Olive Annalise Hands
After having studied at university for a year in a course that wasn’t right for me, I have relied upon creating as a way to cope with the anxieties that have occurred from not being in education for the first time since childhood, as well as a way to keep myself busy and active on the days where I don’t work. I originally started writing after studying English literature at A level, having fallen in love with the poetry of Carol Ann Duffy. Since then, writing has become therapeutic to me, helping me to express my feelings in the best way I know how.
‘She is to become’
He said he’s feeling kind of blue.
Falls in love too easily. Same girl every time.
Different dream. Fucks her over in the end.
And over and over
And over again.
Never enough drink for this. And he is to become,
He is to become. And she gulps from the glass of
Recollection. Ravenous. Spoilt.
And the pen doesn’t work.
Won't write down the broken thoughts, so she sticks
Them to the brain. Pierces the eyes with the dried up
Ink and relief crawls down her face.
Licks it up with his wet tongue.
A smudge. A barcode. And he’s plagued with the idea
Of love. And it rocks him to sleep. Tranquil.
A devout romantic.
And he is to become, he is to become.
Everything at once. A man. A boy. A corpse.
And she will mourn for the days before.
Can almost hear them
Almost taste them. Still there.
Nothing’s gonna change her world
Except the place she could be. Sleeps with others
And omits heartache like love.
And there it is. Fully grown again.
Bright and lifelike. Waits for her to walk along.
Shows the river, turning sea. And her lover smiles.
And her lover is free.
And she is a she. Effulgent.
And she is to become, she is to become. Helpless.
Regretful. Homesick. And there it is,
Gone.
Can’t pull someone back to a place
They never lived in. Only in ruptured headspace.
Subdued, she translates words. Dim. Mute.
And the corpse, the man,
The boy becomes the only way of living.
Bears the weight of her sorrow on his hips
And thrusts and thrusts and thrives
While she sinks
And expires, until she becomes, she becomes
Hypothetical. Reorganises her bones
And her organs and her language into lies.
She adapts to survive
And hardly knows why.
Forced off the tracks by a former hope. And it’s
Happening. The uninvited rebirth. Manmade,
She is to become. She is to Become.
Author’s note: This poem explores themes of manipulation, desire, and defeat. It tells the story of a young protagonist who, upon experiencing a manipulative relationship, no longer feels passionate and hopeful about her future. She slowly lets her past consume her, inevitably choosing to live how others want her to.
‘10 days go by’
Can’t swallow it back down. Blood from the chest
hikes the gulp. Clips the core completely. Won’t
escape in a moan. Just sits there, still as your
anticipation,
Stinging the bones. Sour as silence. Medicate it with
tears so it can dissolve, satisfied. The hum
accompanies the Temporary. She no longer exists; who
do you remember?
The girl with the girl who looks like you, long blonde
hair, thick glasses too. Protocol. Ticking the list for
one that fits. A type is all you are. No longer exists.
Less shallow,
A recovery sigh drifts through the window with the
cool of her breath. Aimlessly indulges in the suffering.
Eager for the closing curtain to cut you out for the
night.
They sedate you. Your own demise never looked so
charming. Already desensitized but understand too
much. Blunt as the lie they fed you so you would
believe in something else.
Author’s note: I rewrote this poem many times. At the time I was struggling with my own identity; the way I dealt with bad situations made me question whether I was in the right or wrong: whether I was the good or bad guy. I feel like I was writing this poem to identify, and perhaps justify, why I act the way I do in certain situations. I think this poem highly expresses self-pity, but also a huge sense of guilt for feeling that way.
Poetry by Olive Annalise Hands