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I wish I was the type of poet
who wrote about the beauty of life
like when the sun slips between my eyelids,
introducing a new dawn, or
when corollas gradually unfurl
for the day like sinners on their knees
opening to God. But I’m not.
I’m too broken right now
and my shards are too sharp
to put back together.
And I’m too numb right now
to allow the rays to seep through me
and fill my heart with the light.
You were suppose to enhance my life.
Not lock it up in an unlit casket
and tell me to hold on to hope a little longer
while my colors run dry and die
and yours remain arched over heaven.


I suppose I have no one to blame,
but this unyielding obsession
to be wanted,
to be loved,
to be a part of your world
because mine seemed so insignificant.
I miss being like the wild burning sun
that climbs the wall of night
or that peels petals until flowers bloom.
Don’t think you can continue to keep me
locked away forever, though,
because forever will quickly show you
how dark these days can really be.
Careful how you treat a writer;
they’ll immortalize you like no other artist.

- m.d. rayHope Feels Irrational in the Dark
, #m.d. ray #poetry #poets on tumblr #poet #poem #spilled ink #hope #love #dark #depression #sun #light #rays #obsession #writer #artist #flowers #God #broken #numb #casket #locked up

One year in college,
people asked me if I was bipolar
because of all my faces,
because I often went
from one extreme to the other
without a gradual progression.
I swallowed my pride like a horse pill
when I asked my mother
if I could get checked out.
She looked at me and laughed,
‘Don’t be ridiculous…
Other people are bipolar,
but you
are not.’
From that moment on,
I learned to stuff my feelings
in the folds of blank canvases
and tuck them away like secrets,
like broken hearts because
I’m so utterly ridiculous.

- m.d. rayRidiculous
, #m.d. ray #poetry #poets on tumblr #poem #spilled ink #ridiculous #bipolar #depression #honest #honesty #secrets #broken heart #mental illness

Religion,
you bombard me to insanity
with your paraphernalia’s
and the imprisonment
of prophets and saints
in your stained-glass windows;
always on your platform
labeling my character,
trying to induce me to submit
for I am the rib of the patriarchs.

Enough! Somewhere between
recognizing the symptoms of depression
and redefining my normality,
I began a self-pilgrimage:
from my mothers womb
to the tree of knowledge,
from running away from home
to wanting to go back,
from having a steady paycheck
to trying to transfigure change into dollars,
from having an erect backbone
to falling flat,

I contemplated endlessly
on who I was and where I was going,
on who God is and where She was taking me.
It was the breath before the plunge,
when I swam in the depths
of my Lover’s moonshine,
that had me throwing up hysterically,

that had me inquiring:
the Trinity, the bible, the church,
the prayers, the angels, the saints,
the demons, the heaven, the hell,
the eye’s watching, the guilt strangling,
the hypocrites, the believers,
the faith, the sins,
the religions, the gods…

In this vague world,
I’ve sat in strange homes with eccentric men
inhaling the haze
that took me to the highest of stars
where, there, I conversed with myself
on all that exists between
The Beginning and The End.

I told myself how one day
I was going to break free
and run radically into these streets
with my brain oozing over
the brim of my head;
brake free of
daydreams, hallucinations,
boatloads of mind-boggling bullshit
racketing through the complex
marshes of my mind’s eye.

I know now how the outcast falls apart,
how fear peaks from behind
the heart at the cumulative effects
of one’s life decisions
and suddenly decides to change
after years worth of molding.

I can sometimes imagine,
sometimes feel
that unforgettable hour
when my pulse loses
its rhythm, its rhyme.
There’d be no more
screaming, cursing, crying, vomiting,
no more chaos,
no more scraping the earth for bliss,
for truths that are, in actuality,
white lies and lies—
all will fall silent and be still.


I’ll stroll up to the Gates and say,
It wasn’t Religion that I was trying to find,
it was God I was trying to live for.

- m.d. ray, Religion
, #m.d. ray #poetry #poets on tumblr #poem #spilled ink #God #religion #faith
djelevatedpoet:
Thanks for following. I hope you enjoy the blog and poetry. I like your writing as well. Do you have any favorite writers or poets?

I like your writing as well…so much imagery!

As for fav. writers, I’m a Beat Generation kind of girl. I like poets such as Allen Ginsberg, Neal Cassidy and Jack Kerouac. They were like literary rebels and revolutionists. Their work, painfully honest and crude. I love it!

Thanks for the followback, by the way! =)

Look at us down here
winding through the labyrinth
in our hoopties and swanky tin cans,
like blood making their way through veins,
losing themselves to only find themselves
in the same place they began.
I think it’s awful how people live their lives
or not live their lives:
Wake up.
Snooze.
Wake up and suit up;
clock in and clock out
to only run the same rat race the next day.

Well, I’m tired and I’m bored
of running in circles, going nowhere
but where the system wants me to be
on this sphere growing dizzy.
I can’t keep up.
I can’t keep up.
I can’t keep my head up
through the turning of our times,
turning and spinning forward in time.
How are we moving forward in time
when the worst parts of our history
are still revolving through time?
I want to soar high above this ism

and shake loose the demons of our time
and projectile vomit
the prophecies of pothead hipsters
who prophesied these hard times.
But you don’t hear me.
You don’t hear me.
You won’t hear me
until something inside snaps
and your conscious won’t cease to ring,
until you wake up and seize these days
because Captain, oh, Captain, you and I are very much alive.
So let’s just rupture this wheel
that keeps us from living our lives.

- m.d. rayThe Wheel
, #m.d. ray #poetry #poets on tumblr #poem #spilled ink #the wheel #Yeats #Yeats' wheel #captain #break free #rat race #wake up #carpe diem #seize the day #life #prophecy #hipster #pothead

I can feel the Universe conspiring,
pulling and tugging at the cosmos of my mind—
I’m utterly restless.
There’s something trying to unfold inside,
a sudden urgency anxious to bloom
its way pass bone,
pass muscle,
pass skin…
They say if you’re still long enough,
you can feel the entire Universe
rushing through you in an instant;
you can hear the voice of Creation
whispering crumbs of hope…
Well, I’ve been standing in the same spot
for far too long
waiting for my world to shake,
my heart to quiver with purpose.
My ear’s pressed hard against the Earth
like resting on the breasts of God—
I’m listening,
waiting to be moved.

- m.d. ray, Just Say Something, Already!
, #m.d. ray #poetry #poets on tumblr #poem #spilled ink #universe #cosmos #God #creation #Earth #hope

Sometimes I grow mad
when you’ve been away for too long,
but I know by now that some prayers fall def
at the bottom of wishing wells,
in the twinkle of stars,
on the ears of God.

Instead, I’ve learned to close my eyes
and fall into the moonless night of your skin
that wraps me endlessly like time
because black is not loneliness or grief;
black is not a wilting flower
teetering between life and death.

Black is the boldness of your eyes,
deep like the midnight ocean:
I want to fall into you
and see heaven reflected back.
Black is the depths of love,
an endless rabbit hole that goes on…

- m.d. rayBlack
, #m.d. ray #poetry #poets on tumblr #poem #spilled ink #black #love #black love
^