Following the waving trees, 
the same direction as the breeze, 
as if a thermal element 
was wafted with my gait,

as blown along beside the river, 
downstream with it's flow, 
I felt a kind of impetus, 
impulsive like a joy, 
that grabs the psyche, 
swings the spirit in high gear,

a thrill of moving onward 
through the day and year, 
as if time were anonymous 
and I a mere convolvulous, 
that happened to be flowering today.

Ann Waddicor August 2013.

Notice the burning of a cigarette leaves a lifeless hollow shell
Just like a star
Just like the me you know so well
It,
Leaves behind ashes,
Leaves behind dirt,
Leaves behind lashes,
Leaves behind hurt.
Just like the burning of a cigarette leaves behind air so toxic
A burning star like me, will leave behind such losses.

“Fire doesn't purify, it blackens."*

-Silent Hill

You need to understand that no matter how beautifully the poem is written, no matter how relatable those black and white letters are; every word I've ever put on paper has been a product of mental illness. I don't care how deep it sinks into your chest, how long it resonates on your brain or how amazing it is that I have somehow put every unspoken thought you've ever had into 6 small words. Not once have I created a poem while thinking, "This one will surely paint a glorified picture of self harm, drug addictions, rehab visits, repeated rapes, abusive boyfriends and five years of therapy into the readers mind." Never would I write with such intention and never should my words be read for such a purpose. If you are searching for poems with glitter masking the truth, you have come to the wrong place. So if you have the guts to read my poetry, then I dare you to have the guts to read with the same pain it was written with. I refuse to write with raw, bold, and honest words only to wrap a pink ribbon over the bloodshed just to earn the title "tragically beautiful." The words I spill out come from a dark world. Admire them in purest form, ugly and appalling to the eyes.  Why would you want to romanticize the filth that I pour from my mentally ill mind?