Ammy

@ammypanda.bsky.social

39 Followers 88 Following

Artist, Poet, Overly Obsessed Character Creator, Passion 4 Fashion (Mostly Alt & J-Fashion) 27 She/Her Demi/Pan

Image with text saying: I've read so many Cadillac Resident's stories of haunted places, so for fun I wanted to list my findings on the top 5 probably most haunted spots in Cadillac. 1. The Escape Bar and Grill 2. The Cadillac Historical Museum 3. The Wheeler House 4. The Old Town Hall 5. The Book Nook Some honorable mentions include: Historic Hill East Pine Street And Leeson Court Street If you're from Cadillac Michigan, or even the McBain and Falmouth areas, I'd love to hear your stories about haunted locations I've missed!
Really excited for my birthday this year. In just a couple days I'll be seeing where my progress in overcoming my phobia is at. This past year I've made the most progress I ever have, all thanks to my wonderful friends. I had people I thought were close to me, and couldn't put themselves in my shoes, ridicule me for even having a phobia. But they were blind to just how much growth I've been tackling ever since graduating from college. Truth is, I just want to see some butterflies on my birthday. I love them. But I need to deal with my phobia of bees to make it happen. Even so, I'm in awe of my own bravery to take the steps to overcome my fear. And that courage is the greatest gift I could give myself.
Image of the band TX2.
This poem needs a content warning bc it can come off quite graphic. It's intention is to capture the frustration of a government who treats It's working class as disposable robots. As the name suggests, I wrote this poem out of the frustration and fear the election instigated. November 2024 By AnnaMarie Jenema These veins, Do they belong to this unlucky mirror, Or is my skin beginning to peel? I reapply my make-up, but it smears. My pale purple skin cracks, With metalic bone underneath. Maybe I need more foundation, But my finger falls off with the brush.
Full Moon By AnnaMarie Jenema Against the backdrop of a moonless sky, I desire a romance that glows like a Jack-o-latern, The bobbing candlelight parallels my heart. The will-o-the-wisp sweep me off my feet on a foggy night, Spirited away. These feelings are a lighter, Igniting each star as if a wick embedded itself in their cores. Like lightning bugs, I catch them in a jar. They light up the empty sky, And onlookers would think them a full moon.
Plucking Daisies By AnnaMarie Jenema I was but a child, Adorning you with daisies behind your ear, While Playing picnic in the feilds. The blooms bring out your smile. I pluck the dew from the petals, And with it, I photograph you. But now those petals are a wilted crown in your hair. I made you flower crowns, While you made me a crown of thorns. But I will not let you crucify me. I am no longer a child, When I set a daisy behind your ear, And told you everything that you wanted to hear.
Shredding Galaxies By AnnaMarie Jenema Once your eyes held galaxies, But how they swallow me, And I gulp back tears cascading through my lips. I'm lost in your stars, Blinking to forget their light. This vastness only empties me. My heartbeat pulses until I am shredded into nothingness.
Extinguish The Sun By AnnaMarie Jenema I envelop you, My hand brushing through your soft hair, Your head rests against me, And this warmth bubbles up, Overpowering me. "I love you"'s can never hope to convey all this passion. The sun has burrowed into my chest and made a nest there. How do I extinguish the sun? If I had a river I could line up buckets of water and like a firefighter put out this heat. But would the sun only evaporate the water? I stumble to find a solution, But the clock ticks ever on.
Unwanted Muse By AnnaMarie Jenema Burlap sack, Decaying bones that protrude from flaking skin, you have become my muse, Though abhorred in my sight. Coaxing riverbeds to overflow into wakefulness, and nightshade to bloom in its banks, Burlap sack, you sit and rock in your entrapment, singing a chilling lullaby, of your contents. Burlap sack, you gurgle inaudible lines, a cocaphany of your sorrows, or perhaps past. Once my muse, Id rather cast aside your musty inspiration, letting dirt and dust settle on your fabric, as I move on, Writing praises of nature and love, Odes on winter sunsets and past lovers, letting their names hammer nails into my core. Even this would be more delightful than spewing your words, Burlap Sack! Yet you sit in the dephs of my stomach, sloushing about to grab my attention, And I take pen to parchment, immortalizing your tantrums, as if they were a melody worthy of a noble audience. Fare well, My unwanted Muse. Fare well, Burlap Sack!
Trapped By AnnaMarie Jenema Air bubbles surface, Trapped under sheets of ice, My hands redden against the glass pane, Struggling to push up the freezing weight. I choke back gallons of water, My lungs become rocks. No one can hear me.
Words Can't Describe By AnnaMarie Jenema How I crave to kiss the tears from your lashes, In hopes that your sweet sunlight would grace your lips. The melody of your laugh is unlike any sound. If only I could count these butterflies flitting about within me, I'd give each one a name.
How I Miss You By AnnaMarie Jenema I see your ghost, As you sit over by those arched windows, Staring out from a distance past. My jewelry box should be there beside you, But there is a crutch and a face that no longer belongs to you. The silently singing carousel whirrs in my mind, And your seat is empty. How I miss you My sweet Grandma Leavitt
Spring in Autumn By AnnaMarie Jenema As pink blinds my heart, All these falling autumn leaves, Look like sakura.
Aching By AnnaMarie Jenema Glittering gems scatter, Leaving scars of scarlet. They drop from my eyes, Rendering me blind. I hold them on my tongue, They taste of iron and dew.
Floral Warmth By AnnaMarie Jenema I need no sun to warm my soul, When this sunflower is blooming, Admist this garden I call a heart.
My Hellish Rebuke By AnnaMarie Jenema My heart is made of fire and brimstone, I have cerberus locked in his kennel, But I ache to set him free. Can I travel across the expanse of the Underworld, To escape his whining that crucifies my soul?
Over You By AnnaMarie Jenema Its 3am and I forgot, I forgot how the rain faded away, To allow Sun rays to shine. I forgot how the dead, leaf covered ground, Became clear with crystalline snow, I forgot the way my tears swelled when I formed the cavern of your name, As if Im about to blow away snowflakes. its 3am, And I forgot how to stay awake, Promises of peace-filled dreams kiss my eyelids. But I cant remember how I got over you. And I forgot how I was capable of going to classes without crying, And I forgot how I locked myself away to shed them once more. And I forgot how to love you. And I forgot how to love you. Its 3am and I cant remember how I got over you. Yet I lay awake, mystified.
You Were Topaz to Me By AnnaMarie Jenema To me, you were as topaz, A precious stone. I held you in careful admiration, Close to the warmth of my heart, Like a necklace I delicately cradle. This topaz is but a cracked stone now. I try desperately not to drop you, But no longer do I wear such a splendid stone. The distance turns my summer heart to winter.
Voyage Unknown By AnnaMarie Jenema Wisps that float, riding smoke to faraway lands, drifting from candle light to candle light, How I wish I could follow, Billowing and unfurling from flame to smoke, traveling until all theres left is to fade. No one asks where you've gone, But I'll see you again, With the death of fire comes haze.
Floral Decay By AnnaMarie Jenema Drizzling honey, enough to water the mouth. a thorn enveloped in flesh, digging so deep as to prick the soul. The fragrance of flowers, sweet as nectar to the nose. The fresh feeling of a paper cut, Stinging as sandpaper against the finger. Yet neither able to jostle me back to life. Im unwilling to turn over a smile, nor to give up a frown. Neither suit the mood of a husk. The mummified casket of which neither option startle from death. The bandages scatter my vision, and the pungent waft of decomposing skin, refuses entrance to the floral release. wishing for either, leaves me stratching at my wooden roof, nails shredded, coffin unphased, skin peeled red, and yet not a scratch upon this prison. So I turn over, and fall asleep.
A wilted rose dies on dead grass, it's petals scattered on the ground. It was one of the roses on the chairs to mourn the dead, but like those it mouns, it had fallen.