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Dec 2019 · 166
Anya Dec 2019
Most of my poetry on here is from 2 years ago
Back when I was
                     - not depressed -
But covered in a blanket of social anxiety and under confidence
which could have easily been mistaken for such

Each of my poems from then
involves the romantic dreams of a naive young girl
searching for a purpose, searching for her purpose

Each of my poems from then
ends in a query  
                          - as if -
I didn't think I could possibly be right
and I was still trying to find my way

Each of my poems from then
involved an intrinsic indecisiveness
from a time when my every word every glance every action
was blanketed and wrapped into a burrito of -
"am I doing this right?"
"what should I do?"
"Should I even be...?"

But now,
It's two years later and about time for me to get my ***** together
It's come for me, whether I'm ready or not
Time to leave my bubble and take my first step
time for applications
I'm not nearly as experienced, wise, nor knowledgeable as I could, should, will be
But I better get my act together and look like
Dec 2019 · 419
Silver Owl Glasses
Anya Dec 2019
Thud-thud-thud thud thud-thud
Me and my silver owl glasses
And the silver car with the broken hood from when I ram ram
Ramed into the light grey garage and the pale
Blue fire hydrant
And now it goes thud-thud-thud
Thud thud-thud
And me and my owl glasses
Squint up at the sky while the car goes thud-thud
Thud thud-thud
And my skin basking in the sun’s glow,
Rudolph’s luck it was only his nose!
And with a little jingle,
Time to take the baked potato out
Bright red and ready to peel,
Leaving behind an ugly little thing,
In her silver owl glasses and thud-thud silver
With the dented hood
This came from a really weird mood.
Dec 2019 · 243
A Single Moment
Anya Dec 2019
A severe conflict rages within me
Torn between,
Something rip, rip, condemning
And idleness
The kind of idleness where you’re alone within a storm
Perfectly aware that soon enough you’ll have to follow the currents
And flying debris
But for now,
Just for an instant,
You are still and around you is silence
A calm before a storm
But a calm within a storm
The eye of the storm?
A singly moment when you’re able to stand still for just a
Just a single moment
And take a deep breath before you’re flown away
Anya Sep 2019
Elegy, elegy, elegy
The words pop out at me, framed by the strokes of...expressionism was it?
Honestly, I don’t know
The minimal art history I was exposed to
Has gone, been erased leaving me the white board
To scrawl something else hastily before-

I wonder why I read it,
Is it perhaps to affirm to myself
That I’m worth something?

No, that can’t be right
I do of course love myself, I have healthy amount of self love
I suppose then, it’s confidence at stake here

That whether I manage to memorize all the terms
Whether I can keep my hands from straying to another tab
That whether I can kick away the ball that is distractions and addictions and every self created villain in my fairytale

Determines who
I am and how
Much I’m worth

Is false



Love me I do
I really do

I still have to get out of this rut
I still have to do better
Then, maybe
One day I’ll
Anya Jul 2019
We visited an art museum today
“The Guggenheim” with it’s white spiraling architecture
I felt slightly cultured as I flipped through a book detailing an artist whose last name I vaguely recall started with a Q
Conveniently forgetting the very reason for my presence in that room being to charge my phone
Feeling educated as I recognize the names Matisse, Lautrec from my brief intro to art history courtesy of our overly enthusiastic design teacher
Basking in my elegance, taking petit little bites, of a macaroon in a cafe outside the museum
...Before noisily slurping my blood red ice tea
Jul 2019 · 361
Buuuurp! Oh, Excuse me!
Anya Jul 2019
The feeling of a full stomach is a curious one, despite the protruding bulge and the dull ache
It is impossible to feel dissatisfied
Despite the regret for that one to many slices
Despite the wish that you had gone for a run instead of acquiescence to the temptation of the glowing screen
Despite the knowledge that you’ll soon be buying new pants
Despite any and all obstacles in your way
You persevere
You are the Dictator
The ruler of your stomach
The ruler of your life
Until your sister comes in the room and starts yelling about depleting her potato chip stash
Jul 2019 · 416
Makes me Smile
Anya Jul 2019
She looks up
Blinking at the ringlets that suddenly flop into her curious gaze
Gazing down at the strange cracks in the bench in which one’s toes invariably find themselves wedged
Reaching out at the twitching nostril of my stunned ten year old brother
Pointing at the strange piece of white cheese in the sky whose name seems to imitate a cow
Knocking off the hat that seems to magically appear on one’s head and frowning at the peal of laughter following it
Calling out to her father and chewing on the hem of his trousers when he seems to find guests more interesting than his one year old daughter
My cousin is in her own little world
Jun 2019 · 320
Anya Jun 2019
If I hacked my braids off
would my inhibitions go with it?
Jun 2019 · 354
Whack a Mole
Anya Jun 2019
I’ve discovered my strange passion for whack a mole
And mind you, I’m the mole
Whacked away
To the point that I’m buried deep deep under
And the saddest part is?
I’m also the one doing the whacking
Anya Jun 2019
When I start to write a poem my initial reaction is to
Purse my lips, brush aside my hair, twiddle my toes, try to feel
Where I am write down, who
I am write now, equal measures physically and mentally
In the case that the tap is on, my thoughts flowing in a steady stream I greedily clutch at them
Some are caught successfully in a bucket but more than I realize slip through
The cracks in my fingers

The times when the **** seems firmly shut I’m left
For an opening in my mind that seems to have dried up,
Not a drop left

So, I start digging. A scratch, two, eventually like a dog frantic for his treasure
I usually hit something
But as to whether it’s my prize is another matter
I’m more often hit with a rock
A very hard unmoving rock

Although, sometimes the rock is gold
Or pyrite and I can pass it off as such
It still glitters and shines
And that’s fine, isn’t it?
Jun 2019 · 217
Same old story
Anya Jun 2019
Truly, I feel most peaceful when
My face is attempting to go
Through the floor, smushed up
Against the little fibers containing treasures from last week’s late night snack
Before being swept away by the tornado known as the vacuum cleaner

I somehow really do like it
My stomach being repelled with every breath gives me the mistaken belief
That there’s no need for my exercise routine or that
I won’t be regretting the chocolate hazelnut churros and chocolate ice cream I indulged in
“Just this once”
My new favorite three words

But wait,
It’s not new
Simple the same old story repeating itself again
And again
        And again
May 2019 · 180
My Mother
Anya May 2019
The nickname given to my mother from her mother in law
Truly a befitting one
My mother, the woman who tries so hard, intelligent, yet still, occasionally a child
A strong, strong woman
Trying to accommodate everyone

Thankfully our move has provided some much needed personal space
Otherwise, she’d already have her hair out by now

Her parents with their obsessive religious rituals, must make sweets tomorrow even when they get wasted
Must prepare...

Her mother in law, dripping waves of anxiety like a leaky faucet
Soon to become a waterfall

Her husband,
Weak as a newborn chick
From surgery and culminating stubbornness about to explode

Her 10 year old truant son,
Not only does he need to be shuttled places
Also insists upon watching YouTube at every available hour

And me,
Her daughter
At least I can drive and stay out of her way
At least I can provide hugs, be a listening ear, and do my best to be considerate
But my rebellious nature
Peeks through as well


She’s amazing,
my mother is.
May 2019 · 260
My Grandma
Anya May 2019
As I look at my grandma
I see a bird in a cage
“I was only one of the two in the whole university to receive...”
“ chemistry”
“...fami­ could I...”
Once with wings of gleaming alabaster
Now a wrinkled dull grey
A pitiful little thing
A whole head shorter than my 5’1.5”
As if,
A gust of wind
Could blow her away
Large soulful eyes
And a steady stream, exiting her lips
Chastising, complaining, advising
Truly a fire bird
A lot to be learned
Despite being entwined, constantly
In a pool of anxiety she remains
A blazing Phoenix
And even if it’s too late for her to rise from the ashes
There’s still me

Although I won’t live her life Or even
The one she should have had
I’ll live mine
May 2019 · 485
The Poem Conundrum
Anya May 2019
What tends to happen with many a poem is
You hop in, then land up somewhere else
Like driving to Texas and landing in Maine Or
Going to India but ending up in the Caribbean

And it’s not nonsensical
Certainly not,
The poet is very much as sane as
You or me

But rather,
That walking or jogging at a
Steady pace as you’d do in a novel
Or essay or racing through a
Movie The poet instead likes to hop and skip and
Jump and race and dance and
Twirl and roll and fly

So much so that those whose minds would rather
Stick to a steady pace
Are absolutely ******* in knots

In this case,
One of two things may occur
Some may scratch their heads and give up, deeming poetry “not their thing”
While others,
May read the poem in bits,
At their own pace,
Maintaining a slow and steady while acknowledging and appreciating and analyzing the hops and leaps and twirls-
They are like detectives,
Tracing the possible routes through which the poet may have traversed

Coming up with theories,
And although a theory may or may not be accurate...

We don’t know how humans evolved
But we appreciate it all the same
(Feel free to comment with a different title suggestion, I’m not sure the one I currently have embodies what I’m going for)
Apr 2019 · 148
Anya Apr 2019
I dropped red paint
It got on my black pants
And my black shoes
And my black hair

I touched blue paint
It got on my brown arm
And brown nose
And brown cheek

I plopped yellow paint
On my pink lips
And pink nails
And pink phone

I lathered black paint
Made of yellow,
And red paint
On my white soul

I have color
Weird ending isn’t it? I dunno, it spun off the axis for which it was originally intended.
Apr 2019 · 270
The Laments of a Traveler
Anya Apr 2019
Truth be told,
I’d really rather not
Get up off this rug that hasn’t been vacuumed in weeks
Crumbs, pastel, who know what little grimy gritty nothings have burrowed into the soft curls
Why must I remain pressed down like this?
Why must I give up, unable to push-up against the weight of
College, future, life choices
Yet, it is not even the push up that I struggle against
No, my current roadblock
Is miles away
The prerequisite of a prerequisite
I still have a long, long, long way to go
But, at least,
This road is well worn
Apr 2019 · 175
Anya Apr 2019
And I suppose I am,
forever one.
A wanderer, that is.
With the pineapple backpack absolutely screaming, "she tries too hard!"
The braids, "Throw back to elementary school"!
She searches in vain,
for a space amidst shadows
Threatening, to swallow her up
She misses the friend, she pushed away
She misses the group, laughing and joking on the other side of her wall of insecurities
She attempts to reassure herself,
it's torn out and something just

A shattered glass
Can be made anew
But this time,
with clay
Apr 2019 · 199
The bus
Anya Apr 2019
Rap music, discernible except for when the rumble and bumps of the jumping wheels takes over
But still subordinate compared to the twitters, chattering away
The scent of chicken wafts over from the seat across the isle (mind you I’m a vegetarian)
The seat head vibrating my head, thumping the same spot
From rap to pop, voice like a silky cord, winding, winding, grating
Piano back to rap
Head bends and peers, teases, smiles, the turtle returns back into the shell
Phones, phones, busy busy bees those thumbs
Back squished, precarious water bottle about to-HORN
Blasts, the wheels jump, and I’m gone with the sway
My **** falls, my body shakes, the chatters, the charters, the laughs, the shrieks
I’m swept up, I’m swept up
And washed away
We’re here
Anya Mar 2019
I go over my bucket list one more time...
Study, then jog a bit, finish my drawing for my grandma, then the equation I couldn’t figure out, then write the essay-
Or wait-maybe I should read the guidelines one more time-
The due date, when is it again?
AH! Piano is more immediate, where’s my metronome?
Oh no! The books are all our of order again and I can’t find it, why don’t I reorganize them in the process-
My room looks like trash why don’t I-

“Honey, are you done with your homework yet?”


Mar 2019 · 697
Anya Mar 2019
I took a selfie today, on the swing
For some reason I've been taking them all week
Bored at the grocery store
No motivation in my room
A smile,
constantly displaying my bulging acne,
like little polka dots
marring my-
Smile a little strained,
Unable to release or
Just no

I took a selfie today, on the swing
The swing obviously more suitable for my ten year old brother
Left behind by one of the previous occupants
Quite low to the ground,
Meant for children                        Not
a teenager searching for an escape
Making a fool of herself
Back and forth              back and forth                    back and-

I took a selfie today, on the swing
And it's the prettiest I'd ever been
Because I didn't care anymore,
and I      was                                                    f
Anya Mar 2019
"It's all your fault" The Leaf Blower complains
"Well, now you've gone and done it" the Rake, my supposed friend admonishes me
My head is buzzing
Says the Leaf Blower, "Always favoring him over me"

Ms. Leaf Blower and I have never gotten along,
Me, because of my seeming inability to properly use her, and the irritation when my dad could and asked me to hold the wire for him
Her, because of my, from a very young age, obvious favoritism towards Mr. Rake, who used to be my best friend until he passed away and my family disposed of his plastic remains

His predecessor, Rake junior, is far sharper than his old man
But rather than make him a better rake this simply adds to his narcissism
Unfortunately, this increases his attraction as well and each time he's swept about it's not just the leaves that are unearthed
Despite this obvious flaw in his being overly sharp, he sees it fit to admonish me for breaking Ms. Leaf Blower
Don't think I can't see the two of you flirting out there!

But indeed I did,
Break her that is, clearly none of the wires were pulled out
yet, she refuses to work

So now,
I'm left with a sullen rake
And a thousand-
Scratch that,
A seemingly never ending yard full of leaves
To clarify I used to really like a plastic rake but it broke and was thrown away. We also had a leaf blower but I could never properly use it. We later bought a metal rake which was overly sharp and has the tenancy of getting caught in the grass. Years later I was asked to blow the leaves but I managed to break the blower in five minutes so I resorted to the infuriating rake.
Mar 2019 · 170
The Dark
Anya Mar 2019
do we fear the dark     It's
cold hands reaching
It's teeth chat t  t   t     t       ttering
It's breath m
                               a                   n
                                                              i              n
The putrid stench invading out nostrils, eyes
Mouth, rotting our
teeth, muffling our

But then,
What is it we're scared of exactly?


The lack of comfort
knowing there's some figment of control
Being blind, one sense
utterly blocked out



There's still ears,
nose, mouth
if not,
how can we not hear the chatters and moans
smell, taste, the thick rotting scent,
feel the non existent chill?

Just think,

If all our senses were gone,

we'd truly be





the dark
Anya Mar 2019
Insecurity, thy old friend, so much
like Insect,
except you have a "uri" before the t and a "y" after
Possessively hogging my attention
Away, keeping me engaged
Everything else slips away from me one by one,
               by                     one
                      by          one
                       ­      by
And all I am left with is you,
only you,
And I bask in you, and sink in you, and merge-


thy old friend
For old time's sake,
Leave me alone,
Do I have to ignore you?


Even though you're screaming,
In my head
Even though,
you have the ability,
to take over everything and anything
Till all that's left is a-

The monster in my closet
The monster under my bed
The monster-

Or more like-
A shape shifter,
As pleasant as a cloud
you give her attention

Then, she greedily
       gobbles it                             up


Feb 2019 · 136
Can I do
Anya Feb 2019
Acedemics, I have some
Art, they say I’m good
They say I’m smart

What if the world was controlled by

Social skills?
Which it partially is

I’m smart
I’m talented
I tell myself

There’s so much-
I keep myself from
Let myself
Be intimidated by

The supposed
Best years of my life
More like





Am I?
Am I really?

I look at those
Worse than me

And I feel secure

I look at those
A seemingly larger majority

And that security unravels
Like a shriveled up plant


It’s scccccintimmmmidate-

I dunno
Why am I in such a mood?

Am I?

If I can’t even,
Get the one think I’m good at right
Can I do?
Feb 2019 · 180
Anya Feb 2019
I have a box
A nice cozy box
I try to make my way to the
But...I never make it

That doesn’t matter
It’s still fun to try
To push my limits


Still in never out
I won’t go out
I. Can push
But I. Cannot
Go out

Because it’s warm and cozy in this box
I know what I can do,
I know,
The extent of my abilities

Why should,
I push through?

You’ll be regretting those words,
One day
She tells me

I don’t care

But what if
Your protected world




Feb 2019 · 152
Anya Feb 2019
My mouth, awash with the remnant of the 320 calorie pack of six oreos I know I shouldn't have bought
My eyes glazed after succumbing to the irresistible allure of hours of youtube rather than the exam I should be studying for
My mind entrenched in every stupid thing I've ever said or done (quite a list if I may say so myself)
When all you see is a little girl
Studiously typing away
Feb 2019 · 227
The hair, the tie, and Me
Anya Feb 2019
The strands tangle and twist
As if my finger,
Is the center of a tiny universe
Of interlocking twining twirling black
With a simple twist and snap
Are ripped,
Star crossed lovers
Every Romeo to his Juliet
Are rip, rip, ri-torn apart
The hair from the hair tie

Like tentacles clinging on
A stubborn slug, repulsive
Yet in an obscure manner
Admiringly persistent
It continues to hold on

Like a lizard regrows it’s tail
To truly chop off
So too does the hair insist
Upon an adamant refusal to separate

As if hair and tie are one
In a ferocious battle...     Or,
Perhaps, a passionate embrace?
Are they one?

Whether it be so or not
I decide not to bother
Why,  should I take up the mantle
Of the evil stepmother, wicked witch, cruel king...
You name it
To separate the two, lovers or competitors
They maybe

Why insist,
Upon what will never
Come true,
At least,
In the case of any proper Disney fairy tale

Is what I tell myself,
throwing down the hair tie
In favor of writing poetry about it
Jan 2019 · 286
An Internal Struggle
Anya Jan 2019
A fist bump
My hand-wet
Yuck, no, no, no

A smile
Can't see the joke
Weird, no no no

They turn
Eyes meet?
What it means?
What it means?

Don't ask me.

Don't LOOK
Don't SEE
Just let me be
Just let me be             free
From this endless torment
by the name of
social anxiety
Jan 2019 · 1.4k
Nerds and Girls (Or Both)
Anya Jan 2019
On the girl's side:

Are you going to winter formal?
No, I wish I was. They even have a candy bar.

On the boy's side:

Theoretically, if I was to consume cyanide...
You know you could...

On the girl's side:

Look at how perfectly I filled the gel!
Yeah, girl power!

On the boy's side:

Who filled the gel C?
I'll use you for my source of error.

On the girl's side:

Eugh, beef tacos:
I never eat them, only paninis and pizza...sometimes

On the boy's side:

Ooh, beef tacos!
Finally something good to eat.

I find myself smiling. It is true, I'm only describing a tiny microcosm
Not nearly enough,
to make conclusions

Aligning to stereotypes?

Maybe, I don't know
But I do know,
While listening,

I was fighting to keep a smile off my face
How funny people can be when you remove yourself from
Main character to audience
Jan 2019 · 219
The Fight for Control
Anya Jan 2019
We-I am so silly clinging
To that little bit of control
When out of place
Out of shape SO annoying
In my face
I HAte it
It has to be RIGHT
or it could be WrOng but I say
It’s right so it’s Right
Jan 2019 · 361
Anya Jan 2019
Click Click clickety-click
A rolling laughter in waves,
Increases like a storm, then comes spinning down
In little bouts,  Actually
My to do list stretches quite long as I enjoy frequently reminding myself
Feeling busy
Feeling like I'm useful
I have things
to do
For some reason
Maybe none,
I don't
Open my tab
and do them
Click Click clickety-click
Jan 2019 · 1.4k
Lunch Time at My House
Anya Jan 2019
It’s moments like this
Some obscure song playing on our google home

My brother, gazing off into the distance no doubt under the spell of some great philosophical inquiry,
Neglecting the spoon and it’s contents
Drip drip dripping

My mother in the corner, seemingly preoccupied, slender fingers probing what appears to be
Yet another bag
Of those chocolate covered toffee almonds

My father, ever the victor in competitive eating, up and roaming about
By the window one moment, at the couch the next
Gone like the wind, oh here he comes

Meanwhile I, face a great trial which I must overcome in order to greet my destiny
At the top of which await
Dozens upon dozens of procrastinated
Assignments just calling to me
Stirring up within me a desire,
A ferocious flaming ambition,
To not move an inch
Jan 2019 · 463
Fate of a Binger
Anya Jan 2019
A groan
A moan
Head ready to burst
Pickkkkk it upppp, yessssshhh
The traitorous voice hisses within
Pikkkkk it up and alllll your worrrrries are gonnnnneeeeee
I try-TRY to resist
Six is more than enough!
This vicious cycle cannot continue!

Too late
I’m binging on another tub of ice cream for another hour of Netflix
And another splitting headache coming right up
Jan 2019 · 1.6k
Anya Jan 2019
My mind offers a compromise
Which is instantly refuted
Shot down
I’m absolutely amazed by the sheer
Number of superficial constraints placed
Upon me, my superstitions, my desires, my obligations
Each one currently impossibly to fulfill
Each side impossible to sait

And so,
A stalemate
Sitting here, doing nothing
Unmoving, but
Thoughts whirling about
Fidget spinners, or
Bablades repeatedly clashing
Repeatedly smashing
Till it’s just me and the broken debre

All you see
Is a girl
Too lazy to move
Dec 2018 · 261
Anya Dec 2018
There are certain words
Like, peppermint
That just make you taste sweet
And warmth
A cozy afternoon
By the fireplace
On Christmas
Dec 2018 · 115
Anya Dec 2018
Today I drank straight peppermint tea
Normally I’d sweeten it
With spoonfulls of
Sugar or honey

Today I read five chapters straight
Normally I’d take
Frequent breaks

Today I didn’t check my phone once
Normally I’d do it at least
Seven times

We’ve all gotta grow up
Some time
I guess
Dec 2018 · 289
From a Thinker to a Doer
Anya Dec 2018
Poetry is for thinkers, I think
Those who’d spend their days dreaming away
Or those who, in a moment of passion
Scrawl down their thoughts
On little post it note poems
No matter the medium
Though, one can not deny
Poetry is for thinkers

Now, this past week I’ve been a doer
Typically, my lazy temperament
Would prevent this
But things happened
And more things needed doing
Without a doer to do them

And now my mind has switched
And all I can think to do is do
Rather than think to think, reflect
My mind has transformed
From a dreamland
To a bucket list
Dec 2018 · 227
How to Fix a Broken
Anya Dec 2018
Awkward smiles
We try
Ha, ha, ha
Act like it’s all good
Touching the surface, greatly scratching, bearly a ripple
We easily avoid it, the clean, smooth, pristine surface
Skirt around disturbing it’s placed waters
Skirt around saying what really needs to be said
Instead we laugh, and smile
Weaving a masterpiece
Of our own

Some may blame this course of action but,
What if we do disturb the sleeping lion
What then
What then?
Are we afraid of
Our perfect facade
Perfect visage breaking
Shattering into millions of tiny pieces
Too small to reattach

“But if it’s broken can’t you just fix it?”
“How, Sweetie?”

“My mommy always puts a band aid on my boo boos”
“But it’s not a boo boo, it’s completely broken.”

“Then why don’t you just build it again?”
“With legos! That way it’ll be taller and even better!”

Ha, ha, ha, ha
Sometimes the answer is right there
Dec 2018 · 193
Musings of a Tired Girl
Anya Dec 2018
Her words, a steady stream
I tried
To smile, stifling a yawn my glazed eyes wandering over to
Our bookshelf the recently bought ACT prep book aligned with a
More appealing Children’s poetry

“But then she was like”
My attention snaps back to the present
And I smile and nod
Like I understand, which I do, don’t get me wrong I just

May have forgotten to change the towel
And the clothes in the dryer
Oh also, i still haven’t gotten around to that essay
My current average really doesn’t sit well with me not to mention
The excercises for-

“And I was like ***!”
I unintentionally smile, the same story
The same pattern again
Never ending, seemingly
What is this, some sort of drama of a stereotypical teenage girl?
Is there secretly a film crew behind the scenes
A script inserted in our brains
Of this monotonous constant
Unending story?

But maybe if I’m truly unsatisfied,
The fact that I’m
Right here, right now
Feeling it, proves
That I have the capacity to desire change
And maybe,
Achieve it?
Dec 2018 · 271
Out of the Box
Anya Dec 2018
Superficial rules we create
We confine ourselves within boxes
Answering a desperate plea for order
Some semblance of control, of understanding,
Shape, within shapeless mass, shapeless space
We build cages, chains, interlocked, intertwined

Yet, a common phrase
“Think outside of the box”
We acknowledge,
This cage
And in many cases it can be good
But we also acknowledge,
That to truly come up with something great, unique, to leave a
Lasting mark
One must think outside of the box left behind by our predecessor’s
Thoughts outside of their box
Which form our box

It’s like

Understand how to read notes
Before you compose your own

Know the color wheel
Before you experiment

Read books,
Before your write one

Maybe that’s where successful people come from,
People who manage to learn about their box
Well, before they manage to
Break it’s boundaries

And each minute, each second, each millisecond, each
This is happening again, and again
Our cages being broken
Reforged, anew

And through the internet, the media, mordern communications
Knowledge of this new box, these new boundaries
Can be spread

To pique another child or adult’s interest
Until the boundaries are broken
Once again
A cycle
On repeat

Until finally-

Is it like the universe,
Ever expanding,
Infinitely large
Without an end?
Dec 2018 · 449
A Message to the Spectator
Anya Dec 2018
The taste of tension, like water, plain but there
Invisible, but felt
A faint undercurrent, a barely detectable wave

Physically, fine, well most of us
But mentally, a little shaky
Slightly off
Not easily detectable

Our lips graced by bald faced sugary sweet smiles
Don't look at the mouth, look at the eyes
Where the truth screams out at you
If, you can detect it

His antics, a little over the top
Her quirks, just slightly more enhanced
But even then,
You can't truly know what's going on behind the curtain
Unless you forcefully lift
That could possibly damage it
Dec 2018 · 541
Anya Dec 2018
There's crumbs, all over my computer, all over my pants, all over
Entropy, the natural state is it?
Humans attempting to force the unnatural?
The little graham ******* crumbs,
nothing keeping them together
But still, each individual crumb upon my lap houses millions of billions of trillions of
Individual pieces, that house
And so on               and                  So forth
Till you get to atoms
And eventually,

But, is it worth,
Looking, thinking, so infinitesimally small
We've got bigger matters on our plate?
Things so large, red, and shiny, that they take up all the space
Except the little cracks that we miss,
Or don't care about altogether

Because we've got bigger fish to fry

But then,
If we always keep chasing the dragon,
Won't we miss the shooting star lighting up the sky for just a moment?
As I was writing this I found multiple surprisings interpretations. That's why I gave it that title, it's filled with meaning yet a random mess at the same time.
Dec 2018 · 255
Mascot Words
Anya Dec 2018
There are certain words...
Like, depression
That become the mascot
For their particular affliction
An all encompassing bubble,
Doesn’t mean much
But liver cancer, now that’s a whole nother matter

Just simply using the word
Gives rise to panic.         Anxiety
It makes sense,
That non experts can’t know every type of
Illness or mental disorder out there
So they associate it with a mascot

It’s all the unessesary hype
And fear
The baggage that comes with it
Not as many, knew about zeka
But Ebola?
That was all over the news
Despite being far less of a threat
Simply because,
It became the mascot
Dec 2018 · 108
Anya Dec 2018
A moment of peace I call it
Rather, in a rapidly moving tornado
A single coherent thought
may  be called a moment of peace
Yet here,
Sitting on this hard wooden chair, strong against my back
It is not quite,
a moment of peace
For in this case it is not the tornado,
that gives me reprieve
But I myself,
Choosing to ignore it and let it
at the back of my mind and
Come back to bite me
Dec 2018 · 187
On New Year's
Anya Dec 2018
Children are...
rather innocent creatures
Or at least,
in my protected, childhood of fairy tales
Princesses and superheroes and talking frogs
My third grade diary when asked to name something precious
Unlike toys unbreaking
Keeps you happy and safe
precocious I was at that
but still too much

As I still am,
of course
See, the thing about adolescence
Hormones raging, from crushes to bullying to acting out
The time when we
We're out of the                     Naive
                  Quite dangerous, really
Since, we're really Not

A whole butload of
                               stuff I'll probably
Be subject to and
May have been earlier if not for
My reclusive tenancies
and lazy ways
and protected life

I say it,
In a careless manner
Trying to look cool, even in poetry
But, like, it's going to happen
I'm going to come face
to face
Have to make
a choice
And it's nothing to be intimidated about
I tell myself
Truly a question
to consider,

I'm assuming,
one day I'll mature
And when that day comes...

Will I still be the little girl
With the two bouncing pigtails
Scrunched up face
Pencil too tight grip
Oval eyes, smiley lips, long hair
My nth drawing of a girl?

Mind uncluttered
with what could be
         what should be
         what would be
Only, what is
And what I want

But as the clock strikes twelve another day has gone by
and it's well past time for me to go to bed
Another year, past
More time gone by
More memories to reminisce about
Also more to look forward to
Dec 2018 · 198
The objects in my Closet
Anya Dec 2018
The golden baby
In the last slice of Mardigras cake

A half dollar
Well after they stopped being printed

A rare right sided conch
When most others are left

Are the rare treasures I find buried underneath

The glass bird
Dainty as can be
And the size of a nail

The miniature tea cup
A full set
Spoon and all

The Minni and Miki
Mouse holiday wear
mini collectibles

Miniature Kitty Kat
In four different colors

Are the tiny bobbles I couldn’t bear to part with

The multitudes of dice
From classic six sided
To 8 To 12
Even dice in dice
More than can be counted

Erasers by the gazillions
Stingrays, baseball gloves
Eraser pencils with missing erasers
And a baby head detached from the body

Keychains, by the plenty
Sunglasses, Weapons
Dream catchers, bird’s with bells, all sorts
Of strange and curious oddities attached to a chain

Coins, many sizes countries
Fake, real
Dinar, Rupee, Euro, dollar,
Replica of ancient yuan

Don’t even get me started
Necklaces, bracelets
Rings and earrings
Even though my ears aren’t pierced!

My hoarding tendencies coming to light in this
Curious collection of collections
Also known as
The objects in my closet
I was looking through my closet and I just had to make a poem about it.
Dec 2018 · 322
To Go
Anya Dec 2018
It’s frigid
My entire left side
Is being pelted with snow
And wind
And cold
But for a moment it’s nice
This numb, space of time
When no obligations
Nothing, is
pressing down

Only where I’ve been
And where I have
To go
Dec 2018 · 202
In the Snow
Anya Dec 2018
A dry voice echos
Of course I wear tennis shoes
On the day they’ll grow wet enough
To go squeak
Squeak squeaking around
The shiny white floors

While my dark hair quickly
Becomes flecked with
White speckles

I feel rather
Like a scarecrow
Doing my best to resist
Nature’s whims
Fighting a losing battle
An inescapable fate

Of being blown away
And buried
In the snow
Nov 2018 · 415
Anya Nov 2018
Shall I leap
Or step back

Retain the blanket of security
Or explore the uncharted waters of uncertainty

Say what comes will come,
Or grasp the minimal control

Free fall?
Or use the stairs?

One is riskier,
The other is safer,


Then, she says something to me
that makes me realize
my foolishness

We're in the age of computers and technology
If I'm facing a risky proposition,

Why not look it up?
Sometimes we make a big deal out of nothing.
Nov 2018 · 286
Through a Cloud
Anya Nov 2018
Have you ever felt like
you're walking through
a cloud?

The noise surrounds
but doesn't
you'r enclosed
but separate figure

but out

The colors,
within your vision
but               a blur
Once again,

Her gaze
naturally passes
By, his voice
Some where else

But not to
But more like

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