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221 · Feb 2021
first month
Anne Feb 2021
I've been here before.
Hands on waisted time,
something familiar;
something bitter tasting.

You say that you love me.
Love.
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,
okay?

Keep singing me songs,
and I will keep listening.
This could be something special.
Proceed with caution,
but please,
proceed.
211 · Jan 2021
fire eyes
Anne Jan 2021
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,
but
how could i ever look away?
i don't know.
207 · May 2018
Summer Snowflakes
Anne May 2018
A boiling sun won’t melt my ache today.
I’ve been this puddle for awhile now.
Tomorrow is tomorrow is tomorrow is gone.
I can’t ******* breathe without choking these days.
These days,
These moments that used to blend together seamlessly
Are now chaptered by how I feel on a scale from 1-10.
Today it’s 6.
Yesterday it was 2.
Tomorrow it is -10 degrees in June.
I put on my jean shorts and apply sticky bug spray,
But still feel the summer snowflakes on my cheeks,
Telling me that all summer is just a another war,
this time painted with dandelions and water.
199 · Nov 2020
November
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?
183 · Apr 2018
The Boy (part 3)
Anne Apr 2018
Your sunshine promises are stale,
I’m not your dream.
I am still a cold brittle flake,
But you’re not so innocent anymore.
You are not a sun,
you are a candle,
Your wax has dissolved.
You gave me light when I needed it,
But my hands are mine again.
120 · Jul 2020
Bedsheets
Anne Jul 2020
Why can i feel you
How are you here
Why is it then
Who are we now
23/05/20

— The End —