ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)
Bio
~ American feminist living in Sweden ~ SHE/HER
Admin. Vocal Social Society
Find me: @andreapolla63.bsky.social
Achievements (1)
Stories (197)
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No Flowers
No guests, no flowers; that's all she wanted. Sorrow grew like a cancerous tumour, her pain so unfathomable, her mistakes so unforgivable, her regrets, albeit human, allowed shame to steal her hope. Like premeditated thievery, all her doubts and fears broke into her soul, carefully removing bit by bit all of her goodness, all that those around her still saw, was missing. Just gone. Her eyes once playful began to hold the anguish in their reflection; some who cared about her saw it, some who passed by her in the market may have thought, "that woman is tired". Truth is, she was tired. Tired of the fight that everyday life brought her; tired of not just her physical pain, but tired of the redundancies, questions, and the reminders of how not enough she had been.
By ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)2 years ago in Poets
Unentitled
I don't like to think of you in my sombre hours, why must you torcher me when I've lost my powers? Deep within my R.E.M. you strip away the veil, waking me with a rush, your memories are my hell. You're mocking life as if we had another, you weren't just a man, you were like my brother. The trust now cracked, the sorrow seeping, like broken, blood filled veins, the break grows greater than the cut, each heartbeat is a strain. Like a dam meant to stop the harmful breaching floods, you open up well sealed gates, washing me through soggy muds; I try to crawl up the banks to where daylight beams askew, I pull myself all dirty, out from under the likes of you.
By ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)2 years ago in Poets
Little Weirdos
You money hungry psycho sage, you mindful podcast pup, you beady, poncho-ed healer, with your herb filled silver cup, you weed lit man-bunned stealer, the runt of your blue blood clan, I want to whack you in the head with "How to Spot a Scam". If only we didn't long for dope on this whacko of a planet, we'd be forced to earn an honest dime like in the old days dammit.
By ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)2 years ago in Poets
Sighs
She could not have been any better, more thoughtful, more helpful, prettier, smarter; she was bound in thoughts of disappointed sighs, disregarded achievements, broken in shreds of compromise, lonely in her discontent. It would never be enough, that is, to just be herself. She would not be rewarded with smiles, praise or unconditional love; she would know the bareness of love over and over again. Yet she kept wanting the comfort of the womb, the strong arms, the reassurance in their voices, the "it's okays", and the "of course you cans!"
By ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)2 years ago in Fiction
The Wish
In one puff, you were gone, like the wind carrying the fuzzy seeds of the dandelion, you continued, the green stem of hope remaining with me. Between tiny fingers which dug in the rain splattered earth, gnawing for treasures left by survivors, nails painted in pretty pink which had chipped away quickly, like the chocolate bunny's ears missing from eager, stealing teeth. From behind the beds of iris, daffodils or were they buttercups? Blue eyes stopped believing, just for a time, that there were Indian head coins, arrowheads or gold; a mist of loss washed over me, my wishes caught up in the wind with a never ever wanted feeling of losing you, my made-up childhood friend.
By ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)2 years ago in Poets
Starving. Top Story - April 2024.
Without a doubt, Isabella had an eye for beauty. In the early morning frost, she would set out to walk with Dilly through the thicket behind her grandfather's half standing barn. Dilly scouted for critters in the woods while she carefully etched the ice laden branches dangling from the naked birch and maple trees. Her breath formed a haze around her pale, young, yet serious, face. Dilly leapt abruptly out of the dense wood with wet, forthright paws then pounced jovially upon her drawing. With his own signature upon her pallet, color rose in her cheeks with fury as she scolded the cowering hound; he fell by her feet like a pouty child. Being an easy, forgiving soul, she scratched the back of his neck. "It's alright boy, silly pup."
By ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)2 years ago in Fiction
Freckled Fences
Marching in circles, residues of you shape how memories are so misconstrued, like tossing jacks in the yellow, spring sun, dropping freckles one by one; spying a time through ole metal fencing when love like yours was so convincing. Irresistible reminders of long ago days when I was so special, not just a phase.
By ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)2 years ago in Poets
Stormgrove. Top Story - March 2024.
Before. Before your ignorance we stood tall. Before. Before you, we were the amused. The horned beetles slowly multiplying, speckled resting doe, the golden autumn Cantharellus, the wild swine lumbering toward the ponds edge, all so enchanting. Before you. The swaggering moose, drunk from fermented apples found respite here, with owl, wolf, fox, hare, even the very smallest cells of life found refuge in our bows. Yet you pushed on. Our youngest branches, our eldest and wise were stolen from our families, broken, savagely contorted into what you wanted; was it needed? A shelter from the storm we gave you; the sky dark, yet brilliant with constellations that brought us joy, threatened you. How? Our children were your protection from the winds off the sea, the frigid, unforgiving cold; yet we believed. We believed because all who face decimation must. We are ringed in our matter, our full restitution embedded. We did not erase our homecoming! We mourned our trust lost, or could it be, we saw you as one, in the natural order of existence and you failed to hear us?
By ROCK aka Andrea Polla (Simmons)2 years ago in Fiction
