turning pain into poetry

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[anina-poetry]

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[anina-poetry]

When you don’t let the dead stay buried they turn to ghosts. -Anina

[anina-poetry]

In an alternate universe

you’re pink

I’m red

we are what add colours

to a sunset

In an alternate universe

The wind is blowing thru my hair

and you are tucking

it behind my ear

You hold my face with both hands

and we just stare at each other

You don’t say a word

Because you don’t need to

you reside in me

in my blood

In that universe,

I am not scared to trust

And you’re

from a Jane Austen’s Novel

written just for me

[anina-poetry]

your name inside

my mouth like a cyanide

ready to explode

your name still my temple my home

your name leaves my lips

like a prayer

unanswered

-excerpts from book I’ll never write

[anina-poetry]

When I got to know loneliness is the disease that tortures everyone, I wanted to eliminate it.

See I want to save everyone but I don't even know how to save myself.

I want to be loved so bad that I overlook all the red flags.

So I give and give and give. Like pouring water in a desert, it is never enough.

You can’t make a home out of wreckage, so don’t even try. You want to love what’s broken but it ends up cutting you into a thousand pieces

From Anina

[anina-poetry]

How can I despise darkness 

when it had led me

again and again to myself?

[metamorphesque]

— Vincent van Gogh, from a letter to Theo van Gogh (25 September, 1888)

[text ID: I have a terrible clarity of mind at times, when nature is so lovely these days, and then I’m no longer aware of myself and the painting comes to me as if in a dream.]

[anina-poetry]

i wanted to tell you that you are the definition of light to me even though you call yourself the darkness. that if i am the thunderstorm then you are the lightening that sets the whole forest on fire. instead i just stared at you hoping that my eyes would convey what my lips tremble to confess

~ excerpt from a book I'll never write

[anina-poetry]

August is the saddest month

perhaps because it's my birth month.

sometimes i think, i was born sad.

it always rains on my birthday

like the sky is having a funeral.

i am so familiar with loss

that i measure

everything against its scale.

How many more days

do i have left on this earth?

How much more can i lose of myself

without it turning into

some kind of murder?

[anina-poetry]

this pressing longing is almost a religion how is it that i miss you when i never even had you

[anina-poetry]

your wounds

are of same shape as mine

maybe that's why

we are drawn to each other

like moth to flame

that flies to its death.

my Jaan

you're my epilogue;

my death

.

[anina-poetry]

if depression is a flooded room and you're perpetually drowning

then anxiety is like tsunami which comes unannounced and carries you with it

— Anina

[anina-poetry]

the page is empty just like me. usually I fill it with tears. but I think I dried out the oceans within me. what to call this ache when I don't know it's origin? if poetry is my medicine, what will I do when words leave me?

— Anina

[anina-poetry]

you say you don't know

what to call this feeling

that you have for me

it's too haunting

to call it love

but too tender

to call it anything else

- from book I am writing

[anina-poetry]

i thought i could just bury

my pain, place lilac petals

on it's grave

& it will all be fine

but pain demands

to be felt

[anina-poetry]

you put your hand over the flame

just to feel something warm

you haven't felt anything

for a long while now

[anina-poetry]

When you are not fed love on a silver spoon, you learn to lick it off knives.

After Laure Eden

this is what happens

when love is

held back

as a reward

you'll never feel worthy of love.

my teeth are coated with blood

tearing open the scars

which your claw-like fingers

carved out of me.

isn't blood synonyms

with love?

as long as i am bleeding

i am alive, right?

-Anina