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Ansley Jul 2018
Boil.
Brew.
Check the news though you already know that something else had gone to ****.
Be angry.
Look into your cup and as the package releases colour into the hot water, realize that you are both so infinitely big and infinitely small in the same instance.
Understand that while you can change the world around you, it might not, and probably doesn't, matter.
Is nihilism your cup of tea?
Don't you adore questioning whether or not your existence matters first thing in the morning?
Ansley Jul 2018
A teacher once told me
art is the only good thing that is not a response to evil
But art is not good.
Art is selfish and egotistic and beautiful
Ansley Apr 2019
Though it is known that the stars would never worship the sun, she is very important to me.
Ansley Oct 2018
A cold surface houses a foot and a leg, along with the rest of the body, of course. The eyes stare straight ahead. You would think they blinked occasionally, but you could not tell. Earphones are plugged in and the ceiling fan spins right round, baby.
Right round. The mother clearly has cause for concern.
So I may or may not have lied on the floor for 15 minutes and made my mother v concerned.
Ansley Jul 2018
She
Lazily
Traced her fingers along my arm
Occasionally circling freckles
For emphasis
However,
Her eyes were closed.
There was no method,
No melody to a song she was writing
Along my arm
I almost wished she were something like mine
For she traces a blanket of stars
when she's asleep
I almost wish she were
Here
For a blanket of stars to be mine to keep
Here have some late night (early morning?) poetry
Ansley Mar 2019
My darling dearest fled;
Are the cliffs forever cold?
There's so much inside your head.
Do you dream of days of old?
You left so much in your wake,
In your trip to the sea.
Remember to wish that it was fake,
And hope to forget me.
The ocean will treat you well,
As well as you treated the stars.
May you dance in the craters where you dwell
As you did when the moon was ours.
Do not mourn!
We are not dead.
We do not remember you with scorn!
I respect where you've made your bed,
And wish you love forever more.
Loosely inspired by Edgar Allen Poe's Annabel Lee
Ansley Feb 2019
Freud wanted to like Christy,
He really really did.
But her white white teeth reminded him of a shark,
And so from her he hid.
Instead he loved Martha,
For the way she never talked.
If only his mom's face,
Hadn't been on a clock.
Then Martha would've been spared,
And we would have been taught,
That vague resemblance and trauma,
Should never tie the knot
Katy Perry was right about one thing
Ansley Aug 2018
The sun dances on her hair,
The brown echoing the colour of both her eyes and her freckles
As she dances through the sunflowers that are taller than her.
The other girl almost starts wondering how long it can last.
But she doesn't because
She promised the other girl that she wouldn't.
She also promised she would not pay attention to the siren or how it is getting very hot,
and very bright,
very fast.
They're out in the middle of a field for their last few minutes, trying to make happy last forever, which I find I try to do more often than I should.
Ansley Jul 2018
And so,
Death took her by the hand. Death draped her in a cloth of red, and they stood on the edge of the world.
"Will you miss it?"
"Without question"
In the last thirty seconds of one's life, one's brain shuts down. During this time, the ability to rationalize, as well as the ability to understand time or space, gradually gets lost, thus causing many people to experience things they wouldn't have otherwise.
Ansley Sep 2018
Maybe my debate coach was right,
For I am just a squirrel on *******
Don't over think this it is merely a Joke
Ansley Oct 2018
And so, you stare at the edge of the cliff, and the cacti far below seem less than welcoming. The neon in the distance, however, is inviting. You are still numb, and you are still so, so tired, but you turn around, drive home, and have a cup coffee.
Happy World Mental Health drink some water
Ansley Jul 2018
I met a girl with X-ray vision.
She found herself quite smart.
Yet despite
Her fantastic sight
She couldn't find my heart.

There was an *****
that pumped blood
But surely there was something more.
So she climbed
Into my mind
And opened up a door.

There she found
Things somewhat profound,
But they were not of any interest,
So she rose
And found the words I spoke
In the chasms of my lungs.

She saw debate and
The arguments I fought
She saw what I cared about
But it was still not what she sought

Then she leapt into my hands
And saw all that I wrote
She tried to find double meaning
To the carefully chosen words
But there was no leaning
Or things of note.

So she gave up
But began to fall
For when asked what I cared about
My girl with "X-ray vision"
Knew that she didn't know me at all
Don't you just adore fairytale styled poetry
Ansley Aug 2018
He wanted to apologize,
truly,
but swallowing his pride made him choke and retch,
and surely she couldn't blame him for that,
Right?
Getting sick at the thought of being wrong sounds familiar, and regretting why is okay as long as one fixes it and does not drown their regret in Katy Perry music
Ansley Jul 2018
You like to think that you can hide
but everyone can see you die
as you:
drop the change and
give your speech and
paint your face in crazy so that your broken looks like makeup.
Dear ---------------, we know you drew the smile on your mask while it was upside down.
is this a response to some 2edgy4you stuff my friend was saying or is it genuine insecurity about obvious panic attacks
Ansley Sep 2018
The sentence looks like someone who's sibling I used to be,
smells like sand and Pepto Bismol.
and is wet and warm and sticky.
As it sounds like a gun shot in an apartment in Virginia,
The sentence whispers to me a time of death.
I despise being the next of kin at a funeral filled with people I do not know
Ansley Aug 2018
Eric thought the other boy was beautiful, so he took pictures.
He took his smirk
He took the cliche sparkle from his eyes
He took everything
Until his beautiful boy was gone
And all he had were photos of nothing
I fear that after a while, pictures lose details
Ansley Aug 2018
He blinked rapidly as his shoulders shaked from laughter that he did not realize was coming from himself. He was shaking and the only things that mattered were the flashes of black and white. The song keeps playing and nothing else exists besides the smell of burning bread.

He could not decide if that was bad or good.
I wrote this while listening to 20 repeats of the song "What's New Pussycat" with one "It's Not Unusual" following the seventh "What's New Pussycat"
Ansley Jul 2018
"What are you, gay?"
He spat the word out, as though it were *****.
He spat the word out as though it were dusty and earthy and wriggling and as though he were choking on it.
He was desperate to use it as an insult.
But it fell into the air before us.
It was just as desperate to get out of the smothering suffocating stifling wet heat of his mouth.
To him, the word was synonymous with the f word and the d word.
And it hung there.
(I did not respond)
How dare he use homosexual as an insult in the year of twentygayteen
Ansley Feb 2019
You heard a door slam!
You know the curtains tore.
You were scared, he was frightened, "It's a ghost!" She swore.
Yet you tucked your children in
(though they were scarred forevermore)
But don't worry,
It's just me, crab walking across your floor
Poe has nothing on the notes from my journal
Ansley Aug 2018
The old woman ran a leathery hand through her cropped hair.
"Yes, you may weep for the fields of green, as they were gorgeous yet thought to be boring."
She rocked back and forth and her wrinkled face contorted into a smile for the first time in the conversation.
"You may always cry for the tulip fields as they were devastatingly beautiful yet loathed."
And yet, as soon as her face had lit up like a thousand suns, it was once again devoid of expression.
"But, nonetheless, reserve your pity for those that loved he or she that burned out,
for every lover of Icarus knows that it is better to be hated than to go unnoticed."
I love mixing styles together in a way that makes me doubt my own skill
Ansley Jul 2018
When a poet falls in love with you, you are immortal, for you have become of part of her, and so, a part of her work.
When she falls out of love, you are made to be better, for a memory of what was once great is stronger than a current, flighty feeling.
When a poet writes prose,
When she abandons conciseness in favor for essays filled with anger at you and herself and the world,
That is the day that you die.
For the day that a poet writes prose,
She, and she alone, exists.
For the day that a poet writes prose,
She will guarantee that you will not.
Wowza that did not mean to come out as dark as it did
Ansley Oct 2018
A chest, ornate and dark,
With gold lettering for the brand,
Holds the things that have been said about us without our knowledge.
One day we opened it, and realized that we'd rather have it filled with sea monsters than see it empty ever again,
And that was the day we were born.
It is better to be talked about and to exist without fear than to slip through life quietly.
Ansley Jul 2018
We are children who do not stop wanting because our world is always either imperfect or boring.
He will want more time until he needs another challenge, another high.
They want morality until they are required to do work to uphold it.
You want every bit of her until you realize that her (formally loveable) idiosyncrasies are more exasperating than endearing.
I am in love with the night until the silence is deafening.
Ansley Sep 2018
Stop turning red when I am tired, it makes us look bad.
Stop being a **** for eyelashes.
(I would like it if they were in you less.)
Lastly, stop tearing up when I feel even the slightest non-neutral feeling.
You know I'd rather kick a wall with tacks wedged between my toenails and skin than make a scene.
Sincerely, Ansley,
you know, the person trapped inside this flesh bag.
I believe there are many romanticized renditions blue, green, and the occasional brown eye, but it only works with other people's eyes, as we see here.
Ansley Jul 2018
Hello everybody. My name is Neal and I'm your tour guide.
The first creature that we will see is a koala, to your right. Do you know that koala's have fingerprints very similar to those of humans?
So much so that their prints have been mistaken for a human's at crime scenes?
Anyways, this leads us to ask some very important questions: are methods of finding criminals therefore unreliable? Is it truly possible to avoid imprisoning those that are innocent? Is reality merely an allusion?
Or, more importantly, was it my boyfriend John with the good fashion sense that took my hairbrush? Or was it that little ***** Bernard that is hiding in the top left corner?
Anyways, to your left you'll see our world renowned snail tank. Snails can sleep for up to three years at a time....
Koalas actually do have similar finger prints and snails can sleep for up to three years
Ansley Jul 2018
Two strangers sit across from each other.
They are nameless and beautiful.
The aluminum chairs are cold but never as cold as her composure and the coffee is warm but could never match the fire that dances behind his eyes as though it is a ballerina being forced to dance to the quiet music fading in and out.
The date is a business meeting, the desolate coffee shop a board room, and the barista a moderator to say "get a room" or "take it outside" depending on how it goes.
I think I like clinical and distant snapshots of other people's lives. It makes me feel more real.
Ansley Jul 2018
One day I hope that I can stay up all night with someone and look at the stars without thinking
(or making a badly timed comment) that they are shining bright but long dead.
Are we stars?
Ansley Jul 2018
Congratulations! You got:
Venus flytrap
This means:
You are not beautiful. You are ugly. A nuisance to someone else is what you need to survive but you can only **** and devour that which is small. You do not make a difference to humans. However, Venus Flytrap, someone will love you and love and then love you wrong. They will appreciate the drive and theatrics but you are too delicate as you need things other than the problems you're so dedicated too.
Once again, congratulations!
Venus Flytraps need the same things as other plants do.
Ansley Jul 2018
Each player gets 10,000 characters (spaces not included)
and topics to base the words on (space is not included)
Your objective is to make your opponent feel something
(anything)
In a game in which you'd be lucky to feel something
(anything)
while writing.
Note: we do not know who your opponent is and you're afraid to admit the same thing.
No one plays the Rat Race anymore. Now we all play Words To A Friend, a game based off the hit Words With Friends, except your opponent decides your score and you can't leave the game.
Ansley Aug 2018
Do not worry that you cannot write poetry
For there are a million words in your skin
Interwoven with DNA and constantly replicating:
A story about flashing red lights that look like eyes as you speed in the middle of the night,
Forgetting what you are running away from.
It's nice how we can't know who we are and that our only frame of reference is everyone we've ever met. It's nice to know that we could be original and not know it.

— The End —