Thrust

What
         was/
                am/
                      will be/
this being commonly known as I?

contained and constrained
encapsulated in shaking, shimmering hide
never invisible never flexible

Stuck

shifting in all ways other than those urged for
connected and disconnected
never quite here never quite there

                                 these are not mine
                                           but
                                       this is me
?
 perhaps
            ?

Tschüss,
Marta Frieda Hart

Woman

I read the word with venom
Seething through my lips
The word so vile, like acidic vomit
Uttered in flow of so many
To desire this emotion
A tenderness that can
break me and leave me
Abandoned by a rushing
River, so fiercely flowing and might
I must jump into it, and free myself
From this curse bestowed on me
I am nothing but a woman
I carry sorrow and weight
Like ulcers blistering my sides

Ah, I hate her, to be a her
To be discounted by a thought
The glimmer of a tear, the crack of a smile
A taste of madness more, or desire
For we are nothing, expected to be so
We are the fruit, to be consumed
The sin, the desire of continued existence
We are the mother, the sister and the daughter
Yet we are nothing as we stand at half of society
We are as empty as an apple core
Carrying a seed that we can only hope
Will then grow into a strong tree
With leaves that repel acid rain
The venomous word of “woman”
l am nothing but a desirable sinner
Nutritious and delicious, tempting as
Shame and agony and Satan himself

But I will carry myself
With full hips and high breast
Through the beauty of suffering
For I am gorgeous in sorrow
Joy and temptation suit me
I am present, I am here
Rosy cheeks from running
But I will stand still here on top
No, emotion and reason do not stand
Opponents and enemies
But rather allies, steps to a staircase
Limitless, an infinity as we can conceive
Emotion does not limit me
Nor reason, nor doubt, nor fear
Nor any woman, nor any man
It is the strength within us
motivated by tears and sweat
Blood boiling and breakdowns
Ah, I will fall, and fail, and cry!
But I will stand so much taller
When I pick myself off of the dirt
Then they could ever dream.


Best,
Anna Belle Lee


P.S. I do not hate men, I do not hate women. We are all placed in roles we don't want. I blame no individual for my faults and pressures. This poem is about the pressure I have felt as a human, in particular, as a woman. Yet,to place the blame entirely on men is unreasonable and unfair. I know we all have our problems, weight we carry from society, I blame no gender, no race, no income, no age...we all play a role in what weight we carry.

Let Me

I am nothing but petty pity and woeful sorrow

A discombobulated woman, annihilated in entirety

A shadow in the valley of death, revoked of my basic right to die

One which lives in entire effort and yet still in vain

Cycling through the perpetual state of ambiguity in joy

Contaminated, eliminated by

The chemical composition of existence

Collapses into a faulty spiral of distance.

Nature was not so kind to grant me the proper mechanisms

In every moment, there is my flout uttered by silent shouts

That which creates the doubt in the meager century

If I live to feel alive, but if I know I am meant to die…

Who is to deny to let me?

Previous expressions were simply exceptions

To the thin nature of reality and existence

To say I should shoot for the moon 

Miss, and land among the stars

Is so cliché it can't even begin to sway me

The closest star to earth is 93 million miles away. 

Hope cannot be simply placed in faith

For when death strikes with his wraith

We are all the same fragile matter

We are together in how alone we feel

Prone to the same fear and sorrow

In which we hide behind a mask of lies

So who is to deny to let me die? 

Best,

Anna Belle Lee