You can find more of my poetry, including my Magnet Monday series, on Ko-Fi and on Tumblr.

a poem by Annika Sage Ellis

to the person who stole my debit card

and spent $57.43 at Old Navy

and took a Lyft for $60.71

and another for $19.99

all in california, across the country from me:

i'm sorry you needed it so badly

as to take what was mine, and that i needed

you caused me fear, then dread, then stress when you stole from me

and yet i cannot hate you for it

because i know too deeply

the fear and dread and stress

of one who needs desperately

when you stole from me, you stole clothes

you stole a ride or two

you used my money to clothe yourself

and maybe others as well

you used my money to get away

maybe to your home, or maybe another’s

you used me to make yourself comfortable

and though it was wrong, how can i fault you?

we live in a world where you must earn

the right to survive

the right to live

the right to eat and drink and breathe

so, before i cancel my card

—before i cut you off from my money

from your lifeline—

i want to wish you well

i want to wish you a life of prosperity

so prosperous, in fact,

that you forget you ever had to steal

a poem by Annika Sage Ellis

Machine wash your ghosts on delicate

They've been through enough trouble, you see

If it's too rough and tumble

They may pop like a bubble

So machine wash your ghosts on delicate

Make sure the cycle is cold

They're not used to heat like you'd be

Much like an old sheet

They'll shrink in defeat

So make sure the cycle is cold

Don't put your ghosts in the dryer

They prefer hanging lines, flying free

If you fold them up fine

They'll practically shine!

So don't put your ghosts in the dryer

Wash them at least once a month

Because every ghost wants to be clean

They can’t possibly haunt

If there’s dust when they flaunt

So please wash your ghosts once a month

Not all of your ghosts are malevolent

They need love and care, like you do

If you treat them fair

You’ll never be scared

In your every affair

You can count they’ll be there

But if they’re wear-and-tear

They’re bound to despair

And wouldn’t you swear

That it’s awfully unfair?

So just be aware—

Machine wash your ghosts on delicate

a poem by Annika Sage Ellis

i’m in my room with the plague of our generation

the rain falls outside and i fall to my bed after

walking ten steps to get more water

i breathe heavy, i pant long

i live alone, and it has never been harder

in these uncertain times, i know,

in my bones, i’ll be fine

but the water lashes down my window

the thunder cracks

i know thousands are not as lucky as me

thousands, speaking lightly

millions, speaking literally

there is nothing i can do for them

there is nothing more i can even do

for myself, simply waiting to get better

(i’m still waiting on the results of my test

though at this point it’s hardly more than a guess;

false negatives cancelling out my false positives

so i hope for an answer that i might never get)

am i sick or are we sick?

am i broken or are we breaking?

in desperate times, the shadows only grow longer

in the shapes of greedy fingers that steal light and color

i hear bones cracking under fists, and gunshots

too brutal to be thunder

look down at the veins in your arms, thin blue lines mean nothing

when wrists are already bleeding and people have been screaming

plague of the body, plague of my mind

it seems we’ve all realized we’re

running out of time

so i lie chest-down and breathe

and count all the raindrops i see

and wonder which one of them is me