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Anne Feb 25
last night you touched me
and it made me cry.

my damp cheeks baffled you.
your stare was one of terror,
one of guilt.

my love,
it is only me.
my corpse is the evil one.

you unraveled your hand,
mine for the taking .
I wanted it,
a safe place.
I refused.

you kept it there,
open invitation,
just in case.

you sang me songs til'
my lips could curve again.
you stroked my hair,
crumbling to dust
between your fingertips.

i wish i could be better,
for you,
for us both.

in my dreams,
i can be her.
i am your soft place to land,
somewhere to call home.

in your arms,
i am only human.
tiny and decaying,
a crybaby through and through.

last night you touched me,
and i found myself trapped
within that frigid august.
underneath those mint sheets,
underneath him.

i need to you to believe
that your crybaby,
is more than just
a sad song to sing.
i need you.

dimmer every second,
the light behind my eyes
still smoulders everyday.
for your sake,
i will fan its fire for evermore.

tears may freeze this winter,
but i vow to be your blanket someday.
trauma is a funny thing
Anne Feb 16
I've been here before.
Hands on waisted time,
something familiar;
something bitter tasting.

You say that you love me.
How could that be true?

Sometimes I wonder if you even see me at all.
You see the parts you like,
you eat them up for breakfast and
let the flavour sit on your tongue all day.

What about the ugliness?
I know you see it too.
The monsters under my bed,
my creasing forehead.

I want this to work,
I want us to thrive;
but I no longer have time to waste.
I can't afford to lose any more of myself.

You push too much;
all I've ever known is pushing.
I don't want that anymore.

You are kind to me,
and that's worth a lot.
I don't take that for granted.

My sweet boy,
so soft.
I never want to hurt you.
Let us be careful,

Keep singing me songs,
and I will keep listening.
This could be something special.
Proceed with caution,
but please,
Anne Jan 27
there is a light in your eyes,
a spark i once knew well.
may it never go out.

may your fire only grow,
may it keep you warm
through the winter.

how could i ever trust a stranger?
i don't know,
how could i ever look away?
i don't know.
Anne Jan 19
You say art is alive,
and yet here we are.

Perfectly sculpted,
Precisely detailed,
of course.
Objects all the same.

Don't you see us looking back?
Gazing into me,
What do you see?


That's it.
Isn't it?

Wanting me to want you;
needing me to need you.
Holding your hand,
no matter how heavy it gets.

It's tiring,
reminding you what you already know.
Existing for more than your pleasure,
being more than a mirror,
just.. being.

I think it's enough.
I know that it is.
Doubt only creeps in
when you look at me.

I am human.
I am a universe of my own.
When I feel your stare,
why can't you feel mine?
Have you already forgotten?

Your pupils are no blacker than mine,
no less of a lens to see myself in.
Don't you see us looking back!

Every time your eyes meet mine,
I see you.
I simply see you.
It isn't difficult,
nor should it be.

You were right.
Art is alive,
and I am no exception.
i want to like men but they sure don't make it easy
Anne Jan 11
Eating my beyond burger with a fork and knife,
drag race in the background,
my Samantha doll by my side.
This isn't loneliness anymore.
This is just life now.

I'm not very good with words anymore,
maybe I never was.
So little has changed and yet everything has.
I still long for love.
I still want to be wanted.
That might never change.

Yet now this lonely world is one I've come to accept,
come to love.
I may be my only friend here,
but that's one more than last year.

Nothing I create is good,
but I'm learning to create anyway.
I'm learning to share my bad art,
at least it's art.

I dream of slitting the throat of the dog next door.
Someone outta shut him up.
I used to think that was an evil thought,
now I know there's no such thing.

I turn 21 in 2 days.
Math. Yuck.
I'm old,
getting older every second.
I will grow into this skin,
I'm sure of it.

I'm grateful.
More than anything I am grateful for it all.
The pain,
the pleasure,
the guilt,
the anger.


No one reads these except me.
So this one is for her.
For you.
my love,
my villain,
my biggest fear.

May this year be kind to you,
may you be kind to it.
May you listen to your spirit guides,
may you accept what you never could.

Growth is sticky and wet,
Knowledge is thick and grey.
May you be the light and the darkness,
the cut and the band aid.

More than anything,
be okay.
You're gross,
in a sort of beautiful way.
May you be okay with that.

Bad art is still art.
I think so.
For now.
Anne Nov 2020
Things grow,
weeds in the usual spots.
Dusted red shoulders shrug
into runny noses.
I feel my sticky breath,
I can’t see it.
It’s snowing again.

It’s been so long.
Or was it yesterday?
I crave loving,
I long to long.

This body is a spoiled good,
rotting foundation,
Roof collapsed.
Cuts and dyes aren’t anymore.
To be loved is to grow,
to feel,
to change.

How is this mess supposed to clean itself?
It’s safer in the dark.
I want to be good,
but I can’t turn this **** into art anymore.
There is nothing poetic about this type of pain.

So, what do I do with it?
Anne Aug 2020
Oh flightless seabird,
I think you are lovely.
Mouth unfed,
feathers untethered.
Sitting pretty on the creek,
friends and families tasting the blue.
No wind under your feet,
not yet.

They think fondly of you,
That’s a choice they’re allowed to make.
The higher they fly, the further away you become.
The weakest love you,
pity turns to self love.
At least they can fly,
at least they’re not alone.

You know better,
my seabird.
I saw you,
and so I knew you.
It is you and you alone who grins at lilac kisses,
melts the silver sparks.
Sour grass midnight and
rusted dawns alike agree that you see,
therefore you are.

Flightless seabird,
We’re looking back with glass eyes.
You are here,
and you are loved.

You are not alone.
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