Moving Forward

Originally published in Teen Belle Magazine at https://teenbellemag.wixsite.com/tbmag/post/moving-forward-by-kimberly-ray

Treading forward,
wind pushing against my back
Finding a grip in the blowing sand
Gust ripping and I’m alone again

Ruminating about the sunset
What I’ll see if I continue moving
Head down, pushing against the wind
Marching forward, finding where I’ll begin

I will get my way
Taking fate by the hand
I will see my sunset someday
Making my way across this historic land

In Your City

Originally published in Clay Literary’s RAVEN: https://www.clayliterary.com/post/raven-issue-seven-08-30-2020

eyes squeeze shut all at once with
wishes whispered under breaths to be
anywhere else, anywhere cooler than

the constant heatwave of near 100 degrees.
Toes dip into makeshift sandy beaches
along the city’s river while children

play in water fountains next to erected sandcastles.
But here in my city, it’s another monotonous
day. I am wide-eyed making 11:11 wishes to be

with you in your city, your heatwave, along your river,
walking the streets when it’s your midnight.
My sweat drips waiting for you to wipe it away.

I’m waiting for the days where we open windows
to a gentle breeze and kick away the sheets for relief.

I wish it didn’t sting

I wish it didn’t sting
when rejection tears apart
what I’ve poured my heart into,
hidden emotions or fragments thereof
painting scenes that tiptoe quietly
or outright screams.

I wish it didn’t sting
when he doesn’t think much of me,
but rather holds a love
kept at a distance that silently breaks
both of us apart.

I wish it didn’t sting
when correspondence stops like
a drought after the flood,
after love cascaded faithfully
to comply with the dream.

I wish it didn’t sting
when I hear his poetry;
the voice that gets to the depth of me.
And I realize all those lustful moments
and longing nights have ceased.

I wish it didn’t sting
when my daughter looks to me
for answers. Her big eyes searching
for meaning and I come up empty;
I’ve got nothing.

I wish it didn’t sting,
when all I have
is nothing.

the loudest sound

vibrations reverberating
emitting from within and all around,

complementary yet opposing
reaching higher into the stratosphere,

returning one by one
striking through bone & marrow

which ones do I block out?
which ones do I hold onto?
which ones do I let fall to the ground?

I pick one up in my hand,
hold it close to my ear
as a shell echoes the sea
& let it whisper all its truths to me

Rising Waters

soft rolling waves
brushing the shoreline
come hurling. warmth

that used to make
your blood boil makes you
recoil deeper

from all that you
have felt and long to
feel. digging deep

into the sand
to push it away,
you recoil

into yourself.
this was not part of
the plan; moving

to the city
to be part of the
scene, only to

find you’re constantly
sinking.

Call It What It Is

Heatwaves radiating across the country,
common occurrences every summer
now occurring every season.

Summer stretches long into Fall,
makes a cameo during Winter
And begins earlier every Spring.

It’s a heatwave, they say.
No, it’s global warming.
No, it’s now called climate change, haven’t you heard?
No, that’s all fake news.
It’s only a heatwave, you see.

Varying heatwaves from place to place,
it’s unheard of in cities without air conditioning.
And now 130 recorded in the middle of Death Valley,
it’s a long streak of near-death experiences for everybody.

Sure, tell them it’s just another heatwave while our friends melt in the sweltering sun.
Tell them it’s only a heatwave when the final glaciers breakaway.
Tell them it’s only a heatwave, I’m sure they will soon believe.

If I love You… — forgottenmeadows

We are more than sunlit afternoons
And carefully crafted love letters,
More than the poetry and the art we create…
But in this moment of playful banter,
When you ask me if I love you,
I squeeze your hand
my heart still flutters
When you squeeze back.

For more, please follow Forgotten Meadows

We are more than sunlit afternoons And carefully crafted love letters, More than the poetry and the art we create… But in this moment of playful banter, When you ask me if I love you, I squeeze your hand my heart still flutters When you squeeze back. […]

If I love You… — forgottenmeadows

sing to me

sing me a song at every chance,
with every glance
capture me with your smile,
make the lyrics repeat in my head,
let your tone send shivers through me,
and when I hear the first notes,
let that song send me back to you.

Sudden attack


My heart stops, my stomach drops, and fear attacks
tearing and scraping my insides.
I step back. It’s not the right time.
It’s too delicate. My hands are unsteady.

I stall. I ruminate. I do all the things to not mess this up.
I just can’t mess this up, but fear I will, gravely… so I don’t move.
This is what it feels like when people ghost.
It’s too much to move forward.
So I go in the opposite direction.