Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 Dec 2014 Anna Ray
Kate Lion
i dangle my feet over the edge of hell.
i'll never do it,
but i wonder if i will ever be able to braid my hair by myself
tie my shoes
smile like a two year-old who thinks cookies are the purpose of having teeth and a tongue

if i search in darkness, i will surely find despair
and there is a cellphone light glowing in my face
as i write this
so i should pursue this happiness
this temporary thrill i get from internet existence
 Apr 2013 Anna Ray
MRR
Ashley,

Just saw a picture of a guy who had his legs blown off today. he was being pushed through a crowd of people in a wheelchair. An army vet who happened to be on site was pinching the guy's arteries at the ends of where his legs used to be. Just dangling there.
What's the point? Ya know? I don't even want justice. What is justice? It's a creation by man- an abstraction that can't rectify what has already passed. You can't change what has happened. Find the guy and put him on trial... let people boo and hiss and threaten him. Maybe he'll get ***** in prison, probably not. Killed or put in solitary would be more likely. What does that change? Won't make that ******* guy's ******* legs grow back. Won't bring that little 8 year old back to life.
I want to believe in humanity. I'd like to believe that there is a point to our existence when I could be running in a marathon and then get my legs blown off. I mean, can you even fathom the depth of that irony? A marathon runner gets his legs blown off.

Normally these tragedies don't get to me. I just don't know... is it because I'm from Boston? Is it the shock of seeing that picture? Nothing makes sense. Nothing. I don't know anything. Nobody knows anything. You could accumulate all of the knowledge, know-how and wisdom in the world and still get your ******* brains splattered on the asphalt. bam, in that instance, your intellect, your personality, every memory that you cherished is now going to settle, dry up and rot away in the cracks in the pavement. Spend your whole life running. Training. Finish the ******* Boston marathon and bam, your legs are disintegrated.
Now you're just some inspirational story on 60 Minutes because you survived and show a positive outlook for a camera and help little kids who are missing their legs.

Somebody give me an answer. Give me an answer that i havent already heard. I've heard all of the answers to this. No answer helps. If there was an answer, this **** would never happen.

I don't know who else to tell this too. I had to get this out of my head.

- Mike
 Apr 2013 Anna Ray
d n
y'know,
                                                        ­             *i wanted to tell you,


i started keeping a dream journal.  it was pretty mundane at first (well, mundane for dreams).  flying through buildings, rooms melting into other rooms, people giving speeches in their underwear. i wrote it all down in my shaky, scribbly, half-awake catscratch haptic handwriting and gleamed when i filled the lines with dots and scribbles that only my mind could translate back to english, radio waves making music from garbled slush.  scribbles flooded into my mind in the days and months after, though everything was unfailingly crystal clear like diamonds pressed in forms and tucked away to giggle and fawn over later.

                                           but recently i haven't been able to write some of it down

because
you started making appearances.

at first the cameos were confusing; i ignored them and assumed your roles in my nonsensical night visions were coincidences (metaphorical you couldn't possibly hold more meaning than metaphorical math teacher or metaphorical adam from class the previous day).  and the scribbles were as detailed as before, every moment jotted down with unending diligence.

(but one night you were right
there
next to me.
as close as the last time i saw you,
your hip against mine.
i could feel you.
i couldn't see your face but i knew it was you.
i knew with the
pit
of my stomach.
i felt it in every part of me and it
hurt.)


and then the cameos came more frequently.
and then the scribbles came out a little slower.
a little more calculated.
i wondered if i wanted to remember everything i saw in those dreams,
if it was all going to be as fun as jumping from mountain to mountain.
why were you sitting next to me in the theater seat when i got called on to recite lines
that i never learned?
why were you smiling next to me like you did on those days i could do no wrong?
why
were
you
next to me when my stomach turned into a pit of rotten, nervous train wreck?
the curtains closed and the lights shattered and dimmed,
the pit became heavier than the buildings (now wrecked) that i used to leap with no fear
condensed,
******* in everything i could conceive in those slumbering hours,
swallowing the world and turning to caked ebony the world i built up as my playground.

(daniel awakes to find his playground is a sandbox no more;
he awakes with a heavier pit than he's ever known before.
today, when by passing glance his former lover he beholds,
the pit of dreams in life now endlessly unfolds.)


[ENTER PIT, SWALLOWING HIS THOUGHTS IN MURKY BLUE,
A MUFFLED SCREAM FROM BEHIND THE CURTAINS RINGS TRUE!]


f i n a l l y
i t   r e c e d e s.
but even when i see your name (with my eyes or in my mind's eye),
it explodes into being, shifting the balance of the universe onto the pit of my stomach.  i can FEEL it, pounding through every inch of me until i'm physically reeling, elbows on knees, hands on face.
and. . .
i'd carve my stomach open in between staggered, screaming heartbeats faster than the concentrated swill could spill out if i thought for a second that i could purge this pit that's plagued me for longer than
i'd ever admit.
4/15/2013
9:51pm
the pit has been emptied for now
if it's any consolation
 Mar 2013 Anna Ray
Lucky Queue
I don't really know what to write anymore
I've got bits and bobs and puzzling pieces of poems
Floating through my mind
But I can't put them to paper
I know what to say and how and why
But cannot
I could write about love and life,
But I'm tired of that
I can write about butterflies and doodles of
Flying cheesy donuts or a land whale
But nope. That's too boring for me for now
Lethargy and apathy are taking over for now
So my inspiration tree is a little wilted.
So here's to another lack-of-inspiration poem
And another ode to boredom.
 Mar 2013 Anna Ray
CRH
breathe in,
                 breathe out,
know
         without doubt

i Love you.
Its always interesting to wake up next to someone and listen to them continue to sleep. What a nice way to start a 10w Tuesday.
 Mar 2013 Anna Ray
Poemasabi
Heads raise
eyes question
false buried
anguish flies
echoes
stronger demons hang
awaiting their turn
Another poem inspired by the words list on the Hello Poetry homepage but with more creative license this time.
Next page