Very Swanky Poetry and Stuff

Hey guys! It's me, Ana. This is just my side blog for my poetry, lyrics, and art. Feel free to like and reblog!



I can see

the map of your

life in the


on your palms;

every hand held

every wave


(via poetry-central)




I loved you more than life itself.
More than my faith in heaven
And my fear of hell.
I loved you more than flowers do rain.
You were the blood in my veins,
My solution to pain.
I loved you more than anyone before.
I felt it in my soul.
I felt it in my core.
I loved you more than a fish loves the water.
More than a mother does her daughter.
Or a son towards his father.
I loved you like a guitar loves its strummer.
Or a child loves the summer.
Just like you tell me that you love her.

Posted this on the wrong blog by mistake but one of my lovely followers already reblogged it. So rather than delete it I’ll just reblog it here


The Icarus Complex

Cast from clouds with wings lovingly carved from wax.
A desperate angel learns to hate.


Starting Over

If only I had meet the sun
Before falling for the rain.
If only I had danced in light
Before running off with pain.
I wish that I had been born in Spring
Instead of rooting in the snow.
I would have seen what I was missing.
If only I had known.


My Snowbird

When He wakes up

His feathers are


So He spends hours

Smoothing them down.

Some days He wakes

Up early, starts

Building a nest and

Doesn’t stop.

Other days He’s the late bird,

Missing the worm.

Not that it bothers Him.

He comes

then goes

Leaving early for winter,

Coming home late

In the spring.

He never chirps

But sometimes

I catch Him singing

And it’s the sweetest sound.


First Snow

There was a place where we would go if hearts were brave enough to proceed,

Where we, the children, learned to grow among ghostly trees and withered weeds.

Such a place would feel for sure to be one you should not ever venture,

But children love all the allure and always risk the timid enter.

In this place we were our own valiant kings and queens,

Sitting on our tree stump thrones among the dying greens.

This place among the crunching leaves and animals collecting gold,

Was full of wonder only we could see and only we could show.

We spent every late night chasing the stories we adored,

And many months simply erasing the reality we abhorred.

Still, no night that we had ever dreamed was like the one we most remember,

Because magic is what it always seemed in that frost of late December.

The way that ice had trickled down in an air that chilled our bones,

And collected softly on the ground, made us feel so far from home.

It was a spell that we were under and silence was the sign,

That we had lost our breath to wonder, our hearts to the studded sky.

Even the crickets would not lilt in fear the moment would elude

And for once we all were standing still in awe of the brilliant view.

The silence stayed the whole way home because we knew that we had spied

A magic that could only once be known, no matter how hard we tried.

Permalink Facade from my ceramics class. I modeled it off of the Buddhist Stupas