A Dragon's Hoard of Stories

The Theory of Love

a poem by Annika Sage Ellis


Peek in on yourself, sometime

On that person in the mirror

Wearing their favorite pajamas

Smiling and humming and dancing

Around their bathroom

While brushing their teeth

To the song they’ve been singing all day

Finally released, finally relieved

Alone but for the stranger they can’t see

 

And yes, they are off-key

And yes, they are off-beat

And yes, that shirt has a hole in the sleeve

But they are so unwaveringly happy—

Even if only in this moment—

They are unfalteringly human

 

If you cannot be in love with it

The simplest things we do

When you are your only voyeur

What, then, is left for you?

lucifer

a poem by Annika Sage Ellis


at best, they call us helpless

poor lost little girls who

can’t find their way in a cruel world

and when we refuse their help

they call us hysterical

young women too lost in their

own delusions to see how far

they’ve strayed from the path

and when we reject them

they call us traitors

we’ve lost our halos and become

demonic men, agents of corruption

angry beasts of fire and wrath that

seek only to destroy their sanctity and yet—

when we live, we are not respected

they tape over our mouths and insist

we’re mistaken

when we die, we do not keep our names

they’re taken from us, our last wishes

thrown out with our dignity and buried in dresses

and they shrug when we ask where our brothers are buried

“what brothers?” they say. “those poor women will surely repent”

“at the holy gates, admit to sacrilege”

“they were never yours to claim”

 

but if the body is such a sacred place

we partake in the holy act of creation

and your desecration of men

made divine in our image

is more a sin than any of us

have ever been

florida

a poem by Annika Sage Ellis

i will miss the year-round flowers

blooming in bright colors at all hours

and dozens of lizards on my porch

that scattered at the calls of the swamp birds

 

i will miss the perfect warmth

of an endless summertime

where every season was duckling season

and the flocks that flew south, flew to me

 

i will miss hurricane parties

celebration in the face of nature

and sniffing about a disaster too small

to have a party about

 

i will miss the resilience

of a place determined, in the face of hate

to fly flags with pride where protests gathered

memorials raised up with their arms

 

i will miss you, where i go next

through no fault of your own

and hope i will see you again

with your summer storms and humid wind

Previous Page