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anna lee Jun 2020
I'm so afraid
And maybe that's an understatement.
But I think I really am this time.

I use to go into relationships, thinking everything is going to be easy.
But this is the first time that I've realized that it isn't going to be simple.

This isn't easy, this isn't simple.
But I don't give two ***** if its easy or not.
As I don't care, I'm still afraid.

I'm a coward. A child. A nobody.

It's so hard for me to pick up on everything he says.
I'm so afraid every time he asks me certain questions.

"Do you promise to love me forever?"

The only thing that runs through my head is,

"Will you be the one to love me forever?"

Everyone that I've made that promise to, have disappeared. And I am so afraid for this to become one of those cases. I long for eternity, a passionate never endless love.

I have not once achieved it, and my soul weeps. Constantly.

I want to be loved the way I love people. No one has been able to do that for me. I wait, and I wait. Nobody obliges. I sometimes feel as if, I'm a walking joke. Too loving, caring, passionate, for others.

Why is it so hard?

I sit here, every morning asking myself, not the same question, but multiple questions. Everything is so excessive, so much baggage. So much pain, nothing that i can fixate on. Nothing to take it away truly.

Because being with you, might make me happy, but there will always be that one little piece in my brain that reminds me of her.

You with her.

And it upsets me. It pains me. I wish sometimes she never existed. Its my jealousy and rage kicking in. My two-faced mannerisms that cannot let go of the past.

I lie in bed every time and tell myself to never hold grudges. Its unhealthy, not only for my sake, but the others too.

But I just cannot bring myself to be okay. I think about her. I see her. I hear her. And I just want her gone. I'm so tired of her. I'm so tired of the thought of you two being together again.

I want to run away, never exist. I hate it all because it hurts.

You love her, you will always love her. You and I will never have the bond that you had. And it hurts me.

So my question to you now;

"Do you really love me?"

Or am I a sea-sick notion to forget the past. A cover up. Someone that can give you the love that you never received from her.

I need answers, there are too many questions.

I'm so afraid.
  Jun 2020 anna lee
Heather
A cigarette. A ****** cigarette.
You discovered that I
was a habitual liar.
All from the stubbed cigarette
at my feet.
I didn’t blame you.
I would never want to be
with someone so filthy.
It’s hard, you know.
Your first lie is like the first injection
It’s the rush, baby.
And then you find yourself
unable to pull away.
Always,
eventually going back.
Lies are blameless
The liar is to blame.
I love you
But not enough to stop
And you discovered this-
this habit of mine
all from a cigarette.
A cigarette. A ****** cigarette.
  Jun 2020 anna lee
AJ
His nicotine tongue was the most conniving part of his existence.
Every time it made contact with mine,
I tasted Marlboros,
the only brand he would buy.
Whatever his nicotine tongue
did to mine sent me into
a tornado of insanity each time,
like I was one of his cigarettes,
but he put me out,
stepped on me,
before I could burn his lips.
His nicotine tongue told his mouth
to speak such brutal words
that would make me
fall in love with him
over and over,
lighting me up and up,.
He had never kept me lit,
put me out before I could
trick him into thinking
"love"
could be a hole
he could also fall in.
He had carried me
around in his pocket,
his nicotine tongue
telling him to fuel his craving
and pull me out,
wrapping his mouth
around me and breathing me in
until I was no more.
But the more he
breathed me in,
the more his
nicotine tongue
started to die.
I was toxic.
He never did fall in love with me,
but I did end up
being the one to
stomp
him
out.
two toxics can never mix
  Jun 2020 anna lee
Li Ching Chao
To the tune of "Red Lips"

Lonely in my secluded chamber,
A thousand sorrows fill every inch
of my sensitive being.

Regretting that spring has so soon passed,
That rain drops have hastened the falling followers,
I lean over the balustrade,
Weary and depressed.

Where is my beloved?

Only the fading grassland
stretches endlessly toward the horizon;
Anxiously I watch the road for your return.
  Jun 2020 anna lee
Ono no Komachi
omo Fitutu
nureba ya Fito no
mieturan
yume to siriseba
samezaramasi wo

Was I lost in thoughts of love
When I closed my eyes? He
Appeared, and
Had I known it for a dream
I would not have awakened.
  Jun 2020 anna lee
Sylvia Plath
'Perspective betrays with its dichotomy:
train tracks always meet, not here, but only
    in the impossible mind's eye;
horizons beat a retreat as we embark
on sophist seas to overtake that mark
    where wave pretends to drench real sky.'

'Well then, if we agree, it is not odd
that one man's devil is another's god
    or that the solar spectrum is
a multitude of shaded grays; suspense
on the quicksands of ambivalence
    is our life's whole nemesis.

So we could rave on, darling, you and I,
until the stars tick out a lullaby
    about each cosmic pro and con;
nothing changes, for all the blazing of
our drastic jargon, but clock hands that move
    implacably from twelve to one.

We raise our arguments like sitting ducks
to knock them down with logic or with luck
    and contradict ourselves for fun;
the waitress holds our coats and we put on
the raw wind like a scarf; love is a faun
    who insists his playmates run.

Now you, my intellectual leprechaun,
would have me swallow the entire sun
    like an enormous oyster, down
the ocean in one gulp: you say a mark
of comet hara-kiri through the dark
    should inflame the sleeping town.

So kiss: the drunks upon the curb and dames
in dubious doorways forget their monday names,
    caper with candles in their heads;
the leaves applaud, and santa claus flies in
scattering candy from a zeppelin,
    playing his prodigal charades.

The moon leans down to took; the tilting fish
in the rare river wink and laugh; we lavish
    blessings right and left and cry
hello, and then hello again in deaf
churchyard ears until the starlit stiff
    graves all carol in reply.

Now kiss again: till our strict father leans
to call for curtain on our thousand scenes;
    brazen actors mock at him,
multiply pink harlequins and sing
in gay ventriloquy from wing to wing
    while footlights flare and houselights dim.

Tell now, we taunq where black or white begins
and separate the flutes from violins:
    the algebra of absolutes
explodes in a kaleidoscope of shapes
that jar, while each polemic jackanapes
    joins his enemies' recruits.

The paradox is that 'the play's the thing':
though prima donna pouts and critic stings,
    there burns throughout the line of words,
the cultivated act, a fierce brief fusion
which dreamers call real, and realists, illusion:
    an insight like the flight of birds:

Arrows that lacerate the sky, while knowing
the secret of their ecstasy's in going;
    some day, moving, one will drop,
and, dropping, die, to trace a wound that heals
only to reopen as flesh congeals:
    cycling phoenix never stops.

So we shall walk barefoot on walnut shells
of withered worlds, and stamp out puny hells
    and heavens till the spirits squeak
surrender: to build our bed as high as jack's
bold beanstalk; lie and love till sharp scythe hacks
    away our rationed days and weeks.

Then jet the blue tent topple, stars rain down,
and god or void appall us till we drown
    in our own tears: today we start
to pay the piper with each breath, yet love
knows not of death nor calculus above
    the simple sum of heart plus heart.

— The End —