World Poetry Proudly Presents Annie Tsotas from Montreal, Canada!

Ariadne’s Notes: The World Poetry Café Radio Show with hosts Ariadne Sawyer and Anita Aguirre Nieveras featured the young author Annie Tsotas  from Montreal  and the award winning poet Alan Girling on May 26th. We also welcomed back Tech and host Israel Mota! To hear this great show: CLICK HERE!


Annie writes: “My name is Annie Tsotas, I am 20 years old and I was born and raised in Montreal. I am a student at Concordia University, studying English Lit., and Harlequin Confessions is my first published book. At the age of 16 I started reading my poetry in cafés but since the age of 18 I have been performing and competing in poetry slams at various cafés and venues in my hometown.  Writing and poetry are my prime passions and I have been working on teaching a class at an after school program, to bring awareness on the importance of art, specifically poetry and spoken word.

‘Harlequin Confessions’ is a unique compilation of spiritual poetry – with one half told from a girl’s perspective, and the other from that of her once lover. After they die and are resurrected, the duo succumbs to the power of quantum entanglement (a theory that dictates when two individual particles interact and are then separated, no matter the distance or how far apart they are, they remain connected and react in unison) to fall back in love under the force of unity. It focuses on the idea of what makes a human, human, and it’s written for a world that often forgets that everything is connected”

 You can purchase it at: and

Her Facebook page for more of her work

there is nothing like the
aftereffect of thunderstorm.  The way
you scream lightning, my lungs shake
every time you speak now,
and I wonder if it ever gets any better.

the sky is empty tonight.
we sat under a streetlight by your
house, and I felt the cushion over
your bones trembling, as you reached for
my hand.

the darkness has never looked so hungry.

there is a dialect that is formed from the way
these tired comets on your fingertips
clash over my ripped lips, and this diction
of yours stands heavy between my teeth.

your lips are sugarcoated with
every excuse I never liked the dark,
but every reason I still
stay up at night, like
maybe tonight, the moon will talk back
to me.

the sky fell over my shoulders and
the stars placed themselves on the pavement
of my back, like this is what
everything at once feels like.

I don’t remember the sound
of explosions, but that’s okay;
I hear it sounds a whole lot like the
way you say

let’s pretend you still stay
up at night to watch me sleep.  to
watch my eyelids make love to you,
as I dream every way you can
crawl your  breaths back to me.

but no one told me my hands were
capable of touching you. all I was ever told,
was about the distance between our atoms and
how I will never be able to hold you, or feel you,
or scar my wrists with the grease of your fingertips.

the way you spin stars in your palms
makes me question what the world looks like.
your eyelids vibrate from the way the moon
breathes on them, and I spend nights staying up looking
at you, like you aren’t human to me.

so I kidnapped the objects in the sky for you;
I left a trail of stars all over your skin,
and left pieces of the moon in the back pockets
of every time you called me beautiful,
but the nighttime hasn’t come yet. and I wonder if its too late.
I wonder if the stars on your skin will
explode before you realize how bright you can be in the darkness.

the darkness has never looked so
hungry, and I wonder if it’s too late
to put everything back
where it belonged.
but there is nothing like the after effect of thunderstorm-
ribcages clashing from trembling
bones.  the silence has never sounded so
eloquent and heavy and
we sit in it like it doesn’t get any better
than this

Annie Tsotas ©


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