Poets On Tumblr - Blog Posts

I'm alive. Here's amyhn from tn.

Its abt me being sad or whatever. Spurred on by having a heart to heart w my roomie

My love life is like sitting in the windows of a coffee shop on Valentines Day. 

You watch the people walk by wearing splashes of pink and swinging their arms full of gifts and look with their eyes full of stars. And its a shitty coffee shop too. With thin windows so u can hear them giggle their love and the hushed murmurs of chatter. 

You csn feel their hearts race and their pupils expand and the thoughts of "this is my person" to the tune of a perfect pair by beebadoobee. And yet. Youre sitting in an ambiently lit coffee shop with a bitter iced latte that melted thirty minutes ago, but im-youre still sipping on bc y-i cant let it go. 

Its also like working retail on Christmas Day. The store is empty. The shelves are barren but im still there in uniform tending to what remains. Lovingly dusting the shelves and picking up barcodes from stolen items. Every once in a while someone will come in, flustered and red from the cold looking for one last thing. Hot chocolate. Ghiradelli. A stocking. And even though it was out of stock earlier when you looked to uplift your mood, the shelf has one left. And now its gone. 

Again.

Then you return home and the gifts are opened. Theres wrapping paper eveywhere and it smells like dinner. Everyone is glowing like a buttercup is hovering below their bodies. And im still dull, dim, and dark from the soul sucking flourescents. 

Then i see my gifts in the corner. They sit in a dark corner and once you put your stuff down you open them in uniform. And no one is paying attention anymore. You blew it. You missed it. The moment, I mean. 

The gasps and sounds of awe as you show off your treasures. The snickers at gag gifts. The sighs at sentimental ones. All eyes on you for the only time you want it. 

But instead. Its a little dark. And youre sweaty. And hungry. And the air isnt as sweet or welcoming. Its stale. Like a chip with the flavoring licked off and put back in the bag. But no one is looking anyways, so it doesnt matter. 

Its also like graduation, but no one is in the audience. Youre dressed up and pretty, but you know that no one you love is coming. For whatever reason that may be. And you walk across the stage anyway and for some reason you stay and wait like someone is coming for you while everyone around cheers with their loved one and you stand in the middle of it. 

In the mix but not a part of it. 

And after a while of standing around you get in your car and get shitty restaurant food. And have a few shitty drinks. Then a few more. Then more. Then a cigarette or two or three or four. Then you drive home, hoping youll get hit, and stumble into the home to see that everyone got done w their mandstory obligations early. And just didnt come. 

Thats what it feels like. Watching a tv show u love but can't understand even tho its in your language. Reaching ror your phone on the nightstand and its just out of reach. 

Wanting, waiting, watching, and not having.

Here are a few back to back. I will section them. These were written within the past 3 months. Pls be forgiving if there are errors. These were written in my notes app initially.

The Lamb

There was a blind lamb

That screamed and wailed for it's mother

For three days

For three nights

The lamb continued to wail with its eyes wide open

Scanning the endless night frantically

Unaware that it's calls were being answered by an empty, motionless field

Rather than who it needed

Monster in the Closet

I have always been afraid of the dark

I require a dimly lit, slowly overheating lamp to sleep

As late into the evening a monster stands in my doorway

It's back long and unending

Spikes stick out every angle of its head

It stands in semi-silence

Staring

I feel it's eyes upon me as I rest

In naught but a shirt

But my peripheral tells me that there is no monster

Just my mother, getting home from work

You Should Have Called Out

I made myself look pretty today

Just because you told me to

I did my hair, my makeup, ans a nice outfit

All before it was time to go

The only thing I hadn't done was greeted u when you arrived

Because you hadn't

Not yet at least

I sat on my bed with a wrinkle free comforter

But then it had been a while so I laid down

But when I woke up I was still alone and fully dressed

I couldn't smell my perfume anymore and my shirt was wrinkled

But I still waited

And fell asleep again, hungry

The Inability to Read Between the Lines

I'm sorry for whatever I have done to annoy you today

For talking to you too much

For speaking too loudly

For not being born a boy

I'm sorry mommy please don't yell at me

All I wanted was a hug

You won't look my way otherwise

So csn I have my hug?

How much more must I do before I am forgiven of the sins I've never been aware of?

How much longer must I wait on my knees for your judgment, mother?

What is so wrong with me that you csnt bear to even speak of it

I call this one: makeup. I wrote it today. Please enjoy if u see fit

Every single day I cover up my eyebags with concealer and layer black poweder and liner underneath 

Its to express myself, ill say 

I just like how it makes me look, ill claim

When in reality, i lokk the same without it 

The deepness of my eye bags with mascara on top makes it seem purposeful

A testament and a statement on the consequences of an idealistic, capitalist society 

The reality is that i dont want anyone to know how little i sleep

I dont want them to know for certsin that these are not manmade scars, but the remants of a night spent working 

Authentic, non generic, carved from labor, red bull, and yawns 

I dont want them to know that despite my best efforts the eye bags are reaching farther than my makeup can cover 

Theyre in my muscle, bone, and sinue 

Four layers of concealer, setting powder and foundstion will never be enough to shake the fatigue from my skin 

Some days, i dont wear makeup as i have foolishly decided that hiding my emotions is a stupid decision and the world must know what its done to my face 

Yet

I always end the day covered in foundstion and blush because those around me can see right through me 

How are you, theyll say 

When was the last time you slept, theyll ask, meaning well, but all it really does is remind me that ill never be able to escape the hollow feeling inside of me that can only be filled with maybelline, a monster, ans maybe a warm meal 

When all the grey settles, and the narrow lanes wane, the softness trembles- anger remains. -anneshwa 🌻

A breath of an artist is an art in itself, bejewelled recollection of a billion poignant tales. A heroic poetry of a broken heart that mends a million cracks around.

-Anneshwa 🌻

Anneshwa Paul / A melancholic December morning

Why's everything so heavy?

Sky's pink as she is shy,

we're looking at it's beauty and she wonders why?

We're all like the sunset skies ✨

Meet me on the bridge of glorified agony,

Afloat ; a floating incident between two grounds above water

Between a winsome arrival and a sorrowful departure.

Can we burn it, so that we don't have to cross the bridge?

Bridge will always be the metaphor for us.

It's a portal between two places,

And that's what we are.

Neither lovers, nor strangers.

- anneshwa

Touch you, and touch you and feel you, and feel you from far, touch you from far, breathe you from far and bathe in you from far. I cannot get closer, you intimidate me, you scare me, the blazing fire in your eyes petrifies me.

-Anneshwa 💛

Take me blindfolded to a field of sunflowers and you might see the happiest kid alive.

-Anneshwa ✨

Art sets you free, art lets you breathe. Through art you let it all out, through your art you are you. Your art should be an escapade, the process should make your heart race. It should be for you and you alone and only then it shall soothe other souls.

-anneshwa ✨