Untitled

And the tears stream only out the corner of one eye because I lay on my side clenching my midsection. The green and white striped pillow hard beneath my head slowly soaks and even after my hair is done sticking to my face and the pillow is finally dry because my tear ducts are worn out, the salt residue is still there enough to awaken the suppressed reasons the tears were flowing in the first place. And after crying until nearly hacking up my insides and going through an entire box of kleenex (the 'BONUS' box, mind you), I fall asleep. I never figured out whether it was from complete exhaustion of my body or mind. Or maybe, some higher power finally had enough mercy on me to grant my wish of painless, blackened oblivion I call sleep. Only to wake up three hours later to attend a session at school on a Saturday. For ONCE, I didn't mind listening to bad teachers (make an attempt at) teaching a subject I'm very weak in. Allowing my mind to desperately try and grasp the information I need, like sea anemone desperately flailing in the ocean currents trying to get any little particles to stick. Keeping myself from torturing my poor little brain with harsh thoughts. But when I finally find the solace of my room, I proceed to step on the bloody kleenex of the night before. And I know it was blood and I know it was real because 'real blood turns brown when it dries.' And that just breaks my heart because I now have hard evidence that I'm (literally) dying inside...




J.

undirectional navigation

Wouldn't it be interesting if you navigated a plane using clouds as your directional?  Your road map, if you will. Follow them, be with them, swallowed by their presence. Whichever way they seem to point or lead, that's the direction in which you go. When there are no more clouds, it's time to come down from the sky. You'll never know where you'll end up. The place will never be overcast and dreary, that much you do know. But you'll begin to invite the clouds to join you; they've become your friend, you're companion. They give you a sense of familiarity, security. They're so friendly and inviting when you're among them. They seem to welcome you in their billowing, undistinguished arms. You, flying; never knowing how high up you are. Them, surrounding you, taking you completely in. You, no longer even knowing which way is up. The clouds, they're navigating you now. And you, you are finally carefree..


J.

Meaningless Meanings

It's hard to fall asleep when your heart is beating so loudly you know it's going to explode but you can't tell which will happen first, your head or your chest. I'm breathing like I'm one hundred and eighty-seven pounds at five foot two and honestly, I feel like that quite often. It's sad that I would even be sleeping at seven pm. And I didn't dream this time purely out of exhaustion of body and mind. But I arose in a sudden manner from the mere vibration of my mobile device (the wretched thing), out of breath and fairly discombobulated as if I was escaping sheer terror. I haven't decided what's worse yet; having a terrifying nightmare and knowing it, seeing it vividly, experiencing it, remembering it.. Or having one and not being fully aware of it but feeling the terror through your bones anyway. The answer may seem easy. But sometimes, you just have an odd number of long nails and you just have to learn to get used to them and put them to use or go ahead and bite them down like you have done your entire life. The cause of that are those glances and stares you get that make you want to jump out of your skin. In anger. In despair. In desperation to escape. And in trying to flee, you're caught up in the memories. And the ones that make you smile are the ones that make you want to cry and you are sad and mad and glad and your head is spinning and your heart is beating. So much so that you can't fall asleep. It's like playing a song that you can't help but sing to while trying desperately to relay a message of life or death to someone and neither thing is working. YOU JUST CAN'T SLEEP WITH YOUR HEART BEATING SO LOUD. So then I have a scare when it slows to a stop (because you know it does that sometimes) and certain things are the cause sometimes and other times I feel like maybe my many prayers have been answered but I don't know what I really believe. But then the world turns out okay because you find joyful similarities and so what if they're common? Mix them with the others unknowing and enlighten them with your personal delights and your world is grand. But then you over do and don't know WHAT to do. And you're lost but you're found. AND YOUR HEAD IS JUST SPINNING 'ROUND AND 'ROUND.

J.

Pop The Trunk

Life seems to be the clearest.
Staring out the back of this automobile going seventy, maybe eighty.
Headlights glaring into a blurr, piercing the layers of my eyes that can now feel.
Feel the life that makes them smile.
The bass of different songs playing.
When you can't hear the words, it makes it all the easier to write your own lyrics.
Reflections, lights, faces, places, objects, life.
It's visible.
It's bolted down, it's flying around.
It's in a haze, I can see it clearly.
It's perfectly safe, it's completely life threatening.
It's all so fast, it goes in slow mo.
Confined in such a small place, but lord I'm as free as a bird.
Rescue me? I think you'd kill me if you tried.
Thanks but no. I like it this way and I'll never go home.
I could see how people get sick moving like this.
But I enjoy every waking second, just the way it is.
Right here, right now.
What do you want from me?
It all closes when they pop the trunk...

J.

Your Letter pt.2 (which was the original inspiration for pt.1)

Dear you,
    I compose a letter to you every single day.
In my head.
I would love to write it to you,
but it's been difficult for me to find and piece together words that would kill you from the inside out.
Not cut you, nor even stab you.
No, KILL YOU.
I don't know if there are even enough words of the right kind to say to you.
Even if there were, and there might be, I'll resist from actually writing it out.
Well, without a name, why would it matter?
Oh, because you know the evil bitch you really are.
It's completely obvious.
At least it is from the outside.
Maybe it's just me.
Maybe I'm the only one who doesn't fall into your trap.
I feel like you know exactly how you are though.
And my bitchiness is secretive so it would be unlike me to write your letter and have you [and the whole world] know exactly what I'm talking about.
But I will say this.
Every aspect of peoples personalities that I absolutely DESPISE, you posses.
You fit the bill for the most caniving, manipulative, most flat out evil person I have ever met.
But it's hidden very well (which infuriates me even more).
Kind of like me, only people know how I can be.
You just reel them in and are irresistable.
You're a lying, backstabbing hypocrite.
I don't see everything I want to be in you.
I see eveything I HATE in you.
But there's no way I can tell you that.
I have to keep it to myself.
None of this is anywhere NEAR as vulgar as the letter that I write you in my head.
This doesn't even touch the tip of the iceburg.
One day, I vow, you'll get your letter.
And I hope it's able to cut you as deep as a letter opener stabbed into your heart would be able to.

Much love HATE,
J.

Your Letter pt.1

I wrote you a letter a while ago.
It was full of love.
I completely intended to give it to you but
things changed.
I wrote you another letter.
Not so long ago.
It was full of sorrow proclaimed by some anger.
Begging for your empathy.
It put you in my shoes.
You won't [or can't] read my eyes.
So your letter tries to make you see through them.
I don't have the strength to give it to you.
I suppose I'll just leave it be.
Folded up, like my feelings, floating from place to place around my room.
That's where your letter will be.

I composed a letter to you today.
Only in my head.
Actually, I do it quite more often than just today.
I can usually keep a clean slate on my face so you won't be able to read it.
Sometimes, however, you catch a glimpse of it.
I wonder how much of it you've read..
I know you haven't read anywhere near all of it.
It is full of harsh words and vulgar wishes.
If I were to read it aloud to you, we would both end up in a heap of drowning tears on the floor.
Yours , too, would put you in my shoes.
Make you look at you through my eyes.
I wonder, if you can see through my eyes, can you also hear me screaming "BITCH" at the top of my lungs to you inside my head?
Do you then feel the pressure of trying to compress all this?
It's released through your letter in my head.

I thought about writing a letter to you today.
I just sent you a short message telling you I was thinking of you.
Telling you that I shared some of our precious memories with someone else.
Then I went home and cried.
Because you didn't respond.
I want you to hold on to those memories as I do.
I feel like that's not happening.
And because I miss you.
I feel like I need you now more than ever.
I can't tell you that because I don't want to sound like a selfish, spoiled brat.
But in your letter, I tell it all.
In your letter, I'm completely selfish.
I want you.
I guess I'll have to send you your letter soon; so you'll know.

I resisted writing you a letter the other day.
I didn't want to start a fight;
for your letter would have told all.
All about your hypocrisy.
About your stubbornness, your ignorance, your inconsiderateness.
That would have been your letter.
It would have infuriated you.
My fervid words of anger seeping through the letters of my message.
But I retained it.
And since I don't have to deal with you (and your stubborn self wouldn't hear a word of it anyway),
I'll just shrug it off.
I won't waste my time on your letter.

I can't write (either of) you a letter (at all).
For when I write the outline in my head and conjure up the courage to read it to you,
you don't understand it.
You're blind of where I'm coming from.
Our lives being so intertwined makes it all the more difficult.
We end up in tears and more frustration.
We end up only a step ahead of where we began.
Sometimes, we take more steps back than we even attempted at taking forward.
But this is old news, the same ol' rhyme.
The tale as old as time.
Nothing will change with just your letter.
So I'll keep it from you.
But maybe one day,
you'll get your letter and things will be different.

I never thought of writing you a letter.
Not until recently.
So I kind of did.
I miss you in my life.
You're smile, kindness, lightness, everything-is-okay-ness.
I keep getting a picture of a photograph of us holding hands.
Just our hands.
So I guess I don't really know if it's actually yours.
But I feel that it is your hand. And I like that.
Your letter doesn't contain anger.
But it doesn't really contain love.
Maybe underlying love.
I feel like I have that.
It does contain confusion. But not to the point of frustration.
Which is nice. But you're nice. Everything about you is nice.
But it's complicated. On both ends. Facts and feelings.
Maybe I can sort it out in your letter.
I have no idea if you'll ever get it.
But I do want you to have it.
You mean a lot to me.
I'm not sure how I can show that in your letter.
Maybe I'll figure it out.
Maybe your letter will figure us out.

J.

Should Have

I should have kissed you.

I should have held you so tight.

I should have been everything.

I should have never let you go.

I don't know why I couldn't have done all those things.

I don't know why I didn't.

I would have.

I suppose, if I could have.

I want to cry.

I want to die.

I want you.

shoulda coulda woulda doesn't do you any gooda.

I should have.

I could have.

I would have.

Give me the chance?

Or is the chance yours?

Will it be yours?

Do you want it?

Should you?

Could you?

Would you?

Paint me a picture.

Make it beautiful.

Make the brush strokes untamed and unmastered.
Give them perfect imperfection.
I should have listened.
To you.
To him.
To her.
To them.
From the start.
That you'd break my heart.
Because that's the way I feel.
And you don't have to live with these feelings.
But you should have to.
I should torture you inside.
Just the way I cried.
You weakling.
You coward.
That's all you are.
And I should have known.
It's all masked to you.
And I could have burned it.
Off of you or into you, your choice.
It will come for you.
You haven't grown.
You're stuck with yourself.
No one is on your side.
Don't you see?
That mask will only last so long.
I should have.
I could have.
I would have.


J.

please excuse my heart;

please excuse my heart; it's trying to escape my chest, to get to you. i've tried to tell it that it already belongs to you... why doesn't it believe me? maybe because my mind isn't convinced you still want it.
please excuse my heart; it's listening to my tears... why do they have to fall? maybe they're listening to its fears.
please excuse my heart; it begs to just relax but it's paranoid of lies... why can't it just trust me? maybe because my mind seems to fall for what's not true no matter how it tries.
please excuse my heart; it longs for you i fear. its taking the hints... but can you please just make it clear?

please excuse my heart; no matter what i seem to do, i just can't make it stop loving you...
 
 
J.

his & hers

these lips are chapped and the only thing to smooth them

are his lips pressed against them;

these hands are shanking and the only thing to keep them still

are his hands holding them;

these ears are ringing and the only thing to quiet them

is the sound of his voice soothing them;

these eyes are full of sorrow and tears and the only thing to lighten and dry them

are his eyes gazing back at them;

this skin is ice cold and the only thing to warm it

is his skin against it;

this body is weak and the only thing to hold it up

is his strength supporting it;

this head is spinning and ringing and the only thing to keep it in control

is the knowledge of his love...

J.Post Options

natural;

she walks her dog
the rain splashes around her
the dog trots through the puddles
the drops soak through her hair; she looks like she's been in the rain for hours
she catches a glimpse of her reflection in a parked car
the dog almost runs into it
she smiles a bit to herself
will anyone believe her inner beauty?
will anyone fall in love with her; all of her; no questions asked?
could anyone ever caress her face the way the raindrops do?
the little wonders of the way she is; and the way she embraces her world
the dog pulls at the leash and she's relieved from these twisted turns of fate.
her favorite part of the rain is how the drops seem to wrap her in their water;
they're the best disguise for her tears...

&&none of this makes sense;
 
J.