Lessons in the Mirror by Anna Marie

I would make a good corpse.

Pale face, sunken eyes; the origin of vampire myth

And I ask myself what if when I lick my lips in search of love

You just think in search of lust, or thirst

Can’t you tell that the only thing I am thirsty for is solace

I am the girl with sunken eyes

Who has seen too much, but can never die

And I keep hearing the phrase ‘handle it’.

Don’t you know that the word ‘handle’ twists knots in my stomach

Instead of opening doors, it shuts them.

Tight. Lock it.

Don’t let the thunder erupts from behind the door

Can’t let anybody see that there is a storm

Handle it.

Why does this phrase make me twitch?

How many handles could the door possibly come with?

Each new incident jiggles it a bit

The world can’t seem to quit, so

Maybe I’ll give it a peek

Make them think that behind this door is Narnia

It’s magic.

Little do they know,

War is coming.

Behind this handle

Lie frozen tears that tore away the earth hurt

Is hidden deep within this dirt

So

Maybe I’ll buy a jukebox for the room and listen to ‘Dancing with Myself’

Handle it.

These two strays on their own

Handle it.

Whip it. Handle.

Beat it. Handle.

Lock it. Handle.

Stop it.

Handle it.

Crasp it

So tightly until you aren’t sure you can let go

And then lock it.

Hide those keys inside of a locket

And feel the irony

Pretend you see beauty until there’s nothing left to see

And feel the irony

And holding tight the memory of losses

Then toss that shit into the ocean.

Be like rose; persist.

Let go

Forget everything you know, handle it.

Handle it as if you were handed gifts,

That’s up to your fingers before you get the chance to open them

And tell yourself, ‘Life is simpler without them’

Handle it until you no longer have hands to unlock the door

And then run, because you still have feet

You will not become undone

So, run.

Listen to ‘Forever Young’

And run.

Run to dodge that bullet

Remember that happiness isn’t a warm one. Run.

Run like Forrest, run

You do run run run

You do run run

I guess, anxiety in grief is the record on repeat.

Anxiety in grief is the record on repeat

Anxiety in grief is the record on repeat

Tell yourself, that eventually a new record

Remind yourself, that sometimes you have to wear out a record to go in search of the new one

Remind yourself, that eventually new song will make you tick

And remind yourself,

that you are strong enough to handle this.

*




I instantly fell for this poem on the first verse. Everything about it mix my feelings I was nothing but emotional and I see my fingers gently put this poem into my pocket of favorite and relatable poems. I apologize if there are some incorrect words, maybe I misheard things, for english is not my mother language. Feel free to correct me.
Oh, and Anna Marie, I send my best regards to you.