Andi Leigh Writes

Scribed into bones, Your bitter words. Etched, marrow-deep. Bloodied pen of yours, Drawing sanguine ink, Straight from the veins Of ruptured heart. Tasting cut sweetness, That falls on your lips. Blessing them vermilion, Poured like wine from A core depleted. Sustainable agony, Yet enough is not Good Enough.

A feather in wind. Tossed around blustering so, Will find its purpose.

Further from the you That they said you would become. Their words do not weigh.

Steady hand of yours. Over creativity. One mistake makes new.

Frosted heart in me. Warmed and brewed in a kettle Of caring support.

Failure in a blink. But a normal chance to learn. Move with the current.

Stories told to you. Of how to be and be known. Yet, you are content.

Written word thrown in The trash. Re-written again. Spilled ink improves it.

A million long years. Keeping myself searching for Opportunities.

Swifly cutting Through the brush. And challenging Fish upstream. While lined with rocks And coated moss, Babbled echos Mixed with birdsong.

Needles brewed, Of bitter savor, Usher content. Cherished. Forage whirl refined. Lavish elixir of grove, Poured from an Earthenware kettle.

Small and passed by. Gills upon the coppice stage. In the dew and loam They stay secretive. Feeding on the entirety Of woodland decay.

Crawler caught up, In pecker. Soaring, Over alluring view. Steady winds and the Thrashing of wings, But unaware of the Destination.

Evergreen sweet, Wafting lovingly Through the rainy peaks. And foxes dozing On beds of crunching Leaf fall, safeguarding Their kin under veil.

They hurt for freedom. Will not return home again. Expendable things.

Lying candle flame. Scrying eye may be deceived. Look closer within.

Prideful like a wasp. Ready to strike for nothing. Cast out for being.

Dull typewriter bones Collecting dust and besmirched. Cleaned by humble hands.

A Halloween soul. In a bright world of happy. Scaring the plain ones.

I’ve been there and back. A ghost that has returned to The world that we hate.

Early mornings and Late nights that make her long for An escape from all.

You are your own rock. Stronger than ever before. They will not end you.

Steel to his temple. Not really there either. Just a fleeting thought.

In isolation. The fascination of you. Break through the thick walls.

She can be wicked. Hurt by the ignorance in Her life. Existence.

Life without the fear Of everything changing now. I can move past this.

Restful sleep I need. Comfort in your soft blanket. Your scent calms my nerves.

Scratch on my arm. Hi. How did you get there on me? Maybe from my cat.

Bitter and needed Every morning. A good fix. Even without cream.

Studio lighting. Forced to perform perfectly. Life mapped out. Wasted.

Here I am to struggle again And feel the constant pressure, Put on me by people Who don’t truly know me. Or know The truth of me, with clouded Perception they see what they want. Judging and pushing hard against My own goals and wishes. I feel no love. Only pressure and a drive To give up since being good enough Never seems to be An option that I am given. Tell me this, lovely. What would you have me do, Even if you say you’re granting me the Honor of having options before me. Though just delusions, You seek an answer that I cannot give. Because I do not know. Sit down and stay out of it. I can work through this nonsense. I will figure it out, okay? Your input is not needed.

We sit together. I collapse into your arms. Know you are my home.

Pull my eyes from my Head. Then present them to me. Free from painful sights.

Masterful sundown. Longest day. See you later. Walking home to rest.

Dreams in monochrome. She wakes up in other worlds. But remains supine.

Terrible infinity launches with strain on the soul that has been taken. And therefore lost and unfulfilled, too quick to be prevented. Of many outcomes this was the one, this was the final page. Now will be joined by many more. An ethereal undying parade. While icy cold, forever numb, like a hollow, empty space. No heart at all. Snatched, consumed by hungry devils, and replaced. Suffering not for something more, there’s nothing to be gained. Endless empty eyes resort to madness. Incurably deranged.

Panic-induced day. Hunger in my very core. I would like to sleep.

Shadows and no light. Blinded on a pathway here. Ghosts ready for me.

Posted there, protecting; I spot her painted skin. Artistry employed. Her features appear pristine. And nails were coated black; but softly matte, no shine. Her curly hair with arranged lovely obsidian locks Shimmer for the final time. There’s an ache in me. Details set. She had prepared. She had embraced The idea without fear. Unlike most. She accepted. Taken too soon when ailment struck. Honored last wishes. Dear to her. Dear to me.

Take a note. Jot down, Every single time she sings. And it makes you love.

Winter rain. Hot tea. Fingertips chilled to the bone. Hold the mug for warmth.

Simply cozy, sipping coffee, and pondering mystery. He often could be found reading by the calming sea. And ever did he wonder what would be at the end Of every single novel he was glad that was penned. Turning of the pages was a checkpoint attained. Until every printed word was absorbed and engrained. The mysteries and horror, the thrillers, even fantasy, With his nose in his books, he moves beyond reality. Vast and endless stories; he has access to them all. With a curated collection in his apartment on the wall.

Frosted glass, tailored to her liking, with faultless snow Quilted along the frigid earth that rests outside. Quiet and hushed. Sound soaked up by gentle snowfall. Inked night blotched with chilled fluff descending, And heavy-eyed owls take refuge, tucked together Within the hollow of an elderly cottonwood. 

In a sea of green, the fog dense, Tidal waters hurl overhead, crashing Into the misshapen rocks along The black stone shore. And from the milky fog emerges Something otherworldly. A hurried pace of footsteps Imprint on the sable beach. Wailing out lamented cries. Long matted locks, decorated With kelp and embellished with Bits of broken sea glass. Sorrowful eyes that bleed For someone lost to the Wild seafaring way. With nothing more to keep Her strong, the end was written On the shore, as she dragged Her pain and let it sink her down Past the briny foam. Countless years, on and on, She appears from the water, Hoping her love has returned. Although her love never does. And with a burdened heart, She returns to the murky Ocean deep. And waits.

Are you theirs to take to the end of the world? Will you allow them to drag you through Shards of glass in order to have your heart claimed? Don’t think of this. Think higher of your glorious worth. Not them and not anyone else at all is deserving. You are for you. Alone and yet not lonely. Free. Leap not into a stranger’s arms for comfort. They only see an appalling game to be played. Rise beyond the nonsense and insincerity. Strong-willed and powerful; claim it. The right one will stay beside you, walking in sync, Not to lead but instead to share the journey.

Heart cold and isolated, A man stays anchored To his rickety kitchen table. Fork in his unkempt hand, He stares at the reheated frozen food, incomparable to A fresh home cooked meal. It’s been so long since Something inviting had Greeted him from the Dinnerplate that sat crooked On the dirty hand woven placemat. His brow furrowed over damp eyes As he silently ate. He groaned. Across from him, in dim light, An empty walnut chair. The only other seat At the table with an Unfixable irritating wobble. He gawks, disheartened. Hoping to see something. But the chair remained Unmoved and empty.

Do you hear that? A gurgle from the pond. A deep bellow sending Bubbled air to the water’s Surface. What is that? Looming in the murky muck. Scales maybe? Or is the Glassy water playing tricks On my exhausted eyes? Rummaging under Lily pads and fallen leaves. A fish or turtle perhaps? I swear I saw its eyes. Big and round with Slitted pupils. Limbs and fins, I get a glance of Its odd silhouette. Was that a smile? A malevolent grin? I hope it wasn’t that. The boat rocks gently. Please don’t knock Me from the safety Of this oakwood vessel.

Eyeing from afar, across a raging sea, Enveloped in dark water, she faintly smiles at me. A song wafts on the air, salty and echoes deep, Beautifully dreadful, a voice so pale, rocking me to sleep. Breaths leave my tired lungs, inhales won’t return, I fear she pulled me overboard, my chest, I feel it burn. Nothing is around me, only chills of suspended space. Sinking down to the depths, there’s her hair like flowing lace. Dragged by the hand, her grip, soft yet utterly stern. She’ll be my untimely end, yet why must I still yearn? Her eyes, glow silver, song still muttered, Reaching my muffled ears, Fade away, with only her warmth, I remember my many years. 

Beauty in your sleep you dream. Stepping on stones in a stream. Looking at the sky above you, Seeing the rainclouds form to. Like a fawn prancing along. Not a peep but a bird’s song. Silent love carries in the wind. Fullness in your heart, Gives you a spin. Expecting nothing while lost, But gaining it all, as blanketed frost. Gathering the strength to push on. Sunshine in the storm, bringing calm. Frost melting when you walk, Forgotten things will no longer stalk. Free as the autumn leaves off the trees. A new path for you to see. Lovely darling, there’s no more stones. Free the ache from your precious bones.

Little bird, tiny one, Please don’t cry. Your chirp reaches my ear, Your song sounds abandoned. Feathers not fully grown in, Exposed to the cold, I bring you in my palm. I feel your heart Beating. In the grass You were lost. Fallen from where you Should have been. A nest up high, Warmth from your mother, Awaits you. As I lift your fragile being, Your song reaches higher. Your siblings sing back, excited for your return. Little bird, be careful, Don’t try to fly. You’re not ready to leave. Your mother will come back, And fill your belly. No longer are you lost, Lucky little thing, Stay put and listen, I hear the wings of Your mother nearby.

Freezing rain. Pouring down. Kissing, The scorching earth. Sending steam, Rolling along the ground, Through the grass. Enveloping Wildflowers that peek Through the sidewalk. My brow tightens, As I quickly paced. My breath, shaky. Longing to retire After a never ending day. Sun setting, as always, Leaving me without An ounce, Of daylight. Downpour, on top of nightfall. A perfect mix, To send me home. Shoes soaked, Hair matted. Tired. Exhausted. Pressing on, Like the wildflowers Blooming strong, In the concrete. Met with warmth, At my front door. Kicking off my Ruined sneakers. A fresh change of clothes, Waiting for me, prepared. Alone, at my writing desk. With only the light From my lamp To keep me company. The sound of thunder, Rumbles through The dark. Pen to paper, Energy lacking. Just the roar of thunder, In my head. And the looming thought Of tomorrow. Having to do it Again.

Boxes filled with junk. That’s all people see. They rummage through old papers, Not knowing their worth. Old photographs of strangers, Their happy-looking smiles. Hope in their eyes. A look into who they were. Not knowing the connection Of the people represented, And the belongings left behind. Collecting dust and cobwebs. Once in their prime, taken care of, Treasured. Overburdened, With memories That had become lost. Hopelessly forgotten. Only a glimmer, Of what was in the past. Emotional attachment, No longer a factor. Just a pile of junk. What is the worth? Empty objects, Left behind. Nothing more than Ghosts.  Ghosts in the attic.

Sunny day, bright sky, Yet the chill in the air Cuts through the thin fabric Of my sweater. Warmth upon my skin Greatly welcomed but Vanishes without warning. Some days, resting in the grass, Soaking up the rays that Burst through fluffy clouds. Other days hidden, Behind walls to protect myself From the harsh winds. Cold. I hate the cold. Waiting. For the warmth to take over Most days. Winter ending. I don’t miss the early darkness. Comforting sunsets by fires, Wind bringing pleasantries, Not chilled bones. I wait for those days. Yearning for those days, Before darkness returns. They are soon.