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Anna Nixon Poem
If our words were carved into our skin,
Like a legacy on a tombstone.
Do you think that people would embrace these words?
Or do you think that they’d try to hone
Their personality.
Attempt to make it better.
Or do you think that they would bury it in a sweater?
Maybe the sweater’s off the shoulder
Where there’s words of hope and care
And maybe, where there’s other kind words
There’s a hole in the sweater there,
Is it fair?
To only show the words that you want
To pick and choose what people see
Even if you can’t change the font.
Do you think that people
Would actually change what they say
When there is an easier way,
You may see good words written on their skin
But you don’t see what’s beneath the jumper
You don’t see what’s within
You may say that’s nice, but this is just a poem
This doesn’t happen to us
But you’d be mistaken
Because,
A camera’s just the same
You don’t get to see what’s outside the frame.
Copyright © Anna Nixon | Year Posted 2019
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Anna Nixon Poem
If everyone had flowers, instead of skin to guard their face
She would look like she was from a different race
Instead of pure daisies surrounding her eye
She has purple fuscias that bloom and die
And before they're dead they bloom once more. A line of roses on the jaw
A circle of poppies above the mouth's door
You may look at her and think she is poor because she's not pure
But just plain daisies can become quite a bore.
Copyright © Anna Nixon | Year Posted 2019
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Anna Nixon Poem
Thou dost creep within the night;
Damp ground and air to aid thy flight.
The darkness keepeth thee from sight,
While on my lettuce thou dost bite
And drape with slime.
But thou hast crept too stealthily;
And was not this the death of thee?
For though it was too dark to see,
A noise could have prevented me
From crushing thee last night.
Copyright © Anna Nixon | Year Posted 2019
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