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Jun 2016 · 396
anneka Jun 2016
youth will drain out of
this skin in waves, and
you come to me in light
light light light, smash
our teeth on collarbones
grooves where knuckle
grows into jaw, sacrifice
love on the cornerstones
when you sing of safety
and a land I have never
reached. when father calls
me daughter and I bleed
split lip syrup thick, two
glazed eyes of the celestial
city passing by push us in
as we pull ourselves out
here, here in between these
fingers in the palm that lies
gapes gasps gasping for
air all for a promise, the
prayers on the tip of my
tongue amen, amen,

Jun 2016 · 499
anneka Jun 2016
I have long forgotten how to play
and still we dance, dance, dance amidst
your winning hand, this lucky streak
euphoria, she has left for the eons
all eludes me, my memory of the last
time I had a taste of any life

we’re in castles apart, far and wide
here there are lovers I have yet to hold
but all of them look like you, and the
silhouettes they tell me there’s
only ghosts in my speech, defeat
on my tongue; lost before the
knights can ever come

the bishops, they bless the one
who bleeds light but I am only the moon
to you, here by the skin of my teeth
in every absence that you present
no more than a pawn in the
game when you crown
yourself king.

May 2016 · 354
anneka May 2016
when you have watched me all my life
and never warned of ashes in the west,
our prodigal son that returns again
my unrepentant lover lies in sallow skin
silhouettes only dance at night

the sun never sets in the east, but china she
screams from the earth when you leave me
wondering if warmth burns like ice or fire
with both hands smiling, you drive it all
a stake through my heart

father, my samson
home is four walls of the lion’s den
mother, my delilah
home is four walls of the lion’s den

all I know is sacrifice.

May 2016 · 296
anneka May 2016
I carved you out of marble and stone
but I think it is midas in your blood
and the back of my hands are bruised
from all the years I’ve tried to let go

you still own me without even trying
my tongue is tied in cherry knots
when they told me to soften the
centre to make it easier to swallow,
but then they did not know you

the sea is black with all the blood I’ve spilt
and distance only amplifies the pain, when
where I am only requires liquid luck to
get to where you are; the spirits, they kiss
my eyelids and paint our past gold

the same years that destroyed me glorify
you. you. you. you. the mantra in my
head, the miracle that rose again you
measure each pulse in my blood as I

of the one I have loved so much more
than all of those who came before, yet
you know I never drink with the intention
of leaving, only of love –

only for you.

May 2016 · 265
all but farewell
anneka May 2016
I. you took all the words I could never pronounce and slipped them to me under the roof of my mouth. yet with time even stone erodes under water, and earth gives way to its core. a cave, a house; the idea of ‘us’ dwindled down to nothing but thin smoke, fumes rising from burning fire wood. as the flowers bloomed in spring, only your shadow took the place besides mine.

II. un deux trois, the numbers slip off my tongue in unfamiliar curves, a lilting curl in an accent too foreign for mine. perhaps we have always been strangers, born from the gap in adam’s ribs and the silhouette of eve’s body. dust to dust they wash and repeat; mantras ticking like metronomes atop grandfather’s piano. the melody still plays even though he is gone, paradise calling him far, far away.

III. she barely reaches my chest, small hands tugging at the edge of my shirt. her eyes are focused, brows furrowed in concentration. ghosts remain forever familiar; we have shared the same face, known the same pain. as my gaze glosses over the crumpled sheets and red pens strewn across the floor, she trembles against me. i reply the only way i know how, dropping to my knees and embracing her. as she begins to fade away, the truth rings in our ears, loud and clear – we both turn out okay, i promise, i promise.

May 2016 · 233
of fate
anneka May 2016
if our paths met again
a string of red will take its
place, crimson and bleeding
god once spoke and then
there was us

tell me everything over
these star bright scars
how in one hand these
constellations spark
light, and in the other
the orbits glow forever

water recedes in these
lungs, the sea she knows
watch our moon wane
here I will be the shore
give my all when the
tide takes

May 2016 · 239
anneka May 2016
words are not enough
I can tell you the imprint
of our scars are intertwined,
locked and I have fallen for
so many so fast at once

they spill out, ricochet off
the edge as my vision blurs
waterfalls rushing through
corners of my eyes

one day I will tell you all
the words I cannot say
tear open this cage and
let this beating heart

remember in its place
my soul now sings
a song that goes on
and on forever –


it's been a long time.
Feb 2016 · 246
anneka Feb 2016
here my smile unravels at the seams
curving against the spines of my ribs
and oh i, wish i could mean more but
concrete only bends beneath my bones

watch what dances across these glassy eyes
the skin on my face melt, melts, melting
chaos dark matter toxic waste cursed, those
batteries father threw out when i was five

the same year we moved away when
oceans tore home into two, and split
the land apart almost as cleanly
as you do, did, are doing to me

also: i never asked to fall in love.
Feb 2016 · 242
fool's gold
anneka Feb 2016
mama, he's a wonder though
see him seek my touch from
ice to flames, heaven to hell
and back again

mama, what do i do
his gaze ignites, firelight
in the depths of my heart
buried within ash from
all those years ago

mama, you never warned me
these shadows return in guises;
legends say there were ten suns
till they shot down nine but

isn't it funny how
i'm left with

Jan 2016 · 268
what more do you want?
anneka Jan 2016
these crisscrossing streets
were once ours, our screaming
neon, the dazzling infinite
lights but time

she weaved
herself between
the clench of my fist
in the shape of his
absence, that grows,

blood only
multiplies while we
splutter, incoherent
with the clarity -

your heart,
it does not beat
for me anymore.

Jan 2016 · 529
anneka Jan 2016
babe, baby,
flush them out
once they'd call us the
colonised, the lost -

together we are
pressed paper, labyrinth
i think in phrases,
phrases and
your thoughts,

love, lover,
grasping at straws
tell me of how she
broke you before, i'll
show you my own

Jan 2016 · 289
anneka Jan 2016
my eyes are white, grey
concrete, and you wonder
how these hands still move

when everything cracks and
cracks, when the echo of your
voice reduces all to ash

they unravel, these knots,
this mind, i think -

no, no more.

Nov 2015 · 274
anneka Nov 2015
July was fantastical. I was always struck speechless when she smiled.  Her loose limbs used to flail in mid-air as she danced in circles around me. She’d do this routine – a spin once, twice, and then a graceful fall to the floor; knees pressed against the earth. The breeze would start to change as she fell, the scent of grass, rain and sunlight wafting through the air. It smelt of home, the forest. July, she was breath-taking. The calendar said we had 31 days left every year and I think that’s what made her so different. That she knew she wouldn’t last past the summer and live to see autumn. Sometimes I still hear her laughter as an echo in the place I hold so dear.


When December comes visiting, she tells me July was only a dream.

“But you have 31 days too.” I argue.

“Time is always longer in the cold,” December replies. “It makes summer seem like it never existed.”

I always laugh when she says this because I know the truth – every end is merely a new beginning.

Aug 2015 · 272
anneka Aug 2015
i kiss the line where
shore meets sea,
and pray for the tide
to swallow us

tell me when
my eyelids close
for yours open then -

when sirens sing of
babylon's lovers, all
i can think of is

Jul 2015 · 473
anneka Jul 2015
when my palms still faced
the sky we were songbirds, gold
dusted crescents, diamonds splitting
against marble floor

laughter dances with her lover
liar - they ricochet off the walls;
time has blurred them both into one
and the same

May 2015 · 227
anneka May 2015
we are constantly at war with one another like this: a needle against my heart, a knife against her neck. she smiles something dark – almost deranged, even – and still my hand holds steady against her pulse. I do not know how I manage it when the needle in hers pierces ever so slightly as a warning, the weight of it against me sharp and static.

“further,” she laughs, shrill screeches echoing into my ear. a flash barely registers in my sight, and the movement of silver is too fast for me to stop – something within me begins to bleed. first dripping, and then gushing; but even an explosion would make no difference at this point.

we both know blind instinct moves my hand in response, splitting skin from her in retaliation. it is not red but black that pours, her manic expression growing as the liquids pool around us; murky and desolate.

I cannot tell who screams louder after that – but it is with a desperation that mirrors mine. to live? to die? the pitch shatters glass around us and shards force their way into our skins, yet it does not hurt; it has not for a very long time.

a pause, and then the words slip out of our mouths at the same time before I even register it:

“no, I am okay. I am still me.”


“I think it’s funny how they say the scariest monsters are the ones under your bed, when clearly the true monsters are the ones that live in your head.”

May 2015 · 272
alight, a light
anneka May 2015
these scars
of when you
consumed me
inward, outward
and I could only

watch as the skin hollowed,
sinking to pull fingers apart
tendon from bone, ashes;
flesh dripping through the
cavity where a heart once

yet we know; I know
when the ground shakes
and my vision fades it will
still be you who brings me
back to

May 2015 · 645
anneka May 2015
we will burst forth from the veins
pouring red over gold and I will
whisper the secrets of this life into
the cracks where our broken bones lie

the sun vanishes into your eyes
and warmth pours from every pore
sparks ignite, shining; shatters -
I am only as real as this world
will let me be

it is here in our hearts
echoing off the walls
once apart, twice entwined
charmed, charmed, charmed.

Mar 2015 · 366
anneka Mar 2015
be soft, be mellow, be gentle. let the waves wash over you, let the sea foam dissolve your bones. your voice must be a constant whisper, your eyes open and glitter bright. the world will bend you, break you, destroy you; be cautious but never guarded. build walls that are easily penetrable, let your thoughts never pierce, only persuade. the touch you leave behind must be prints and not scars, the smile you radiate must be all sun and never the moon. hear with the intent of hearing, hear but never be heard. move with grace, let your presence be fleeting and enshrouded in shadows.


i am the tempest roaring, the quiet after the storm. i house a galaxy between my lungs, constellations dotting the insides of my mind. my thoughts are a labyrinth you cannot even begin to fathom; when i speak thunder rolls, lightning strikes. i will go where the wind calls me, i will illuminate the darkness. my voice is the chimes of bells. be strong, be firm, be swift. the world has tried to break me, but i have never been destroyed. the touch i leave behind burns like fire and soothes like silk, the smile i hold curves like the crescent moon. i hear with the intent of understanding, i speak to be heard. the waves crash beneath my feet and -

i will not apologise for being me.

happy international women's day. power to my fellow females!
anneka Mar 2015
I was a shot in the dark and you were a candle burning bright. We were the moon and the sun, water and fire; mirroring parallels that would never get a happily ever after. For years I hoped that perhaps we would be the exception, and in the times I held your warmth and heard your laughter, I truly believed that we were.

But I have come to learn that we are not.

They say that twenty and two represent disorder, light, and here you are with a smile on your lips and the ashes of what could have been collapsing through your fingertips. Sometimes people fall in love only to have it fall apart.

What I’m trying to say is that even though there may be endless ways of celebrating years past and gone, this is something that stands apart from the rest. Once you would sing to me, but that is merely memory now.

In place of the silence, please take this as my song to you.

Mar 2015 · 427
anneka Mar 2015
I shake this glass as if the motions will bring you back one day. Liqueur slips through my grasp and tequila tumbles down my throat; I can tell you absinthe tastes like liquorice but it is ***** that shoots my highs to heaven. We chase liquids in place of light, but I wonder if it is these trembling hands and the fever bright fog that consumes my mind that makes it all the more harder to let go.

Mar 2015 · 274
anneka Mar 2015
eventually this will all be a shot in the heart, a fading noise in the dark. I have wandered and wondered for years now but to no avail; the past weighs in as an avalanche and the only anthem I can recall holds no melody, no song. in dreams I am merely asleep, in life I only exist. there's a place where empty hearts go, they say, of a valley shrouded in shadows where ice flames flicker and nothing grows. I wish I could tell you that I was strong enough, immortal even, to avoid such a fate; yet in the soul of my soul we both know that there are some things from which one cannot escape.

the only love I know feels like this, thunderstorms, warm hands and piercing silence. of passing glances and wilting flowers. even silence is a noise, some will tell you, and they are right. there are scars in my core that bandages cannot heal, that time cannot take away. how quiet people become in the face of those they cannot save. how little our lives mean on the grander scale of things. with every inhale I imagine that the universe must be consuming me from within; perhaps one day I will finally be able to forget it all.

I wonder if you still remember me from time to time.

Feb 2015 · 614
anneka Feb 2015
the asphalt on your skin is worn
thin as the blood that seeps from
your veins; volatile, impossible
and still in the end we laid you
to seek the quiet within ocean
blues, journey towards the sea

glassy eyes, dying breath. gasp,
shake - water streaming down
our faces the tsunami tides still
break and they still take. i tried
to warn death of you and yet
perhaps that was my main

there are years i have known
and years that are a haze; life
is but a passing glance and
endless farewells. yet this is
the hope i hold in my heart, of
golden gates and eternity's shore
may it be you i find waiting at the
end of my

Feb 2015 · 426
anneka Feb 2015
death first visited at seven
in the form of endless sleep
ghosting over weathered skin
and phantom hair; hollowing
bones that would creak no more.
they told me that the end was of
peace as we went through oceans
and back, to where the shell of my
grandfather lay.

death later breezed past at nine, when
the faiths started to shift at home and
great grandmother could no longer
remember my face. they told me that
time takes and time heals, but no one
ever spoke of how the flowers in her
garden stopped blooming after she
left us; only the faint hint of musk
and jade helps us remember she
once was here.

death crashed in at eighteen like the
clashing of cymbals and blaring of
horns, when the cells in my uncle's body
multiplied and could not stop. they told us
there was only today or tomorrow, yet in
my heart i knew he would stay forever.
we never speak about how his last breaths
sounded like train wrecks or how his passing
meant weeks of grey; only of how he left
a legacy of love behind and laughter that
could outshine
the sun.

death came unannounced at nineteen as
i watched my dog pass into eternity's slumber.
after fifteen years with her the loss is shattering;
when i close my eyes it is still her salt and pepper
fur between the gaps of my fingers, her happy
barks when we returned home. i never want to
let go, yet i know one day i must -

memory lasts where
life cannot.

Feb 2015 · 304
anneka Feb 2015
one day we will sit on the rooftops when the sun washes her last lights over us. on that day we will find ourselves awake when the world starts to sleep; amongst the quiet bristling of leaves and under the blanket of night we will trace the constellations in the sky with arms high and heart abandoned. our smiles will mimic the crescent moon, and you will sing that special song when the euphoria in your body hits a crescendo. we are but passing moments, and although i know this i will etch your voice into my bones, pretending that each symphony has no end, that all melodies are ceaseless. as your laughter causes the last notes to fade off into the dark, my own voice will echo yours –

this is forever.


“it has been years, and yet you still…”

she only laughs in reply.

“time means nothing.”

Feb 2015 · 330
anneka Feb 2015
I have loved you like this, with wide eyed glassy gaze and star struck wonder. The universe at our feet and the sky in our hands; weightless with the anticipation of a rose tinted future. Euphoria is dizzying. Even now I still hear your laughter, it resounds in my head when the silence is too loud.

I have loved you like this, with hollow eyes and a washed out frame. In those days no words fell past weak lips, only tears that trembled with exhaustion and a blank gaze that held no light. Emptiness is all consuming. I remember the void expanding further than ever before, spilling between flesh and bone.

I have loved you like this, with careful steps and controlled poise. Electric tension in the air, practiced smiles. “Hello, how are you?" and "Fine, thank you." The corners of our eyes crease, down-turned crescent moons set firmly in place; arms loosely hanging by our sides. Evading you is like running from wildfire. Our efforts were futile anyway, suppressed emotions burning from the inside.

I love you like this now, with quiet glances at old photographs and the replaying of my memories. There’s no one to fill the gaps you’ve left, but over the years I have learnt to bandage old wounds and heal these scars. To pick myself up from where you’ve left me, to learn to put one foot in front of the other despite the pain. Loss is strange. Even now, when the storms rage on, I can still hear you whispering “I’m here, it’ll be okay.”


I loved you -


I love you.

Feb 2015 · 918
anneka Feb 2015
heart of my heart
flesh of my flesh
the merry bell tolls,
cries tinkling chimes
of young laughter

I sink in the depths
of your pestle, mortar,
delicate dripping lips
the hours are now years
hazy and blurred

of swaying breeze, and
careful steps; flighty
translucent limbs splayed
out in the sunrise of
pale moon eyes

shadow, shadow
I breathe in this now
exhale the rest, leaving this
heart in your trembling
willowy hands

Jan 2015 · 322
anneka Jan 2015
I. beyond us the sky stretches far past the horizon, fading shades of crimson bleeding into violet as the sun sets. “the world is full of infinite wonder,” I whisper, tracing ancient runes onto your skin. “and so are you.” the corners of your mouth break into a smile, and silently you maneuver the sheets till we’re eye to eye. “only for you,” you reply, and my answering laughter echos in the room.

II. in the morning the sun rises in bursts of gold, light dispelling the shadows in gradients of honey. the gentle hum of rustling trees cannot drown out the steady staccato beat of our hearts, legs tangled and fingers entwined. in my dreams I mumble your name, and as I wake to your warmth I slowly realise home is a feeling and not a place. “you are the moon,” you begin, “and you are the sun.” I end, sleep clinging to our voices in unison.

III. the edges of my letters to you are stained with tears, ink bleeding in places where the paper has yellowed with time. your gaze is a question, but I only push the box nearer towards you. “for all the times I missed you, and for all the times I couldn’t reach you.” I respond quietly. you spend the rest of the week reading each one, brows furrowed in concentration. at the end of it all I receive a silent apology, closed eyes and forehead against mine. I feel the words said more than I hear them; three words to carry us through the remainder of this life - I love you.

Sep 2014 · 245
anneka Sep 2014
Maybe if I smelt less like vanilla and more like thunder you’d still be here. The flow of my hair is a tangle of flowers and berries with names we both can’t pronounce, but yours always left the scent of home and sunlight behind. I know the tips of my fingers still taste like strawberries and the words that left your tongue dripped like honey. That you felt like static, moved like lightning and I was always in awe; the time you draped me in roses and called me yours, the time you told me my name in your mouth reminded you of only the best things. Maybe if I wasn’t who I am, maybe if you weren’t who you were. Maybe if the footprints I leave behind weren’t made of silence, maybe if the moments we made weren’t littered with scars -

I will always wonder why God decided to take you away from me.

Sep 2014 · 240
to my mother
anneka Sep 2014
I am sorry that you wished for spring and
ended up with summer. How I only feel
bones and not the warmth you desperately
want to show me. That at night you pray
for my peace but come morning I am only
a marionette that resembles the fading ember
of father's cigarettes. How I cannot bear to step
out of this house; the ghosts will devour
me if I do, both inside and out. The skin
upon my soul cracks and cracks; like the
pavement you fell in when you broke your
feet. The time you told me to feel less, to stop
blaming myself; I am sorry for that too, that
I have tried and I cannot. Perhaps one day I
will manage to breathe without choking on
all the silences I cannot word, perhaps one
day I will be able to sleep without death on
the precipice. I am sorry I am the moon and
not the sun for you, that my sister radiates
light and I only reflect it. I have half your mind
and the full sum of your smile, but if only my
voice would remain as calm as yours when you
deal with misery, maybe I would finally learn to
be okay.

I am sorry.
Sep 2014 · 211
anneka Sep 2014
There exists an empty void in
the middle of my chest where
my heart once was, and I cannot
remember the taste of daylight,
cannot remember anything but
the aches in my head and the
trembling of my hands.

I have spiraled down the edge
far too fast and for far too long,
darkness seeping into the corners
of my eyes like they belong; but
when I wake this human skin still
stays -

Forgive me, I can only choke on
all the words I cannot bring
myself to say.

Sep 2014 · 379
anneka Sep 2014
I've been trying to word the infinity that I experienced with you. To condense the moments between my lungs and breathe them onto others, expecting them to experience even a sliver of the spark you gave me. But how does one possibly clasp the invisible between hands, much less the heart?

Scientists say that we live about 80 milliseconds in the past, but they do not know me - I have lived in the past for far longer, flourishing. As far back as days, months and years; I have hidden in my memories in order to stay alive, stay with you.

Even if it takes a lifetime, I will remain.

Sep 2014 · 482
anneka Sep 2014
I collect mountain ash from your remains
maybe the rising smoke is all I can bear;
but how this shallow water is neck deep
and if I close my eyes now only your
shadow devours me.

how you never said goodbye.
Sep 2014 · 346
anneka Sep 2014
how I’ve been reduced to
so little and almost nothing
wandering aimless, nameless
in a sea of so many where I
find myself alone yet again.

Sep 2014 · 328
anneka Sep 2014
I don’t know if you’ve ever felt a constant emptiness that lingers as you shake the sleep from your eyes as I have. I hardly get any sleep as it is, nowadays. How I think I think too much and altogether too little, only if I managed to string my words together better I wouldn’t be all loose ends and frayed knots. I’ve wrung my thoughts dry with the weight of my memories to watch the blood drain from my bones; knuckles white and brittle, hollow. They bloom red in my anger, concrete cracking under my skin, peeling in layers till I can’t distinguish my injuries from the chaos. I’m saying all this because I wish you would stay, would’ve stayed - tenses slip past me - but it’s too late now, has forever been too late.

I guess that this is my way of saying I still love you.

I did, I will, I do.

Sep 2014 · 355
anneka Sep 2014
She barely remembers the first time she receives flowers, a quiet girl of 6 or 7 standing amidst glaring lights in well worn ballet shoes. The faces of the audience in front of her are a blur; all she knows is the mixed rush of relief and gratitude that months of hard work have culminated into a show worthy of standing ovations and teary eyed smiles from proud parents. The flowers aren't even truly for her, she's only a carrier for them - her ballet teacher the true receiver - but she supposes that for a moment before she passes it on she can pretend the bouquet that covers her face entirely is hers, pretend that she warrants the same pride that everyone else seems to have obtained but her.

The second time is slightly different, more memorable only because she's near death (or dead, there isn't really a distinct difference at that point) on a hospital bed with the light filtering in through the blinds. The doctors can't figure out what's wrong so they inject her body with every sort of painkiller imaginable to the human body. She's pretty sure 12 pills in a day accompanied by an anesthetic drip that slows her system to oblivion has to be illegal somehow, but she can't stay awake for more than half an hour at a time to argue so she takes them in anyway. The flowers are a gift, a showcase of love and concern- although from who she really can't recall - and are a welcome addition to the dull palette of the room. They're the first thing she sees when she wakes up and the last thing she sees before she dozes off, and since she miraculously recovers after a grueling 2 weeks of pain she's sure they're magical somehow. "They must be," her mother says, astounded when she listens to her daughter speak, "I didn't see anything there."

The charm hits by the third time she receives flowers, standing face to face with a boy she's only met once but felt too much with, dim lights casting shadows on their figures. She can't hide the shock on her face as he abruptly thrusts the bouquet into her hands, pastel pinks and purples coming into view. This was never part of the agreement - although really, the entire situation was never actually a choice for either of them - and yet somehow a pleasant surprise. As they tumble into the car, she thanks him and asks his reasons for the unexpected gift although she's pretty sure she already knows. "I just wanted to get it for you." He replies, eyes sparkling with something she can't quite name but knows anyway. The rest of the night continues that way, unreal and perfect. She was right, she thinks, a smile slowly making its way across her face; maybe it'll be okay this time. Maybe it'll finally work.


There isn't a fourth, fifth or sixth time she receives flowers, but she can tell you the number of times she's experienced heartbreak on the tip of her tongue. She receives it in the same way the petals before have fallen through her fingers, giving her something to feel besides numbing shock. Maybe constant loss is similar to the flowers she has held before in some twisted way; aches blooming in the form of bruised hearts, wilting in the dark, temporary, fleeting.

I tried something different, but this still means a lot to me. x
Sep 2014 · 394
anneka Sep 2014
you are the fluttering thought
at the back of my mind,
the steady staccato beat of
my pulse, my heart, me

i think i love you the most
when my hands linger in yours;
voice ringing, heart abandoned
we are running, free

you seem so real and yet -
sometimes i forget,
this only lasts as
long as i can

Sep 2014 · 363
anneka Sep 2014
I will cradle your memory in my hands against my heart, and the pulse of it will be warm and soft against my fragile skin. These memories are permanent now; sewn into my bones and intertwined with the very core of my soul. In your silence their voices echo; how you're only one human in this fleeting life when the universe is vast and endless with so many more to meet, but they do not know you like I do, like I did.

If I ever forget the way your hands felt in mine or the way your smile triumphed over the sun's own, I want you to know that I will return to you somehow. Even if the stars misalign and this world collapses into the crevices, even if the end is in sight and my faith trembles with exhaustion, even if the distance between us grows infinitely, forever -

It's always been you,
it will always be you.

Sep 2014 · 850
anneka Sep 2014
I'll miss you till the sun breaks,
till the ground falls from my feet,
till the world ends, till I meet you again.

starting a saudade series, there will be more parts to this in time to come.
Aug 2014 · 815
paper heart
anneka Aug 2014
i made staircases out of these bones
too young and too fast, the same way
you came and the same way you left.
in those days these lungs were oceans;
this ribcage was sinking. i only wanted
to let the waves wash over, to forget you,
to dissolve me.

we made homes in stairwells when
the light still leaked through the leaves,
when it still spilt orange over faded green.
the times when i was your sky and you
electric blue, the times the strawberries
seeped into your skin; how the cuts
on your fingers made me want to heal
you when i could only
love you more.

but maybe even after all these years
your fingerprints are still etched into me;
i will always carry your hands
in my own.

Aug 2014 · 563
anneka Aug 2014
it's in the way we'd bleed black and white,
and how i'd still come running back to you.
all the words we left unspoken and now
tangled in silence, but i still keep your letter
next to me; ink stains all over the tips of
my fingers, laced in the corners of my heart

you'd mouth the songs they played
and i'd taste the lyrics on my tongue,
voices sugar sweet and dripping;
how it felt as if i had already
loved you for an eternity

one step forward and three steps back
now i close my eyes to see your face,
trace your skin to heal these scars;
maybe this is the only way to go when
i said i'd find my way back to you somehow

Aug 2014 · 356
anneka Aug 2014
gentle petals fall at her feet, and she smiles with the knowledge that she is the real beginning. of spring, of life, of new stories. her hair curls delicately at the ends and she is translucent, limbs pale and blushing red where the blood flows anew. she holds the secrets of lovers now, lovers long past and those to be; understands and celebrates, both alone and with nature. closed eyes, quiet breaths and careful steps, dancing around joy and healing heartbreak. her sun rises in tones of crimson and faded purple, her moon hiding behind whispers of clouds, of storms. the melting of snow under sunlight is her voice, and she moves gracefully, regally.

february paints over january with a wave of her hand, turning the glitter of the new year into subtle glows, the wind and cold into gradual warmth; transitional, beautiful.

Aug 2014 · 282
break, fall
anneka Aug 2014
I would have told you of how there are seas beneath this skin, how there's a storm inside that never ends, how despite it all there's a light within me that never goes out.  

Of how the ocean whispers in my ears as the voices submerge, how I'm put together by broken promises and shattered dreams, how I've drowned in alcohol for nights just to forget.

Of how I balance these fragile smiles amidst the pain, how I've mastered the way to make tear stains on my face disappear by morning, how I wanted to never wake up from that night with you.

Of how you took me home,
but wouldn't be home for me.

Jul 2014 · 395
curtain call
anneka Jul 2014
i lost and i
love you,

the days are
mere seconds,
we are only the
echo of heartbeats

there are silences and
then there is silence,
i have a smile made
for the show

waltz through the steps
rehearse every line -

in these faces i
am only looking
for you

Jun 2014 · 2.6k
anneka Jun 2014
we had coffee stains on our faces and grass on our arms, sugar breath drifting over the small space between us. you were the last remnants of sunlight and a beaming smile in the shape of a waning crescent; a sunrise in the evening. laughter like the tinkling of wind chimes echoing back and forth, the smell of petrichor and innocence.

i want you to remember me like this; golden haired, bright eyed and curious, as soft as the day we first met. in my dreams you are still there, we are still in love. our hands are together, the sunlight is still warm.

"don't be afraid," the past you whispers, "i am here."
your arms are around me, and outside the storm rages on.


"you never actually forget your first love, y'know? even if they leave you, you don't forget."

my eyes are closed, a ghost of a smile on my face.

"i know."

sometimes i remember things.
Jun 2014 · 535
anneka Jun 2014
if concealing means forgetting,
I will make myself invisible;
translucent in emotion,
audible to the voiceless,
the shadows glide amongst us

the candle flickers with each breath
and i take my year with pride,
practiced steps in phantom bodies
each inhale is hollow; sometimes
I even forget to breathe

smile cracking, teeth shattering
the moments are fleeting;
how you whispered words
but as always the silence
is louder than the noise

the writer's block has lifted.
May 2014 · 408
anneka May 2014
it moves -

a catalyst after
our own chaos,
I stand in the midst

and the ground
is soft beneath
my feet.

I hear what I cannot see,
feel what you cannot say
the glass rattles,

rain smashing against
our hearts -

love was a storm.

this was the last poem I ever wrote.
months ago.
Feb 2014 · 377
anneka Feb 2014
i cannot seem to form sentences or coherent paragraphs
anymore. my words crash upon each other like waves, only
to crack and fall apart like the earth under our feet. they
stop and go, start and repeat. you took everything of me but
my trembling hands and so i am left to write, or at least
i try; through brokenness so jarring, pale and numb.

alphabets are meaningless. twenty-six letters do not add up
to the way you make everything better and worse, and this
language cannot solve us; none can. i speak three to your two
and yet there are no phrases or similes or metaphors that come
close; sun, moon, stars and all. i only mourn what we could have
had, the possibilities were infinite and of all the endings, here we are.

when words could still flow, i wrote you letters in your absence;
how of all the people possible, you chose me. how years and months
and days of waiting left us stranded and further from each other than
ever before. but you read and will read none, this is certain now.
perhaps forever is certain too, the skin you left me in is hollow.

i want to tell you so much, but i have forgotten
how to speak. i want to write to you, but i have no way to
tell you everything that matters. i forget to form poetry
and prose. a reverse dementia, in which i forget everything
from the beginning except you. maybe we were meant to break,
humans are fragile beings. i love you. i hate you. i miss you.

words fail me, but i can't forget.

Feb 2014 · 349
anneka Feb 2014
the day i wanted to tell you
everything, the words
were stuck in my throat
and refused to come out;
filling the spaces in my lungs
sunlight in place of cigarette smoke.

eyes shifting
unreadable, flickering.
i am okay as long as i am
with you; a smile, the quiet.
truth slipped through our
fingers; flexing, the sound
of nerves audible and
our silence louder.

the day you left, the sky let the
sunset spill into vermillion hues
watercolour painting and i,
alone -

you never said goodbye
yet here i am still

Feb 2014 · 711
家 (home)
anneka Feb 2014
and the country she still grows;
vertical, nocturnal,
imprints of the west, traditions in the east
her shores kissing the south china sea.

dad would return smelling of nicotine and smoke,
the streets a permanent stain in his sandpaper skin.
i have been taught to sing in place of speaking;
spouting symphonies, instead of plain words.

in summer the water and ocean calls
chlorine and salt seeping into every pore;
i watched sunlight penetrate the depths,
shimmering; tried to bathe in the warmth i saw.

in winter, mom named us dragons
breathing ice in place of fire; cloud breaths, frosted glass.
rainbows formed our skyline, the buildings iridescent
in those days, santa still waved from the windows.

first drink at four and coffee from seven
we ran and still run -
red lights for the sake of races.
the law was a sewing my father calmly weaved through
tradition, he called it. i grew up in the town he did too.

i am a child of the harbour and sea
the wind in my hair, hands in the breeze
family and city unorthodox, belonging;
the pulse of my heart.

for my father, and for home.
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