Anshii

🏳️‍🌈 Just a teen trying her best :)

[anshii-skyy]

Day 3 of Poetry till I get some Exposure

Angel's Suicide

Her wings heavy, her voice stolen,

her halo tarnished, no longer golden,

she dances on the edge of despair,

i guess life is just never fair.

Between heaven's harsh hiss,

and hell's sweet bliss.

Hell is a teenage girl they say,

smoking into a dirty ash tray,

laughter echoes into screams,

remanants of failed dreams.

Demons for days and shadows of shame,

haunted by memories which will never tame.

Cursed by the rage from within,

torn between innnocene and the allure of sin.

Now she sinks deepr into the abyss,

and gives the world one last kiss,

her eyes tire, and her wings, now cold,

she joins the rest of now stories untold.

[anshii-skyy]

Day 2 of Poetry till I get some Exposure

The Red Thread Conundrum

In the tapestry of love, a red thread weaves,

a whispered promise, a tale one believes.

It binds two souls , in fate’s gentle embrace,

a dance of destiny in a timeless space.

The allure of the thread, so vivid and bright,

suggests our paths are drawn by the light.

Two hearts destined to meet, though worlds may divide,

an invisible bond that fate cannot hide.

Yet as we wander through love’s winding ways,

we find that this notion can lead us astray.

For in seeking the perfect we often forget,

that love is a journey not just a duet.

In the shadow of soulmates complacency grows,

A belief that affection should always compose

an effortless symphony, a flawless refrain,

but love in its beauty is woven with pain.

When the storm brews in silence and tempests collide,

we question the thread as we turn to confide,

Is this not my soulmate? Is love a guise?

We seek a new heart, chasing phantoms of skies.

Yet the connection lies deeper than fate,

in the choices we make and the bonds we create.

For love is garden where the seeds must be sown,

with care, understanding and patience grown.

Friendships and families in their unique grace,

hold stories of love, time cannot erase.

Not all paths are written in the stars above,

yet every embrace can be true love.

So let us embrace the threads, varied and rich,

Celebrate the prefect, the mundane, the niche.

For love is not merely a fated decree,

it is the laughter, the struggle, the shared cup of tea.

In this conundrum of red threads and souls,

we find that the heart is what truly consoles.

Destiny whispers, but we write our own song, 

in the tapestry of life, where all hearts belong.

Got the idea from this reel-

[anshii-skyy]

Day 1 of Poetry till I get some Exposure

Reflection in the Glass

I stand before the mirror, tall and proud, With trembling lips, I whisper aloud: "I am not him, I’ll never be, His shadow will not swallow me."

He, with his voice like a thunder's roar, Left storms behind and slammed the door. A fist, a glare, a cutting word, A legacy I swore absurd.

His temper flared, a ruthless fire, Burning bridges, steeped in ire. I vowed to tread a gentler way, To be the dawn, not end the day.

But whispers stir where silence grows, In slamming doors, my anger shows. A sharp retort, a cold disdain, Echoes of him, etched in my vein.

I turn my head, but there it stays, The scornful tilt, the judging gaze. In laughter loud, in stubborn stride, His shadow lingers, deep inside.

Blind to the mirror’s mocking face, I pace and pace, yet hold his grace. A clenched fist rests within my hand, A testament to where I stand.

Oh, the irony, cruel and sly— To flee his path, yet still comply. A daughter shaped by all I hate, Becoming him I’d separate.

But as the years grow long and thin, I wonder, is he where I begin? If I’m the echo, what was the sound? And if I fight him, am I bound?

The mirror weeps, a fractured truth, The broken dreams of fiery youth. I am my father, and yet I’m more, A tide that ebbs but seeks the shore.

Sorry, English isn't my first lang