Poetry secrets

Words Born to Speak

Anna Myers writes about a feeling pushed down, kept out of sight, and words safely locked away.

by Anna Myers

It comes in waves, bright and harsh and just out of reach.

Every time a little closer but never quite enough.

Here’s what you’re missing, it seems to say; here’s what you gave up, vanished westward into smoke but stayed closer than you realized
I romanticise,
push it aside
but know it’s never the last time.

It feels good to linger until it doesn’t.

I trace the days and months and years backwards until I find it and press down like a thumb on a bruise,
purple and swollen and mine mine mine
all mine to keep secret.

Words I was born to speak pressing at my teeth, pushing for release, saying you’re not fooling anyone and least of all yourself. Words I keep safe in their locket waiting for a better time, for a not-so-secret life.

It comes in waves, on nights like these but sometimes when I least expect it.

It’s in the lies I tell strangers with practiced ease, in the shot to the heart when a friend says just the right thing. It’s an itch to scratch and sweet bliss come passing, heart ringing with remorse and hearing gone static.

A handful of moments I wish I could change,
but I was carried

Anna Myers | @annamyers19 |annamyers.co.uk

Anna Myers is an actress/writer/clumsy person navigating life in London. Her work has been published on Thought CatalogPoets Unlimited, Soul Anatomy and She Did What She Wanted. She laughs really loudly and cries to a lot of John Mayer songs, but if that doesn’t scare you off, she’s always up for a chat on twitter and you can read more from her at www.annamyers.co.uk.

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