Always The Mistress, Never The Mrs

jennifer juan always the mistress never the mrs.JPG

Don’t Wake
Jean Eyes
12:21 Amazing Grace
Your Beauty Queen
Power And Pain
Friday The 13th
Indie Fave
The Man Who Replaced You
Tonight’s The Night
Final Messages
Lamentable Love
Always The Mistress, Never The Mrs


Don’t Wake

He asked me if I’d die for him,
I accepted,
in a heartbeat,
as his last drew near.
His greying hair,
and fraying air,
still enchanted me,
even if the world loved him no longer.
We shook out the last of the sand,
as the planet turned upside down,
at the beach,
where we broke into each other’s hearts,
and built a contented castle to live in.
We drank down denouement,
our epic epilogue.
The sun slipped,
as we slept,
never again.


Jean Eyes

I keep my mouth shut,
or the galaxy leaks out.
Silent sleepy says,
“I’m at peace with you.”
I complicate.
I shouldn’t do.
You’ve been more,
than I’ve ever understood.

Why couldn’t you remain,
the sunless stranger,
your silly sailor aesthetic.

Sunless sailor stranger,
eyes like jeans,
locked on my dresser,
sailing on superficial songs.


12:21 Amazing Grace

Death on grey matter,
Grey goose to wash it down.
We’ve all been there.
We all end one life,
some of us more.

It stays with you.
I never heard my voice so loud,
until it stabbed a man.
It rang between my ears,
every moment since.
Even when they tried to silence it.

Shoot me up,
the way we shot him,
justice under my skin,
and I’ll sleep as long as you like,
nameless grey label,
among my shamed sisters.

I’ve been sorry, daily.

I’ve been sleeping, lately.

Sleep comes and goes,
but the sorry holds me.

I went out singing and sobbing,
my sorry held my hand.
No grey goose this time though.
It wasn’t my choice.


Your Beauty Queen

I’m only your prom queen,
when the night is over,
and the lights,
and the kids,
have rushed home,
to make out,
to make curfew.
I dance with the darkness,
and although I see you watching,
I won’t let you cut in.
I’m only your beauty queen,
when the fools around us,
are too in love,
to see the way you stare at me.
Busy with their own baby,
they don’t see the king of the mountain,
trip and fall through his kingdom,
at the command of the troll princess.
I’m only your best girl,
when it’s best for you,
but tonight,
I’m wearing another boy’s jacket,
and boy, does it fit well.


Power And Pain

Deadly mixture,
one day,
I swear I will self destruct.
There is conflict in my pale legs,
honey eyes,
piano key thighs.

I am at peace,
under the covers.
The world can’t see,
I’m quite enough,
of not enough.

I can’t speak for either side,
but they still ambush me.
They want a comment,
they want agreement,
to tell me I’m not like the others,
to play with their favourite little ethnic doll.

My aesthetic,
but it is mine.
Until you try and buy it
like they purchased us.

I purchased us too,
at least my pale half did.
The half with power.
The half with pain,
makes my skin like gold.

My melanin tells me “no,
don’t fall to the past.
They’ll never accept you,
neither will I.”

I am a slave,
I am my master,
I never truly belonged,
to myself,
to you,
to anyone.



You told me
life only ends when you’re sick of it,
and I’ve suddenly fallen so in love with life,
Life is minty fresh,
life is a lie in,
life is a love in,
life is alive again.


Friday The 13th

Come cuddle with my noir kitty cat,
every moment apart is unlucky,
break the old glass you’ve grown out of,
and walk under the ladder to my world.

I want the salt across the table,
where you rest your legs,
and smirking shoes,
after a long day of pointing at rainbows.

They say you’re no good for me,
but you’re just the jinx I’m looking for.
You’ve eluded me for too long,
and I’m ready to bed my bad omen.


Indie Fave

They’ll build us up,
with dolly parts,
the silky shards,
of broken hearts.
You’ll flip for our flips,
feel us from your ankles,
to the collarbone that you contour.
We feel so warm,
covered in icy indigo.
I pray to my pleather,
that I keep it together.
They find my soul,
Switch on my eyes,
that can switch anytime.
Puppet masters playing behind the curtains,
business is as business does.
Artificial authentic.
The buzz inside my heart,
is the buzz inside his wallet.


The Man Who Replaced You

The man who replaced you,
is grey from head to toe,
doesn’t care for my screaming rainbow soul,
the way you used to.

The man who replaced you,
can’t taste my candy skin,
won’t unwrap me and devour my doubts,
the way you used to.

The man who replaced you,
is a gentle gentleman,
who I wish could lose control,
the way you used to.



I blaze through the morning ice,
the barnyard boy has a birthday,
my gift is to cope at the coal face,
while the world attends his party.
There are children who can’t play,
and grown ups done with games,
and I’ll head out to give them home,
just as I’ve always done.



They say you can fake it ’til you make it,
but you’ve made a mess out of faking it,
my dear.
Money can’t buy happiness,
but it can’t buy you sadness either,
and that was the top of your wish list,
my spoiled, sadistic sweetheart.
It can’t buy the agony that awaits me,
when I turn my key,
and realise all I locked in my apartment,
was the loneliness I’d spend the night with.
I’ll sell it to you,
for some company tonight.


Tonight’s The Night

His mane is good for hangovers.
With its hair, like a dog,
bites focus, until it’s clear.

Her voice is good for nonsense.
Sickly, syrupy sweetness,
empty as the forgotten bra, on the floor.

His hands are good for changing.
Soft claws, for softer padding,
weaving love while permitting lust.

Her stomach is good for breeding,
A million, mutant moth looking butterflies,
perch on the lining and flutter the fantasy.

His body is good for timing.
At the chime of her cries,
past the hand she was clutching, he arrived.



Today, we broke time.
Craving another hour,
we simply caught time,
and broke it.

We burned each finger,
biting at its face,
until we decided,
It was broken.

The seconds slid slower,
while we murdered minutes,
our eyes collided,
as we kissed for decades.

Today, we broke time.
Craving another second,
we hunted for time,
and broke it.



I’m a shelf of souvenirs,
from all of my travels.
I’ve been to Heaven,
I wasn’t impressed.
I’ve had my dramas,
late night horror shows,
with sticky floors,
and sticky situations.
I’ve been to the city,
to see what I could see.
Lungs and life,
by the beautiful bubble.
I’ll settle somewhere safe,
and have a million things to show for it.
Lungs, black and broken.
Soul, sticky and sanctimonious.
Life, lived and loved.


Final Messages

It’s hell.

We just can’t do anything.

Goodbye, for the last time.

I want to close my eyes,

I hear people are doing that,

across the world.

I’m jealous of their trendy ways,

eyes closed, en vogue.

I’m running out of time.

We are still here.

Will I see her for another day?

I can’t simply surrender.

I want to hear myself breathing.

In and out, the air in no hurry,

me, in no hurry.

I hear the world is in no rush,

I would blame them,

but I simply don’t have the time.

They are hours away.

All streets are destroyed.

Don’t let them erase us. 


Everyday eyes,
haemorrhaging heart,
no terms complete us.
You complete me.
Your eyes, nothing but eyes.
My heart an underused muscle.
Our lives, simple worlds.
Our love, exaggerated verse.
You, every day, essential to me.


Lamentable Love

Can’t cry you out,
nowhere to hide,
no surgery to remove,
the memory of you
from my bones.
I tell myself,
you won’t find a seat
under my skin,
despite your hands slipping,
under my skirt,
in my heart,
your beauty,
under my gaze,
in my sights.
I blink every second,
hoping my lashes can clear you,
waiting for a breath of air,
that doesn’t have your name on it.


Always The Mistress, Never The Mrs

My heart belongs
in my hopeful chest,
and to a myriad of mistakes,
that I simply adore making.
My wardrobe is full,
of what home won’t import,
and I’m so important,
until life ignores the “Do Not Disturb” sign.
I’m a banquet to a beast,
starved and secretive.
My dishonest darling,
until his conscience catches up.
My diamond daddies,
are all my best friends,
until I’m forced to the pawn shop,
by romantic poverty.


© Jennifer Juan 2017


%d bloggers like this: