en masse


en masse

Angry faces.
They all look
the same.
Disfigured by
the blows of

Passerby are
distracted in
every which
No one acknowledges
the existence
of one another.

It is only
by the accidental
bump or blow
that words
are exchanged.

Too busy
with the latest
status update
to actually relate
with the world
in front of you.

Pathetic in
reality that
an electronic
device could
dictate every
part of your
life for you.

>>All rights reserved to the poet, Jessica Gecsey-Ray. <<


Those Who Trespass

You will not pray, bless, or spread your false benevolence upon me.

Parking lot mass charlatans that act like they’re gonna save your soul when the
only god they ever did care about was a name printed on a green printed piece of paper that is as worthless as their belief system.

No. You don’t know me.                                                                                                                      You don’t know the hell I know so intimately. 

It has been more than a fire and brimstone type of punishment and suffering.
It has been more than that because I survived and I wasn’t supposed to more than once.

Most of all, you don’t know how my relationship with hell has allowed me
to smile in the face of all that is ultimately meaningless.

~~All rights reserved to Atheist poet Jessica G. Ray. She’s only been an ardent Atheist since about the age of 5 when she was told that if she prayed to “god” that her prayers would be answered. But, the catch was, she couldn’t just pray for herself.

She was sexually abused from the time she could remember until the age of 7, when her step parents divorced and no “god” or divinity ever kept her safe from her step father’s pedophile ways. So, don’t worry over her soul as she is perfectly content in her decision to lead a life absent of religion.

Those Who Trespass is printed in Jessica G Ray’s Chapbook, Working Knowledge. Her chapbooks are going to be for sale on her online storefront on Etsy, her store is named JessJumble.~~

Sink or Swim

Japan Wave


My mouth opens and all that comes out are things bigger and uglier than me.
Life just becomes another thing you have to do just to survive one more day.
And, I don’t know what you want, because I don’t ever ask.

Maybe, I don’t ask because I know it’s just one more thing I can’t deliver on.
When I try to love, all that’s meant to be soft is hard instead.
I learned many things growing up too damned fast and with all that,
love and nurturing seemed to pass me by along the way.

All I have left to fill the voids and expansive emptiness of the landscape
that has made up my life is words.
Words that just traverse for miles.
Out of anger, frustration, and desperation, those words don’t even offer solace.

No comfort is to be found because life is in those memories.
And, it was never because of your lack of trying.
To just forget.
It’s the reason you know what gunpowder and cold steel
tastes like in your mouth.
Why the smell of whiskey still makes you feel sickened.

You can’t kill what you can’t forget.
Two are dead. One by his own hand.
And, many of us cursed him for being the coward he was.
But, the worst, are the demons they left in their wake, how they are many.

~Title comes from something someone I knew growing up used to always say. They applied it to life and as a “life lesson” for me. And, for the record, Sandra Richardson, I always knew what it meant to sink or swim in life because there were no other options.
What I also learned in this life so far, is no matter how hard or ugly, the truth must always be pulled from the depths and places we don’t want to dare reach. It must be exposed to the light of the day and this is how shit changes and you can start moving on!
This poem will be published by the Autumnal equinox in the chapbook, “Vita.” I will be self publishing my chapbook and selling it on my Etsy storefront.~ Jessica G. Ray


Commodity Image


It’ll always be a
man’s world when
he gets to determine
the worth of your body.

Don’t you know that
by now?
The lies they tell you.

You sell you to make a

The worst part of all
this living stuff
is that it’s the hardest
part of life.

Killing yourself to eek
out an existence
when you don’t even feel
as though you exist.

The validity of your humanity
caught up in the numbers that
make up the balance of your checking account.

And in the end, we’ll all
still be in debt.

—>>All rights reserved to the poet, Jessica G. Ray. Commodity was published in her DIY self published Chapbook titled Do Tell… earlier this year in the spring of ’18.

You can contact Jessica via the comments section if you’re interested in purchasing any of her Chapbooks as she also has an online store that is down (momentarily) while she is in the process of moving.

Her Chapbooks are very reasonably priced from $4 to $7 on the higher end as the price is based on how much content the Chapbook contains. Shipping charges are extra, but she ships out orders within a 1-2 day time frame when the order is placed Monday through Friday.<<—




A ghost of
Once both
prominent and

The most
shade of
You were
the thorn
in a perfectionist’s

your life
and death
you make
me smile.

You remind
me how we
are so similar.
I am a radical
and you are
a weed.

So, it goes
we don’t rank
high when it
comes to popularity.

As, the wind
blows in the fall.
Your once golden
petals are now
seed pods.

When I get
lucky enough
to have a seed pod
pass me by,                                                                                                                                                    I try
to catch it.

I cup my hands
around you gently
so as to not crush
your fragile self.

I make my wish.
As this is what I’ve
learned to do.
Then, I release you
with a light blow from
my lips.

After completing
my task, I can’t
help but smile.

Because, I know
I’m helping contribute
to the spread of wildness
in a world hell bent on control.

**All rights reserved to Jessica G. Ray that has published this poem in her Chapbook titled, Reverie.**


Anxietas (lat. Anxiety)

In and out they come
in an orderly succession
awaiting their turn.

To be gnawed to the quick
or to have all the extra
skin pulled away.

Like little soldiers
they endure the
impending onslaught
of a self-afflicted war.

And what really changes
with acts of violence
as a means to an end?

You lay awake pondering
where exactly it is your
anxiety manifests.

You want to figure it out.

How it is to live a life
where you’re not anxious
about being anxious.

<All Rights Reserved to the Poet, Jessica G. Ray.>

False Sense of Security

False Sense of Security

Where do the moths
seek shelter
when the rain falls
from the sky
by the pound?

Drop by droplet.
Rivulets form a river
sweeping up what was
once safe on a
dry peninsula of

These armatures
of engineered
steel and manmade
grit become a
sancturary for
the natural.

For they know
Mother Nature
promises no quell
in the prospect
that imminent
danger resides
at the ready.

Destroy to make
way for the future.
Destroy to make way for
the inevitable.

Destroy to allow the
promise of a chance
to fulfill itself.

The one rule of
nature that is
Life will live again.

>All rights reserved to the poet, Jessica G. Ray. <

~I used to work at the airport and would spend eight hours or more relegated to a glass encased box in which I would keep my sanity by writing and actually working on art projects when I knew I would have a surplus of time on my hand. But this poem was based on my observation of some insects taking shelter when a rainstorm had come on suddenly.~