Why is poetry dying
when we still have the gift?
If we still have water
then we still have a ship.
We can sail to the places
these words take us.
We are still shaken
by the words that make us.
Why should we let poetry die
when there is so much to explore?
If only people read it
and discovered more.

I am trapped
By my secrets
Silenced by my guilt
Disappointed by my lies
Deceived by your eyes

distance, lost among the pages
two different people
two different places
left behind, dog eared fragments
sometimes i think it’s ok
to judge a street by its pavement

for a moment, i can feel
the weight of your wings
between the palms of my hands
i can imagine the struggle
you've endured, yet still
sing your blue-bird song
and when you slip your feathers
through the strands of my hair
for a moment, i can feel
we are two small souls, connected

PorcelainTears [Anna-Maria]
November 14, 2020

Maybe I am falling in love with this feeling of being without you.

it is a matter of being touched
by this freedom-heavy sunrise,
a matter of feeling like a blossom
exploding into the smallest quiet pieces
that melt into this velvet blue moment
in the universe and—

I don't want to wipe this dreaming
from my eyes

PorcelainTears [Anna-Maria]
November 29, 2020