Paperweight Poetry

I broke the sky it was quite easy to break it gave way under my hands like it had nothing to live for in fact, I'm not so sure that I didn't just use my fingertips it was quiet, the way that it cracked it didn't erupt like a volcano awoken from its dormancy like I thought it always would in fact, maybe it was so soft so timid yielding because it had already died long ago like the way that the light of burnt out stars are still reaching us it wasn't until now about the sky do we finally know so now I don't feel guilty because I had only beaten a dead horse but isn't it just as bad, or is it worse? because now I just see the scars on not the sky, but myself the blood is on my skin, not the sky's corpse I murdered the sky, but the autopsy is of my body and now I wonder if when I wanted to break the sky I only wanted to break myself but what gave way under my hands fruitlessly yielding wasn't the sky, if it was me what then does it mean?...

Humans must be vainly shallow, If people only think beauty shows, In the curves of a face that are so low, Compared to the depth of a heart's precious glow.       -anna sluder 

Straining my arm out to the yellow wall, I am surprised that it doesn't burn me when I place a hand upon it,   Wanting to know if anyone will answer me, I rap my knuckles quietly on the back door of the gilded sun,   Yet when no one answers I see that the back of the sun isn't hostile and hot, it wasn't ignited or even lit,   So if the sun isn't always fiery-tempered perhaps all things have two sides in the long run.     -anna sluder 

I cried out the stars So when I cry I would still be beautiful For instead of those streaks leaving scars I want my tears to sparkle like my soul.     -anna sluder 

When words and feelings are inexpressibly deep as they are vast, And I have been hurt by you for longer than just awhile, It's too much to pity myself instead of forgiving you for the past, So I think of the good still left then I lean back my head and smile. -anna sluder

Whenever I am afraid, I look up at that motherly moon, Hovering over me warmly in that dark winged sky, For it always seems to comfort me so very soon, Even when I need a hug without any reason why.     -anna sluder 

My mother always said that my grandmother was up in the sky,   Knitting the silver lined stars into what men call constellations,   She'd embroider and stitch, but I never could understand why,   Instead of staying with me, she chose to mend that starry nation.       -anna sluder