Aya Baker

Aya Baker Oct 2013

"tell me about the end of the world," the time traveller asked.

"a blessing," the stars decided.

"tell me about the end of mankind," the time traveller asked.

"peaceful," the stars conferred.

"tell me about the end of humanity," the time traveller asked.

"like a scab finally peeled," the stars nodded in agreement.

they had lived too long.

Aya Baker Oct 2013

Blank (in more than one way)

i colour in the white spaces of my drawings
the pen nib goes deeper and deeper
and on the other side of the paper, there's a mark.

the colour- originally an indigo blue-
becomes dark as the night
the colour is rich and singular;
it feels like the sea.
i wish it were.
my wishes don't come true.

maybe if i continue colouring over the same lines
again and again
the space will finally be filled.

Aya Baker Oct 2013

A Different Brand of Insomnia

I've gotten tired of staring at the back of my eyelids
In inky darkness,
There still are shadows that flit about and
Draw my mind's attention.
I have many voices in my head
All overlapping and overwhelming each other;
Choruses of a song heard earlier that day
Or a monologue of my own maudlin thoughts
Or a daydream of my wildest fantasies concocted
Or tomorrow's to-do list.
Loud, and
All at once.
It makes me go half out of my mind, sometimes.
I find it difficult to sleep.

Had a particularly rough night, and it inspired this. Went against every fiber of my being to write this, to continue faking sleep, but I wrote this down anyway. A poet's curse, I think.

Aya Baker Sep 2013

Sixteen

Sixteen, and already she feels so tired
A weariness that settles in her bones like no other;
And they too- the bones- they ache.
Shadows under her eyes
Like the ones that reside in Hades' domain-
Wicked and taunting and cruel and
Hellish
That don't seem to disappear.
Her gaze is vacant, attention slipping
Always casting about, from the
Styrofoam coffee cup to the newly parked car in the lot
To the aging sign advertising an open auto shop
- 24 hours a day, and the unlit neon bulbs
Look as ancient as
Her grandmother's wedding ring.
She sighs,
Takes a sip of coffee,
Then closes her eyes.
The vinyl seat cover under her is cool to the touch.

Aya Baker Sep 2013

Shhhhh

Quiet, quiet.

The night is dark outside and so is your soul.

There is little we can do about that, I'm sorry, they say oh so solemnly,

hands folded together close to their body

like they are protecting themselves

from me.

Shock treatments and pills couldn't do me good

Nothing could go against the

impenetrable exterior my mind

had formed.

The brambles my self-hate had created

were so intricately tangled

nothing could sidestep nor cut through them.

Just a filler while I delete Undiscovered, Version 2 and find a new poem in my phone memos (ha) to replace this with. Ignore this, tally-**!

Aya Baker Sep 2013

Undiscovered

lovely little girl

looking out from under her lashes

big bright world, she doesn't know what to do with it

newly released into the world with little more

than a whisper on her lips, a blessing tucked in the corner of her mouth

and the words that appear in the sand

of the beach she stands upon for the first time

"you will be magnificent"

Aya Baker Sep 2013

Unseen

it is a rainy day

and the pavement slick with water

and her heels go down clicking

click click click

and they are red and she tries

to show that she is powerful

and important

and that she matters

in this city of people who are all the same

blonde and asian and street

snapbacks and briefcases and tattoos

coffee and tea and mineral waters

but she isn’t

and she is still just

insignificant.

One of my older poems. Hard to escape from writing yourself into your works, isn't it?