Paperweight Poetry

The word someday is a deathly word, For saying it forces you to wait, Living a lifetime of the word being heard, And never actually doing it, for you're too late. Saying the word someday, Is giving into the never, Instead of altering, you stay, In a safety zone forever, So instead of hiding under mights, And saying I still have time, Pull that opportunity into the light, Instead of lying that you're lack of hope is fine, If you take someday's chance, Even without knowing how, You won't look back with a glance, For the perfect someday  is now.   -anna sluder   

She smiles the color of the flowers in her hair,   She breathes the glow of sunshine as if it was her air,   But she waited too long for a lover that was hotter,   Dying from her depthlessness, for he was her water.     -anna sluder

She broke everything she seemed to touch, It would always magically just fall apart, He smiled though that the truth was as such, For the one thing she didn't break was his heart.     -anna sluder 

It was always there for me, That faithful liar, It was always loyal with candor, But maybe a little too honest, And it lied, Erratically and aggressively, But always lacking the intention, The intention of hurting, The boy, it told me to love him, But because of that, That treacherous betraying instance, I don't listen to it anymore, I seal my ears away from, The fluttering, And pattering of wings, That knock the inside of my chest, So fragile too fleeting, I-cannot-love, Anymore, because of the swindler, Under my skin, It told me to follow it, That it would not lead me astray, But when I did it left a path, A path of red life seeping, Out, Down from between my thighs, And I'd call that astray, And it also came from the crack, That paved its way across it too, I grinned ruefully at it, Knowing the thief had to hurt also, But the joke is on me, For it, the liar, Is more than under my skin, It is a part, Of me, So between my legs throb, And th

The meadowlark tenderly cries, as it squats down upon, that bloodless pale white fence, always singing before it flies, for it cannot soar, with infant wings and an infant heart, among the bloodless unborn flowers, before life restores, so the meadowlark croons, its maiden unsullied warble, to awake the color in the daisies, till they are white as the moon, it gives yellow to the daffodils, and green to the clovers, his beating heart blooming, with each sweet shrill, and the meadowlark gingerly cries, as he guards over this life, ascertaining that everything will bloom, when his song tenderly begins to rise. -anna sluder

You have never been a bird who can fly high,   You are a bird that seems to fly too low,   But I marvel at how hard you fight and try,   For with all that sky there is room to grow.       -anna sluder 

Stuck inside of myself, I thrash the brushes in great big shaking sweeps,   Exhaling, I try to paint two lovers and their desperate hearts,   In the end, mottled in paint, I see my piece is not one I want to keep,   But it's okay, for my freed heart proves that humans are the art.       -anna sluder 

Don't ever us umbrellas when it's a sunny day, Hiding your face from the sun is like refusing precious gold, Don't take it for granted when the sky could be gray, For God gave you a sunny day that never gets old.     -anna sluder 

if my face was gone, and my hair was lost, if my body was a blank, in a sentence that was verb-less, if my joy was black, and my soul was taunt, would you still love me just the same? -anna sluder

they always said that those swirling puffs of white,   released not the rain but the angels' tears,   but it is not tears for this world's growing blight,   but tears of joy for the good that still appears.       -anna sluder