My body


All of my love
I give to my cat
Because I do not have to fear
that he will leave me
if I’m being clingy
I can be vulnerable
without fear that he’ll judge me
I joke that
I don’t need a boyfriend
because he greets me
when I get home
because when I sleep
he is in my arms
I am not alone

My walls have backups
that spring into place
I wonder
how much of my shit
you will take
before you leave like the ones
in your wake

I always joke that I want to be with girls
if I want my heart to break
and guys
if I want to be bored
I am the girl who pored
over romance novels
and listened to love songs
A fling without feelings
is not where my heart belongs

I withdraw into myself
because of all the times
I’ve been wronged
I’ve said yes to sex
when I should have said no
I couldn’t answer if it
was for him or for me
What I know is that you felt the need
to remind me that I’m pretty
when you admired the curves
of my body

I would say that being kind
wins more points with me
But I am hesitant to trust
the kindness
Coming from your lips
that I stifle with a kiss
Beauty is a tragedy
and I don’t know if I am wanted for me
or the way that I look
Please don’t praise what you see
because I know the words
like a well-worn book
The last time a man whispered
sweet nothings in my ear
I cried
because creativity took a nose dive

If I pierce my face
will it make me less pretty
will the men that I attract
be less shitty

My apartment is a cave
in which I hide
My body is a cage
and I’m trapped inside
My larynx is the gatekeeper
that holds the key
My voice is beginning to be set free
with it I demand respect
Because as a woman
I know I haven’t gotten it yet.


The womb

There’s a place I like to sleep
with curtains drawn tight
Glowing in the magenta light
Covers tucked under my chin,
the mattress cushioning my side.

Some say the way we sleep
mimics the womb.

When going through change
I get antisocial,
Shutting out most
talking to a select few
While I burrow,
and make a nest.

I’ve been changing
taking information and processing it
Ready to work through
the events that make me, me.

The big topics are
the hardest to start writing about
and have the most impact.
I’m working to express myself
instead of withdraw.

But even butterflies
go through a period of change
Before they come out on the other side.

Quiet towns

The train keeps moving
Past quiet towns
The silence disrupted by
the clanking of metal
and the blare of the horn

Little sailboats patiently wait
Geese sit in a row
A house peaks out between the trees
Graffitied box cars
Long abandoned castle ruins,
hollow with age.

Lily pads, an island of green
Water glistens
Trees stand tall
The sailboats and people in parks
come out to play

Big, fluffy clouds
suspended in the sky,
Old bridges and water towers
The mountains a continuous,
calming presence
Gentle green curves,
Occasionally a pale blue,
shade lighter than the sky.

I long to stop the train
To explore where trees grow tall
and deers run freely
I’d prove nymphs exist by becoming one
I wish to explore castle ruins,
Little cottages on the hill and
quiet towns
To board sailboats
and climb water towers
Visiting places I’ve never been.

But the rumble of the train
A constant motion beneath my feet
stays on its course
to deliver me home.

© Copyright-All rights reserved-Hannah Farmery

Can’t go there

I try to keep my distance
(to keep you at arm’s length)
but the line is blurry
because we flirt and back off
and I can’t go there again.

You still bite your lip the way
I do
I itch to feel mine on yours
But I can’t go there.
Your hands are the same to hold
I hold mine together (to not touch)

I don’t know how to react.
because you blindside me with your emotions
and seduce me with your words
roping me into your spiderweb
to play with me like a yo-yo
pulling me in and pushing me back again.

We broke up for a reason.
What’s the reason we keep
coming back?
My heart is beating
and I can’t breathe normally.
Or spell.

But you know me
And understand me
More than anyone has
You aren’t what I want
But I miss what we had
And you still want me.

I cant.
Go there.
But you know me.
But I don’t know you.
Because you’re different
But the same.
But. I can’t. go. there.

© Copyright-All rights reserved-Hannah Farmery

Running out of arms


After Rosie the Riveter, of course.

“Where is the divide between the people that you can tell your true emotions to, and the ones that you should say you are okay, even if you’re not?”

From an earlier post I wrote during a really miserable time. Expanding on this, I’ve realized that when people ask how I am I automatically tell them I’m good, or well, or okay. I have to catch myself and say “oh wait, actually I’m not good” when I’m having a bad day. It makes me wonder who are the people you tell you’re having a shitty day, and who you pretend you’re great to because you don’t want to seem like a downer. I feel like people aren’t expecting a real answer when they ask. But everyone has a bad day sometime..

I have a hard time speaking up for myself. I worry that if I speak up I will either offend someone or lose them as a friend. I’m really non-confrontational and try not to stir up dust unless I have to. Which occasionally results in me not speaking up until it’s too late. Part of it has to do with the fact that I’ve been in a lot of fights with people before -and at a time even welcomed it- that I try not to anymore. It also has to do with self-worth, but that’s a whole other discussion.

I often put people’s needs before my own and feel like I am juggling theirs and mine, which is where the “running out of arms” comes from. Sometimes the first person who gets dropped is myself, which I’m working on. Because the person who should come first is yourself. You are the one who will always be there to take care of you.

I’ve been faced with a lot of moments recently that have given me the opportunity to be assertive and stand up for myself. Currently I’m living in an apartment that’s lease is about to end, and tons of realtors have been passing through. They started showing it months ago, and it still hasn’t been rented. Some of the realtors do not show respect at all, since I live in a building filled with college kids and young adults. Just because we’re younger doesn’t mean we deserve less respect. I have been getting text messages from strangers for months, some of them asking my permission to show the apartment and others who tell me that they will be coming. I’ve been learning how to say no when someone asks me the day of, or tells me that they are coming at a time that does not work for me. But I find it appalling how little courtesy is shown to college students.

Yesterday as I was leaving my apartment I walked into a realtor who said he was about to show my apartment, but had stopped because of a note I had put on my door saying that they are not allowed to enter without my permission. I told him that he had not told me he was coming, and my apartment was a mess. He tried to do the “it will only take a minute” thing.. and I said no. Which is a step for me.

Writing this blog is really empowering. It gives me the opportunity to express my ideas, and is nice to be able to share them with people. As I’ve mentioned before I’ve been writing poetry for ten years, and have always wanted to keep a blog, but had been too afraid to. I like having something that I am proud of, and do it for myself. As well as whoever is reading this. This semester I am in the worst poetry class I have ever had. The teacher forces us to free write and then read our work aloud, and in the middle of us reading she interrupts to say that something is “trite” or that we have to change a word or a line. It’s really embarrassing, and I do not agree with the way that she teaches. I call her the “dragon lady” for a reason, she’s kind of terrifying. Plus, she has not taught us different forms of poetry this whole semester other than to define them. I forgot to mention another important detail… My teacher hates rhyming and does not allow a single rhyme to be present in our poems…And most of my poems during the time I have been writing have rhymed in every line. When I found that out the first day of class I was a little intimidated, but I’ve been getting better at it. I know I’m becoming a better writer because of that challenge.

I have been in great micro-fiction and poetry classes before, where the environment was extremely comfortable and we offered to share our work, or were asked to share in a less forceful way. I really miss my little workshop groups where we bonded over helping each other improve our writing. Occasionally I feel like I’m one of my teacher’s least favorite students. Like when she told me to turn around and face a trash can in a corner. She laughed, thinking she was being funny and giving me a place to write with no distractions. It wasn’t funny.

I have had really bad crits before and have learned to glaze over and not get offended by people’s comments. My blog is a way to remind myself that I am proud of my writing, and my teacher is only one person’s opinion.


Foggy mind

It’s been a while since I posted something.. Here’s a poem I wrote for my poetry class. 


Foggy mind:

My mind’s so tired
I can’t hear over the roaring in my head 
Too many thoughts compete for my attention
And I don’t know where to start
I heard you have to forget
In order to make room
There’s a backlog in my head

With retorts I should have said
Continued conversations to be had
I’m going to be late again
I don’t want to see this person
Can’t I just stay here?
I want to go home
What homework do I have?
I’m so tired I need a break
I’ve got to feed the birds
Should I check my email?
I do not want to wait in the cold again
I can’t wait to do this art project
Why do I still miss him?

My dreams feel so realistic I’d rather stay there
Flying on fairy wings
Having freedom to go
A green eyed stranger beckons to me
People with colorful mohawks
Walking amongst large seahorses
And rubber duckies
A princess closet
Being at home

A man prowls firelit halls
I can always see his face
He smiles but I wake alone
It’s hard to separate the two some days
No amount of sleep can help me recharge
I feel sluggish either way.

Fault lines (amethyst geode)

This is the story of the amethyst geode, which lived in a corner for most of my life. Until it got dropped one day and cracked on its fault lines. Since then pieces have been given to people who are really close to my family and I. Image


Fault lines (amethyst geode):

You were always whole.
(Or rather, part of a whole)
I wonder who had the other half.
Was it discovered complete?
Or with fractured parts,
Never to have a twin.

Years passed by,
With the sunlight glittering on facets,
Making rainbows on the wall
A constant presence,
You sat in the corner defying gravity
Never budging,
Requiring at least four strong men
To move you,
Bending their backs under your weight.

A careless drop along fault lines
Broken under pressure
Scattering points across the sidewalk
Landing on either side of the doorway.
Left there for protection
Mother grieved at its loss.

It was a birth
Of daughters and sons,
Made mobile through a shedding of weight
To travel all over the world
In careful hands and bundled in suitcases
To share with only those who really matter.


Something I’ve always wanted to do is pair my poetry with other art. Sculptures, paintings, collage.. When I was younger I got the idea to make a book of paintings and poetry. In the poetry class I’m taking this semester I finally had the opportunity to do so.

I wrote a poem about a spider that I made out of steel and rebar. The feet are blacksmithed to be pointy, and I welded all the parts together. This was a final project I did for a class, and the spider is five feet by three feet wide.

Burning bridges


Burning bridges:

Crossing bridges all ready burned,
The heart’s the thing that never learned,
When you think you’re through,
It asks for more,
Tossing you from heights that leave you sore.
The conflict between mind and heart,
Which got you in trouble from the start,
When you’re pushing away it’s telling you no,
It’s a directionless path, nowhere to go.

From the heart:

From the heart:

I do everything to keep you going
The least you could do is show some respect-

I don’t know how much more it will take
For you to realize I’m vulnerable
And need time to mend after every break

Don’t thrust me at every devilish grin,
Or pretty face
That comes your way.
If you lay me at their feet
I might be unable to get up again

Hold the cards close to your chest
And wait it out,
Until someone worthy comes along
Because you’re precious and rare
And shouldn’t go to just anyone
But someone who will give the same in return.