Andi Leigh Writes

There are winter boots By the aged front door, Collecting cobwebs overnight. Though they remained there Through several moons, It's been a while since seen outside. The leather worn, the laces loose, The soles fatigued, an aglet lost. These winter boots, once loved before, Now in the corner out of sight.

Feelings  Are disorganized. The prize Is a mutter on sullen ears, With one word in and Shredded out. Love the wasted years.

Starved of time And a future bright. Mute acceptance of Ushered light. Shot in the dark With horrid plight. There's little hope For us left tonight.

I walk with empty shadows With the loveliest smiles. They hover past Insecurities, when I stop To have a peek. They dance through Woven hours that are Set for them to love. But I get stuck in patterns and I feel that I am weak.

I am the wind And I listen to grounded Whistling. Deep in every being, Clouds rest in darkness For more than one day. Years could build up, Showing falsities that Could be swept under The brightest star. I wish to be the breeze To blow the clouds away.

When I scrape ice Off of my windshield, The hourglass running out Takes any ease and tosses it Out the nearest window. Maybe I should've gotten Up with the sun  To let my car awaken too, Defrosting the layer of ice, Making rolling droplets Warm up to their  Everchanging form. But waking up early was Not written in the plan today. So after dressing in layers Fit for outside, I wielded the ice scraper, A capable weapon. My fingertips are kissed numb Because I forgot gloves. I always do. If only I'd woken up a bit earlier I could've spared myself  The trouble.

Are you waiting for life to happen? I think of this all the time. And I feel like I'm always waiting Even though life started for me In 1995. I don't feel like a grown-up But I know I'm not a child. I'm just a person floating forever Waiting for the start to dial. But the start Has already happened and the phone Will never ring. So I know I need to buckle up, Making it all count, and I mean Everything.

Since the swan had died In frigid winter winds, The lake became deserted. A lonely puddle, missing The swan's vibrant voice. The lake had no utterance Of her own. She cried, making ripples; Missing her protector. The winds, apologetic, Froze the upset waters To make amends. It eased the ache briefly But she worried About the emptiness Of springtime. The lake waited And winter thrived.

I don't wish to fail Like a fish on sands. Beached with sunlit eyes, Drying to salt, Waiting for suffocating flare. With luck  The tide will say hello; Taking me plainly Into a whole world Of home.

Something about the apartment made me feel uneasy but there was nowhere else to go. I was lucky enough to find this cheap, run-down one-bedroom. I had been kicked out of a friend's house for staying longer than anticipated. That was my bad. Everything was fine I guess. My friend had helped me find this place; fifth-floor apartment with no elevator, one bedroom, bathroom, and a combined living room and kitchen. The water would run cold most of the time and the paint on the walls were faded and chipping. The wooden floors were old and warped. It was a perfect space to find roaches but I think I got them all after moving in the week prior. Just perfect.  After a few days, I started to notice a foul smell that was coming from a hatch in the kitchen ceiling. It was locked of course; it probably opened up into the apartment above mine on the sixth floor. The sixth floor was unoccupied due to electrical issues. The landlord of the building made a statement saying that repairs and remodeli...

I forgot to take care of my energy. My patience depleted, evaporated really, With the fuming whirlwind of Multitasking. Maybe I did too much? Took too much on? And what about tomorrow's tasks? I need to evaluate them one by one, Look down the list of hurdles That make me spin accordingly. As one wall breaks down, As one line is crossed off in  Permanent marker, I stop to remind myself Not to break down with it. One measly task must not take part of me Down to the landfill of past chores with it. I have more to handle And more spinning to avoid.

She weeps as she walks; Taking note of sauntering Heartbreak. She pleads with herself. There will never be A next time. She looks to the sky, hoping For answers in the clouds But she knows the answers Are within. She wipes her tears with Her sleeve and sighs. Next time will come and It will be Worth waiting for.

Don't we all want to dance In the mountains without worry. Don't we all want to fly Far from the cycle that we've come To know as normal. I know I want to use my time to make, And to learn, and to care. Societal pressures dampen transformation. We don't need to live that way. We simply need to live. So let us paint in colors that are odd And mix feelings to form out-of-the-box Ideas that will further experience. I want to breathe in emotion And exhale art. We can strive for peaceful lives While remaining wild.

This morning I got up extra early. Peeling my face from my pillow, My exhausted eyes did not want To partake in the early day. My ears did not want to listen To the alarm sharply singing. I sat up, pulling my blanket tighter Around me. You were wrapped up In yours. We were smart to sleep With two separate blankets since We liked to fight over one when We shared. I yawned and launched myself Into the coldness of the room. The light from the bathroom Creaked in as my eyes adjusted. I got ready for work As you remained in bed, Warm and comfortable. Undisturbed. And I whispered that I loved you As I left you to sleep, Silently closing the bedroom door Behind me.

Crumble under letter left. Handwritten scorn— Bleeding soaks through Walls made to last, To prick the heart With notion. No path to return To once warm sender. Stamp pasted Indelicately so. One to archive, stained In gasping mutilation. 

There's a winter fly Beneath my skin. Ready to burst At sight of spring. I feel it stirring, And slumber still. Soon winter fly May unwrap Its wings.

Earthly green, Grounded finely and Delivered To my cup. Accompanied by Oat milk crafted fresh That morning. Spoonfuls of sugar swirl, Melting. Whisked to smooth Perfection.

Am I worn thin? Do my frequent migraines Speak for me? My unequivocal back pain Props me up, And I appear at ease. How do I inform them The aches don't simply Materialize— They're a daily terror. Am I not allowed to smile Through it all?

The lyrics live in my soul, Keeping me from letting them go. It could be years since I've heard The song. But it'll sound just as new When the chorus pursues.

I resist the halt of time Though solace and inevitable. Seconds spent accordingly Gracious acts conveyed substantial. There's promise in reprieve But all is broken in the shift. Eyes close with no concern As known efforts will be missed.

There's always disaster lurking here. At least, that's what the voice Dwelling in my head says. A day could swim by with nothing But good, delightful instances. And it wouldn't be enough To appease the restless voice. So it's a fight that refuses to bend, A battle to put that voice in place. A reminder; Things are alright and it's not the end.

I don't exactly feel fine. I don't see the point of time. All I know, is that I'm growing cold, And I'm living to lose my mind. I don't know how to cherish. I leave all the good things behind. All I know, these roads aren't paved in gold. And I'm slowing running out of time. All I know, is that I'm growing old. And there's still a chance to be kind.

There must be more to this Than letting alarm clocks rule Our days. To live by a schedule So meticulous that your breath Is held for longer than needed. A bedtime so precise that Any minute later would devastate Your next alarm clock greeting. Any time left over, if any at all, Would be grand to use For what brings you total joy. But you know you are too tired And the point of it all gets Further away. So back on track You go, with no room to breathe.

I love to drive Through countrysides And point out cows I see. The smell of pine and fireplaces Remind me of summer goals, And the open sea of sky Makes me think there's more To our tiny lives. A short drive around feels Like adventure sometimes When the color of the sun Melts onto the clouds. Grassy fields stretch for miles And farmland makes me want To garden at home. Just a simple countryside drive Is enough to reset my soul.