chantelle ann

this is a secondary poetry blog and cannot follow back official poetry of Chantelle Ann Adams

[chantelle-ann]

13/30 (2019)

Are you the queer that gets up in the middle of the night or the one sleeping soundly in the dark? Are you the queer that walks to the driver's side of the car or the passenger side? Are you the queer wearing a hat, or the one with a scarf? Are you the one that holds their tears in their throat, or the queer that shares in the face of fear? Are you the queer with a collection of stickers? Who am I kidding, every queer has a sticker collection, even if it's only one on their hydroflask. Are you the queer doing a moon spell or the one baking a cake? Are you a queer that makes phone calls to doctors offices or the queer that picks at their skin?

[chantelle-ann]

9/30 (2019)

Microdream:

We hold herbs in our hands as we take a walk through the neighborhood. It is probably too much rosemary but you talk about drying it for the winter. We slip out of summer dresses and tank tops and sandals and into the sea a few minutes away. The sun is setting and we have already eaten dinner. We have a bottle of wine and wedge of cheese on the beach. We lay out until we are dry, holding hands. We walk back to a home that is quiet and still in the evening. We lick the salt from each other, the nape of your neck, the curve of my hip. We hang the herbs to dry for an omelet in the morning. We sleep with the window open.

[chantelle-ann]

Honey

every story that looks like ours ends poorly.

I worry about what will be done with our hands

in the end; will they cover

the tattoos we kissed into each other,

will they bury you in lipstick,

still trying to call you 'girl'.

Will they say we were friends,

never finding love?

Honey

you can put me in the ground right next to you,

I'd rather be thought a sunset

or a wave than woman who didn't love.

Because didn't I?

Aren't we now?

We have, and we do,

each day, regardless of their way.

Chantelle Ann "5/30 (2019)"

[chantelle-ann]

Today: I introduce myself

to the room as a queer woman,

something I don't usually volunteer unprompted.

Today: I wake to rejection

emails but instead of losing myself to sorrow,

roll over to cup my partner's face,

feel the cat purring precious at my feet.

Today: I'm not perfect

but at least I'm doing my best.

Today: I'm not doing my best

but at least I'm doing something.

Chantelle Ann "2/30" (2019

[chantelle-ann]

Everything is fine

if you hold it in long enough but

everything is a lot to hold

- Chantelle Ann "1/30" (2019)

[chantelle-ann]

Look

This isn't the longest since I've written a poem

But it feels like cracking a seed from last spring, in the middle of winter

The fruit no longer able to ripen

Nothing within provides nutrients anymore

Too unused, too old, too forgotten

So then,

Fever of anxiousness, an entire stomachful of fear

Sooner than yesterday but later than last month

If your heart is boiled it can be fed to those who are hungry

Sometimes it's someone's birthday

And sometimes your entire body feels like a towel that dried in a knot

Sometimes these happen at the same time

I don't know when I'll get better

I don't know when the weather will stop making me depressed,

or not

Does anyone, really?

[lotsofpinkplaid]

“In the morning I wake without you I dream of your body, pressed against my bent back with your lips on my neck before, when I was lying atop you legs astride your waist and heart pounding against your sternum you said, “I want always to be this close to you” nothing empties me of this want not even absence not even the promise of new maps new openings of the universe I want to fold into yours.”

— Chantelle Ann

[chantelle-ann]

4/30

In the winter, I hold a cat skull

Bleached, clean, fragile

Like some metaphor for mental health

When it rains most days

The sun shows less

Spring comes slow, teasing

Shone on my hands and feet, baptised in vitamin D

I forget the skull

[chantelle-ann]

3/30

How can I keep calling myself a poet

When loving you is so comfortable

I cannot write poems anymore

No dark haze over everything

Just the scoop of your body cradled against mine

Two cups, two plates, in the morning

My body aches bared to you

There's something so normal about this

Metaphors hardly work with this life

[chantelle-ann]

[chantelle-ann]

1/30

The month all the cherry trees bloomed

And we planned our wedding in an attic

Fairy lights and purple hair dye in the sink

The last northern rhino dies

When I am hopeful then, it is for us

Because this world is not doing well,

But I think we'll make it just fine

[chantelle-ann]

Christian Siriano puts ephemeral dresses on fat bodies on his runway Women on Facebook want me to teach a Fat Yoga class in my area A song about chub rub by a black & fat rapper is posted by a celebrity

In this, I slowly unfurl, become bigger Open, swift

[heartmagician]

two girls kissing in paris, ignoring the politics in this // a film about two girls who are not depressed because they are gay // a film about two girls who are not dead because they are gay // they give each other flowers // there is no grave in this // no scene in which the heartbroken walk back down the street, away from the camera // the end is not elegy // the end is not blue // running cornflower // fistfuls of cerulean // cold sky // they know how to love each other // there is no choreographed sex // no brief infinite tenderness // they learn how to use their mouths // a folding of soft // no crash // no broken windshield bodies // no tears // just imagine: a movie about two girls where neither of them have to cry

Girl is the Warmest Color, Lydia Havens (via heartmagician)

Casual reminder that this poem exists and will literally be better than 99% of my writing. :')

[chantelle-ann]

What a goddamn year To pull everything out Clean under where things once were What a goddamn year To try and sort through what was once thought lost And put things back where they go I am trying to hold this grief All these statements I've internalized from childhood It's messy, I feel so messy I don't know how it all fits anymore What a goddamn year to unlearn how to be loved And how to love others How to forgive myself, to comfort and reassure myself It's hard, But when is healing the trauma easy? Who gets a smooth path to emotional health?

[chantelle-ann]

Now I can go on your Facebook profile and I don't feel anything. Maybe some weirdness at you wearing an American-flag shirt, some nationalistic routine. Maybe some eyebrow raised at your love of horror movies, or your new partner. I'm glad you are out as genderqueer. I'm glad you have a partner with a smile like Montana sky. I hope you're happy, I see you had knee surgery and you couldn't hike for some time. I see the woman you built a home out of a bus with is no longer your #futurewife. Things were probably hard for you, but maybe they are okay now. I mean, I don't know, I'm just guessing. I'm honestly just glad I don't get a twinge in my chest wondering what ifs and thinking of that year before I left. I'm not mad. I'm not anything. And I hope you feel the same.

[chantelle-ann]

This / fistfull of anxious / bees // you hive / drip the honey / pour the tea / kiss me sweet / I sneeze pollen / hundreds of legs / the summer breeze

[lotsofpinkplaid]

In the morning I wake without you I dream of your body, pressed against my bent back with your lips on my neck before, when I was lying atop you legs astride your waist and heart pounding against your sternum you said, “I want always to be this close to you” nothing empties me of this want not even absence not even the promise of new maps new openings of the universe I want to fold into yours.

Chantelle Ann (via lotsofpinkplaid)