal a grin, his glasses couldn’t suppress the laughter in his eyes. “Your rather quiet. And most likely not from around London, are you?” I looked to the ground once more. Should I tell him or not? Will it start problems, or will I be okay? “It’s fine, I shall not expect you to answer a question you wish not to.” I looked up at him, solemnly. “I promised to introduce myself, correct?” I nodded, as the music that echoed around us faded into the next song.

      His movements were so fluid; he was a wave at the end of the day, flowing into the sunset. “Miss, I am known by most as William Anderson. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He procured my sweaty palm into his, tenderly swiping his mouth to my fingers. I let my hand be brought back into the dance as I searched for words to speak. Once the dance ended a few moments later, I curtsey and murmur, “It’s nice to meet you. I am Lydia Olsen.” At my gesture he bows, and requests once more, “Am I trustworthy enough to understand why you are in a mysterious place you don’t understand?” My answer had been decided and started to splatter from my mouth. “Y…”









     The next sound bounces along the room, it’s symphony starting. My words mix into the noise. In my vision of the seats above, snowy dots shoot arrows in my direction. Blue eyes gaze down at me, their iciness piercing me as icicles prickle my skin. I exchange a glance with William, nod and answer, “You are. I’ll explain.” My discomfort is surely recognizable. I often peek over my shoulder above as we dance. The shadow with a glare starts his voyage through the seats to reach the stairs that pillar into the wall. He descends from the tower, only adding to my panic. My hand seizes Williams, as I give him an apologetic smile. We hurry from the room, stumbling over each other’s feet. His graceful prance, now a faltering wreak.

     Once we are outside the ballroom, I turn towards him. “I trust you, so please understand, I live In the USA in 2014. Not London, not Even in the 1800’s.” His expression is masked, but I’m sure that I’ve confused him. “I went back into time, from the future.” The simple words struck a chord with him, his glasses tilted off his nose as he listens intently. “The future? How?” even I don’t know how to answer such questions. “I’m not sure. I was in the attic with a mirror, than … ****! I’m here.” Confusion once again wonders onto his face. “I went into a storage room with old things, and found a mirror, touched a gem, now I was here.”

     “I see, but why did we run away from the celebration? I was looking forward to another dance with you.” His casual smile does nothing to conceal unasked questions. I’m not sure how to answer them ei
AnnaMarie Jenema Feb 2018
I wish to leave my body,
Keeping my soul tacked beneath my skin,
So that as Gemini I could exist,
Both within and without, myself.
I wish to kiss my insecurity,
And tell myself of my worth.
Judgment lays before me and God,
None other  know each and every causation.
Yet instead,
This other me is poised,
Knife in hand.
Her palms are stained red,
Cutting my soul is no new hobby of hers.
I long for her,
To recognize me as good enough,
Cute,
Smart,
But she refuses,
And stabs the knife again.
AnnaMarie Jenema Oct 2016
She haunts these places,
deep within you.
Dwelling on all tid-bits of your everyday life.
"What is immortality?
How would one life such a life?"
"What came first, the chicken or the egg ..
No no, a circle has no beginning. "
She is the loop of your subconscious,
the ever circling questions you may think of.
"I can't believe I did that,
what If I had ... done this instead."
"Why am I the way I am?"
"How did I get to this point in my life?"
But what might her name be called?
Well you could just call her the essence of over thinking.
AnnaMarie Jenema Sep 2017
Owned,
That's what this mark alludes to,
This vampiric nibble on my neck,
That I am owned by you,
Marking me as your property,
A dog leash,
I am yours.
I don't resent this proof,
Instead I take pleasure from it,
Knowing that you dominate me,
Embarass me,
I am yours to control.
Such power over me,
Reduce me to ashes,
Heated thighs,
Pulsing inbetween,
Dominate my thoughts,
Look a what a mess you've made of me.
AnnaMarie Jenema Sep 2016
How could something so trivial,
so far away,
still be painful?
How could something so long gone,
cause one's soul agony?
To fall to their knees in tears.
Why must my past haunt me?
A life never lived clouds my mind.
'What If's' float about.
I could've been different.
My life could've been that of a nightmare.
Yet I was saved.
How can they still taunt me?
Still scab a wound who should've healed.
Why will they not fall from existence,
when things have finally slowed?
How could something so trivial still remain so painful?
AnnaMarie Jenema Mar 2014
This metal tool that’s rarely seen can unlock so many objects. A clinking chain, able to unlock all of the barricaded locks that surround them, chains connected to people’s hearts. This special key unlocks their every feeling. The keys shining magic opens doorways you’d never see, but that affects you all the time. The key of love unlocks joy and happiness but can also open the lock to sadness and agony. The key of pain, which can open suffering, but can also open the path of kindness. The key of anger that can be caring or jealous exists in people’s hearts. The key of hurt that was caused to open from events that sends layers flying over their hearts to hide their self value. These keys are feelings that were trapped in Pandora’s box and when released can allow people to grow and change.  The one task that was forbidden opened the way for human’s hearts to grow and learn, to care, and share empathy.
AnnaMarie Jenema May 2016
Joy planned in order to show appreciation,
A happy glowing room,
filled with 'thanks'
ringing from wall to wall.
One alone,
sitting in sadness,
unsure why these feelings came to be.
Could stress have caused this?
Why must it rain every drop at once?
Rather than a quiet trickle,
of unnoticeable blues and grays.
AnnaMarie Jenema Oct 2016
The massive door  cries its opposition as it squeaks open,
The white walls and ceilings loom over me,
a small figure in a brilliant foreground.
Walking into the common room I find a large couch,
uninhabited.
I am a lone echo wandering these empty halls searching for the other guests.
But none of them are to be found.
A eerie sensation follows me,
Eyes roaming the room,
targeting me.
I am not alone.
As though reading my thoughts,
shadows creep out into the open,
The missing guests stand before me.
Friendly faces twist into snarls,
Smiling  with menacing lips.
Each of them accounted for.
Each of them a close friend of mine.
With a quaky voice I whisper a hello,
only to see their grimaces grow.
Something cool is suddenly pressed into my stomach,
The metallic smell rises as I clutch the wound and collapse.
All of them,
Were Murders.
Prompt: All of them were murders
AnnaMarie Jenema Aug 2017
I am not a passionate person,
Or so I would tell you.
My cheeks blush at the thought of being kissed,
And physical affections are often turned away,
Feeling desire for someone is like a new language,
And I had little want to understand it.
No,
I am not a passionate person in the way most would believe.
But I am a passionate person.
Give my heart an emotion,
and my mouth will make it known.
Flood me in kisses,
and my hands will go to work on paper.
Writing my love for you is a fire,
It's flames devour your every action,
For I may not make myself known when it comes to body language.
But in the written word,
you will never live a day to question how my soul aches to show its affection.
AnnaMarie Jenema Oct 2016
Weeaboo.
Owning this geeky word was not something I immediately understood.
Coming from a school where geeks were castaways,
with Otaku and weeb being even worse terms than that.
But now she, who loves video games, and cartoons
- a geek herself, dare I say, -
calls me a not only a weeaboo,
a term revered here,
but a failed one.
Many references I lack to see,
My circle of watched media is constrained,
me being the picky geek that I may be.
The simple act of putting on fluffy ears that I deem kawaii,
She takes as the action of a 'furry'.
I rarely see memes, something that not only geeks look at,
but social media as well,
yet she acts as though it lies within the domain of otakus.
Saying ohauyo, tadima, or even simply arigato,
gives me a snide reply of, "freaking weeb"
Making pebbles into boulders is her specialty.
AnnaMarie Jenema Feb 2018
My little sister was stuffed into a teapot,


Its waters are constantly boiling,
And she blames visions invisible to me,
I cradle her burning *** and begin to pour,
As if she’ll come back to me,
But her hair flows into my teacup,
As she refuses to come out,
But no one can see her stuck in her teapot,
And she can’t see the light outside,
Nor hear the cicadas chirp her name,
As the stars fall from wanting to meet her,
Yet the shadows stuff her back inside,
As the world sings to greet her,


She writes notebook after notebook of poems,
Eloquently portraying her teapot,
And the beasts who’d quickly harm her,
But each one winds up thrown away,
As she’s chosen to turn from her gifted talent,
I wish to capture each wrinkled page,
Mounting them on wall after wall,
And give the cicadas a museum of her words to marvel at,


Each one more strange and surprising than the last,
Cat’s meow symphonies of comfort,
As black horses raid the night,
Yet her sacred bible of words,
Shed sooner destroy,
Feeding the fire with her glorious imagination,
As it’s fueled by beauty,
What beauty could possible be created by a girl trapped in a teapot,
What beauty could be found in such a crevice,
And yet she’s found such powerful inspiration from such a space,
But refuses to call upon her power and adore it,
I might as well have a teapot setting in my brain,
Pouring tears for every flame,
Every spark ignited,
Every work abandoned,
She holds a knife to the page,
And slits it’s throat,
As if this creation inside of her,
Is capable of death,
And with each cut,
Destroys pieces of her own heart,
She slides the strands through the spout,
And pretends they’ll disappear,


My sister is stuck inside of a teapot,
And refuses to come out.
AnnaMarie Jenema Sep 2017
Oh you of sunshine and song,
Your fingers dancing across the keys,
Make the instrument sing,
As if all days are of spring,
Without a raindrop insight.
To the lovely pianist I met by chance and her beautiful melody.
AnnaMarie Jenema Dec 2016
Why are you not afraid?
Why will you not run away?
Please hurry,
before it's too late.
One such as you,
could never hurt a thing,
but you could never see,
what lies beneath my tears,
the monster that lurks inside.
Run before it gets you,
before you see it's face.
Please hurry away,
That's what always happens,
they always go away.
Because this beast is unshackled,
a breach in the wall,
I could never hold it down.
Why do I see kindness in your eyes?
The emerald gems gleaming,
where there should be fear?
Please I beg of you,
to run away.
Before this beast eats you alive.
AnnaMarie Jenema Nov 2017
Her house reeks,
It smells of smoke and disappointment,
The potent fragrance of instability,
And broken families.
She breathes in the fumes,
And exhales the wispy threads of anguish,
As if she gets her high from my misery.
Her stench of lies unending,
Broken promises,
And Abusive love.
My nose screams to leave,
But my shaking body knows I must stay.
I become encased in this smoke,
Reeking of her false pride,
Entailing my worst fear;
The smells of smoke transfers to me,
As I fear her future will.
Finally home,
Cleansed in the shower,
Safe and sound.
AnnaMarie Jenema Oct 2016
Time slowly moves over the clock.
It's face and ever spinning dial,
tells me there are only 9 days left.
Two weeks.
They seemingly loom over it's surface,
but those 9 days will turn into 5,
and 2. until the countdown hits 0.
How much more sewing,
How much more hot clue, paint, and figuring?
3 cosplays done.
one more to go,
but how to get the tail to stay on my head?
How to make sure the costume is finished in time?
The ever quickening time.
Only so much more time until I must finish.
Excitement swells inside to see the other cosplayers,
to hang with friends,
and check out the venders whose merchandise will have to go untouched.
So much fun approaching,
yet here I stay,
merely 9 days away needing to complete this project.
New cosplay ideas come to mind
...
no, no
concentration is key.
One outfit at a time.
The clock will chime tonight,
8 more days.
I'm preparing for comic con.
AnnaMarie Jenema Sep 2017
Remember it's in the second drawer
All of the sudden
You see a bright flash
from within the closet
Come on,
Let me see
Anybody want a chicken?
I'll just throw it in this window
Don't do anything stupid ever again.
AnnaMarie Jenema Jan 2017
Why can't I believe,
that in your heart you hold something for me?
Even a glimmer of love I mistake for empty words.
And yet I know you,
these aren't lies your spouting forth,
and they come from your heart.
You love me,
I just have grown numb to feeling your passion.
I am incapable of understanding that you reciprocate these emotions,
that we feel the same.
And yet you make it so plain to see.
Even a short day being unable to see you,
I hate how much it weakens me.
How much disgust I hold,
a gun pointed at my heart,
for how much I miss seeing you,
When you were here only moments ago.
And yet,
My ever-flowing tears seem to well up,
just because I miss you.
Perhaps I will create an ocean,
or flood the world.
Creating a new Atlantis from my tears.
It's not that you made me sad,
That would never be the case.
When I see you,
I swear I fly to the moon and back,
Joy my fuel,
a full tank set in motion.
I wish that light would not have it's shadows,
that only joy could exist in this life,
But darkness adds the light to happiness,
making it seem to much brighter.
I just wish that my emotions wouldn't be so severe.
And I could one day realize that you love me,
these feelings are reciprocated.
AnnaMarie Jenema Mar 2016
Shards of broken pieces,
Rays of light pure and never dulled,
petals of lost romances,
drops of dew,
blades of grass,
whispering their tune
to the nearby trees,
as the wind passes through.
Tears of past woes,
cheers of joyful times.
Poems hold these moments,
framed in eternity.
Immortalizing our recollected sentiments.
Red
AnnaMarie Jenema Sep 2017
Red
Sorrow,
A needle,
****** at the heart,
Red,
Thick
Bleeding through,
What is wrong with you?
AnnaMarie Jenema Nov 2016
Looking into the mirror,
few will see me as I am.
Few could understand - or want to understand,
who I really am.
They see the shy quite girl,
concentrating on my tasks,
who rarely talks,
or looks like she should be left alone.
That's not to say I deny it a part of me.
Who you see is a true part of me - not an act to be put on display,
But the face reflected in the mirror ...
Is someone few would want to meet.
She talks too much,
asks too many deep questions,
and will continue to question the universe and past throughout the late hours of the night - my thinking time.
I laugh over the slightest of things,
sings loudly and terribly to music.
My reflection shows a contradicting side of myself,
someone who I'm terrified will frighten everyone away.
In this fading world,
everyone will disappear from my side.
Or so I used to fear.
The echoes of my mind scream things that could drive anyone to insanity.
I'm not good enough,
I deserve to be alone,
I'm a terrible person.
The list continues.
The never ending stream building into a void within my thoughts.
That is my reflection.
AnnaMarie Jenema Mar 2018
'What ifs' are the sheets I choke on at night.
They Knott around my tongue,
And pull tight,
Till sand pours from the small muscle.
These waves of questions, forever lapping at the shores of my bedside.
I lay on it's beaches,
Unable to be lured to sleep.
Self-reprimandation is the caffeine I drink at 3:30 am
and by 5
I'm surfing the waves of mistakes I've made over the last few days,
and every hour stacks years into the currents.
But I'm pulled under by the tidal waves of
'what's wrong with me'
until I drown in the slumber of my tears.
AnnaMarie Jenema Feb 2016
They reach their arms,
struggling to capture their aim.
The salty, tangy air laughs in wisps,
at their frustration,
as they throw themselves against the beach's shore.
The sand falls away as they are pulled apart,
unable to reach their goal.
The rambling of the rolling waves continue,
when they decide to try again.
AnnaMarie Jenema Nov 2016
Why can't I trust these feelings?
That everything will be fine?
Why can't I hope that things will for once work out?
I know I'm childish,
to hold onto the ground when I could be soaring in the air,
but I need a safety net.
I need to make sure that I won't get hurt.
I've tasted unrequited love once before,
and oh how bittersweet it was.
It followed me for years,
and only now has faded.
So please allow me to keep this secret,
to not let the flames ignite.
Once that happens,
all stability will be lost.
AnnaMarie Jenema Feb 2017
I've been scheming so many things,
figuring out how to show my love for you.
I think I found the best way,
I know what I need to do.
And yet,
I hesitate.
Not because I don't want to go through with it,
I've given it plenty of thought,
but because I'm not courageous enough.
I've stood on stages,
dancing for hundreds,
read personal poems for groups,
Done new things by myself with the worry of messing up,
yet none have left me so anxious as this.
Yet it leaves me embarrassed.
Nervous for the day to come.
I know what I must do,
but this knowledge brings worry with it.
AnnaMarie Jenema Jan 2018
Warmth,
Aware of yourself,
Your existence,
Taking in your every breath,
Realizing your now paying attention.
You feel your fingers scroll this text,
Self Conscious of your thoughts,
And perhaps if I the author feels the same as you when you read this.
Your every exhale,
and inhale.
Don't you see?
This is existence.
Make it count!
I'm with you.
AnnaMarie Jenema Feb 2018
I want to invent myself,
In such a way that even sunshine,
Raises to meet my cheeks,
Or flowers bloom,
In the shade of my footprints.
Light falls from my smiles,
As contagious as laughter.
I want to invent myself,
So that all those around me can share in my cheer.
But Instead,
I slumber in darkness,
The past a rusty chain,
Twisting my ankles,
As I long to break free.
Yet I’m too much a coward to run.
I want to invent myself,
So even in this unrelenting darkness,
Those around me smile with light.
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