Grown Up

Maybe I didn’t grow up.

Perhaps down.

Slid straight through the ground.

Perhaps I’m here but I’m really there

I’ve been dubbed lord of the underworld

Where there is no up, no down

No sense, no nonsense

No intelligence, no counterintelligence

Down under the ground there is a lot of clutter

And on a day just like any other

I tripped and stumbled into love

Perhaps the under is not quite different from the above

Tschüss!
Marta,
Frieda.
Hart...

Fire

Rumble, Roar, Consume and Crack.
Be balmy, be heated, but never completed.
Lick your flickering lips,
Devour that which you desire.

Cloud the earth with your husky scent.
Make those who betrayed you lament.
Cast shadows in the uncertain night.
Enhance the imbalance of sight,
Enamor enticed eyes with delight.

Flake and Break.
Burn, Yearn, Solemnly Spurn,
as you disappear into the breaking light.


Tschüss!
Marta,
Frieda.
Hart...

Defined

Dissect the definition of marriage.

Consider the concept that we are

Deceiving our nation into believing

That this is achieving.

Were are merely conceiving crackpots,

                                                            Clocks ran by manifest destiny.

As if He actually sees us, receives us.

Even so, isn’t He the preacher of love?

The word once meant overjoyed

We now use it to as if to say “stupid.”

A bundle of sticks, used to crucify the witch

                                    They are the devil in disguise to the ignorant kind.

Defined by the possibility of divine, by a committee

That drew this line.

A league of elite men

They wrote our popular pieces

Peculiarly similar to Greek myth,

A defied Harry Potter

They made dictionaries to tell us

Rights only meant for man and woman.


Best,
Anna Belle Lee

Electrocution

                                                                                                                                               SURGE

                                                                                              Rusting taste clings to dry tongue

                                                                                                                                          

    Ground a sudden,                             

     /intimate/                  

                     friend                             

                   Hearing    

                                      (nothing)                       

                                    feeling                         

                                       !everything!                    

          Throbbing, sobbing,                                        

                                   soul                                        

                         /slowly/                                   

                               rising                                      

                    Forefront    

            (left)     

              back      

                                                                             !fight with all might!

                                            Zingy                                                  

                           /more than/                                            

                                        tingly                                                

             for the

                                                        (life)                                               

              not yet 

           !lived!

 

 

                                                                                                                         Marta Frieda Hart





Salt.

Marta
Frieda
Hart

      Salt, sultry sweet, soft cold clammy skin hot tears to meet.

                                             \... -.          /..\          .-.../                                                                               

      Grasping for allures that refused to last,

       Yearning for the past.

      Pale white blooms to red, flooded by angry seas that spread.

          \../        \../ 

       flee to be free

      from the sting and burn

      and a stuttering gasp that spurns
      [

      No

      Longer

      Beloved.

      ]

 

Tschüss

#42

Slick sweat sliding slowly

Over shining skin

Lick it up, every drop.

It is like the elixir to stave

Off—

Those nasty existential

Thoughts.

Holy hands help themselves into

Your various holes and crevasses.

The Victorian standards

Wrapping our world like ropes

            Perhaps comforting as a baby blanket

Falls apart—

Thread

            By

                                    Thread.

Under the dull pain of those

Loathsome moans

Somewhere

 Mixed in the

Juxtaposed organs,

 Somewhere

In the eyelashes

or the lips

or the neck

                        In that mellifluous symphony

                                    Of those crooked bittersweets

                                    Is like a justified
Religion.
Something like
                                                              Freedom.

Best,

Anna Belle Lee

Unremarkably Remarkable

                               T                    K                      V                                        PRN                 
                              150              1500                50                                      10(2)
                              100              1500               100                                        x
                              50                1500               100                                        x
                              off                1500               100            
                                                   1500               150                                        x
                                                   1500               150                  L                   xx
                                                   1500               100               12.5       xx20(1)xxxxx
                                                   1500               100               12.5             xx xx
                                                   1500               100                 25           x xx xxxx
                                                   1250               100                 25                 xxx x
                                                   1000               100               100              x xx x
                                                    750                100                150             x xxxx
                                                    500                100                200                 x
                                                    250                100                200              xx 
                                                     off                 100                200                
                                                                           100                200                  X!! x

?          ?          ?          ?          ?          ?          ?          ?        
      Affected.                                                                                                            
                                                                  Defected.
                                                                                                                                 Rejected.     
                                  515 dollars.                                    119 days. 
                                                                 2204 Pills
    
          Call if any questions.
                        Call if worse.
                                  Wait 2 months for 4 hours.
                                                           Wait 3 for just 1 1/2.
                                                                               Effective?
                                                                                      Fulfilling intended purpose?

White Coats helpful?
       Not yet...
     (430 days)
                                                              Years passed?
                                                                        6
                                                                                                                                  Any better?
                                                                                                                                         ...

Tschüss,
Marta
Frieda
Hart                                                                                                                      

Expiration Date

Chilled and silent, like moldy chicken

Two weeks old and inedible

Façade engrossing my cheeks and

Spreading to my lips

Grin, bear it

Eyes are queasy and delicate

But sleep utters dreams in my ears

Those, which I can’t forget

Those are the worst memories of all

Dark in there, but unwilling to venture

To the other side

To burned, even in the decadence of masks

Ugly, yet smug and smiling

Best,
Anna Belle Lee

I always knew, and wished it away in the fondest of my nightmares 

Finding Fearlessness

icewater of rushing

Copper Calm

cauterizes, mesmerizes, revitalizes

Tears of sadness bring only madness.

smile. -send out all that is vile- .

Anger and fear meddle with the perception of the mind.

We may find positivity is quick to spread,

 providing a simple remedy:

leave dread behind.

                         tschüss,      

marta frieda hart

Take my Hand; I'll Take You to Never-Never Land

I am the ultimate out of body experience.

                                                      Right here.


Within the confines of this tiny, pockmarked vessel; set sailing

                                                                                                                

                backwards,               below,                     within,

                                      above,                forwards,               

                                                                                            Without.

Word of warning:
Once trapped inside my limbs of wonder you may never get out.
                                                             -Stuck within the whirling vortex of what is-

  You will

            become pain.

                                          You will
                                                     be lost.

                                                                               You will
                                                                                          be me.

Tschüss,

Marta Frieda Harta

Make Way

Illustrious effervescent illusions affect the industriousness of the 9-5 everyday.
                                                                                               
...Or do they?

Tschüss,               

Marta Frieda Hart

Wonderland

There we were on a crystallized mass

Walking on water and feeling like Gods

Embedded in layers of clothing

Below freezing but filled with burning heat

The world around us was dead silent

But beneath my cool façade was activity

Chest tensing and easing, soothing and burning

Beneath the snow slumbers life, waiting to bloom

My hand wandered and fell upon chilled peach lips

I yearn for that taste in my mouth again

My gaze glazed over into his vivacious icy eyes

I fall into them with a crashing sensation

While the world slumbers, I take in the sound of breath

I fill myself with that image,

And a chuckle echoes through the

Powdered forest.

When I am alone and waiting

I think of that burning

In my wonderland

Best,

Anna Belle Lee

Grounded

Sweet, salty, darkened earth surrounds one of smaller stature.

She can hardly stand it.

Crystal-like cocoon of solid solitude consumes her.

She is confined but not quite safe.

Crossing point of sharp stones and crevace.

She sits suspended; neither here nor there.

Silken hair cascades; thrust back in unsteady winds.

She is grounded alongside the bay.

Sea-eagles splash and waves prey.

In an instant she is gone away.

Tschüss,
Marta Frieda Hart

Ritual of Accomplishment

I have a biannual ritual when I pretend that I am going leave everything and everyone I ever loved behind for an exciting new life somewhere else.

Usually that dream comes to me when something horrible has happened, which oddly enough happens bi or tri annually.            

Lately I’ve found that the ritual has occurred on a more monthly basis and I couldn’t help but wonder why.

I wonder why it is that when I look at the aging faces of my peers that I am horrified

I wonder why it is when I notice my friends having babies and getting married as if it is simply expected of us.

I wonder why it is that that I have achieved so very little in my life and yet it is probably the most I ever will.

I wonder if I am beginning to romanticize the idea of children as if my legacy has already died.

I wonder why when I go to work everyday and do the same monotonous job, succeeding to make 8.75 an hour.

I wonder if I will become anything or if already I am reaching my end.

Perhaps if I were escape to a new place I would succeed to accomplish all I dream.

Perhaps if I succeed to exist in accomplishment in my dreams, one day I will.            

           

Perhaps I am a dreamer, but I’d like to think I’m not the only one.

Perhaps I am selfish, but I imagine I am not the worst.

In the end it doesn’t matter and perhaps I wonder I if I will fall into death as I dream of accomplishment at an age of one-oh-four. 

Best,

Anna Belle Lee

Dancers in my Head

There are many confined to my cranium

She gasps and shudders;
Violent motions escape in sharp bursts.

Revelations of fear and rage.

Another she is calm and contained.

Her movements slow and calculated;

Appearing effortlessly ethereal.

He leaps and contorts;

Pulsing rhythmically with the music.

Vivacity.

Raw Emotion - Pure Force.

Powerful and Unknown.

They dance together. They dance apart.

Their movements are fluid yet always contain a quirk, some flaw. 

The truest beauty is found within imperfection.

They are all my mind sees when my eyes are clouded.

They leap, glide, and twist beyond fast boundaries.

I define their movements when I'm incapable of controlling my own.

Sometimes it can be uplifting, a remembrance of what I loved, what I could do.

But now I can't.

I don't even have real dancers.

All I have is the ones in my head who (like the Willis) strive to dance me dead.

Tschüss,

Marta Frieda Hart