Blind Eyes

Blind Eyes
Age into Faith
From Dark Stairs
Death and His Wraith
Descending Tears
They're bloody and bare
And Time's Dealings
Deadly unfair
In hot blankets
But Freezing Cold
They're forty years
With Seventy Old
Sails of Gold
Consist of Lies
With red leaves
And Watching Eyes
In the Hollow
A shadow blue
Of despair
This image pursued
And Hot glass melted
With a thunder crack
Until we all we know
Will all go black
With decay
They Dismiss Confusion
Broken into
A Spell of Dellusion

Best,
Anna Belle Lee

Someday

Everyday, I wish I could fly

When the bird pass me

I spread my arms and sing
Whisper my wishes

Maybe they’ll carry me away

Someday

Every time, I breathe

I pray my skin will

Evaporate into air

And blow away in the wind

Sometime

Every moment, I slide on mud

I wish my flesh would ooze

Into liquid, flow into water

And I’ll glide into the ocean

Somehow

Every spring, when the rain falls, I sob

I yearn to have these tears

Burn away at my blood

And I’ll become an acid cloud

Just something.

Best,
Anna Belle Lee

Dickinson

It's been a few days since I last posted. This is mostly because I haven't had time between exams and essays, but also because my computer hasn't been working. Fate is working against my blog. Damn you fate.
The other day I was in my Women's Literature class ("What do you read in that class? Cookbooks?" That was the sexist comment I heard the other day). We were discussing the poet, Emily Dickinson. Emily Dickinson is obviously known for her writing, but she is also known for her persona. I don't know a whole lot about her, but what I do know is that in college she was pretty outspoken. She was "expressive" as my professor put it. Then later on in her life she became reclusive, spent a lot of her time locked up in her parents house. When I say locked up,  I don't mean it as if someone locked HER up, but she locked herself up. Emily Dickinson, as I've been told, wasn't published much despite her effort. She was unwilling to change her writing as she was asked to.
Oddly enough, I find myself identifying with her most. I have all of these poems sitting in a booklet in my drawer and I've written so many. I don't like going out sometimes, but I have a need to. As in, if I don't go out I get a case of cabin fever. I'd become Jack from The Shining. Regardless, I often find myself withdrawn from others and sometimes unwilling to try to be around them. Sometimes I sit in my dorm writing poetry like a young Emily Dickinson (though comparing myself to her is far beyond a compliment).   Then I have to ask myself: What made Emily Dickinson reclusive? What made her want to withdraw from society?
Though I have no definite answer, I can relate to her and wonder if her reasons are similar to my own. I spend so much time in my room because I'm disappointed. I am disappointed with people in general. I am sick of hearing about how drunk people get and how much sex they have with who ever. I'm sick of people being proud of how much pot they smoke. It's not that I don't like drinking, or hell smoking pot, but frankly I could care less. Call me a prude, but I care about deeper things than that.  I want to talk about more than drinking and pot and sex, they are all kind of boring after awhile. Perhaps Emily Dickinson got sick of hearing about marriage. Perhaps she got sick of the standards of society but realized there was no way of changing them. Maybe Emily decided to give up on people. She didn't want to get married so she didn't, she stayed at home and wrote poetry. She refused to change herself for society, but she couldn't bear to deal with it.
Well it's all just a theory. Who knows why she really did it, but maybe she did it to confuse people. I'd like to confuse people, that'd be a good way to go.
I guess that's all I've got to say at the moment.
Best,
Anna Belle Lee

Introduction

My name is Anna Belle Lee.
As you may have noticed, this is a blog. I didn't make this blog to become famous, or make money. It's just about my life and life in general. At the risk of sounding mellodramatic, it's about expression. The first thing I should probably acknowledge is that my real name is not Anna Belle Lee. The alias is meant to allow me to speak freely without being afraid of attention from my family or friends. If I am going to express actually in depth anything then I have to do it without fear. The name "Anna Belle Lee" is based off of the poem by Edgar Allen Poe. The poem is something I've read over and over, heard again and again. It's like an imprint, it's weird really. As you read on you'll come to understand why.
The title of this blog, "Life is a bad metaphor" is the title I came up with today while walking. Life is so many things. We can compare anything we've seen to a piece of life because life is so complex. So when I say "Life is a bad metaphor" I mean to say that I'm sick of comparing life to something else I've experienced in life. Life is a game, life is a box a' chocolates, a highway, blah blah blah blah. You get the gist of it.
Life is life (who knew right?), and I would like to express mine. Perhaps I'm being over critical, well, we'll see. Regardless, I hope you're interested in writing because I'll be writing here as much as possible. See you soon.
Best,
Anna Belle Lee.