The blood dried,
on ancient newness.
Is nothing sacred?
Sorry, love.

Who am I?
The printed princess.
Storm clouds with coffee,
hate this bitch.

We all tried,
I now live endless.
I’ve got so much time,
when is yours?


“Gone for good”, you cry,
until the comeback comes.
Robe of broken hearts,
to keep mine nice and warm.

Bad reputation,
cook love but never taste.
Keep the broken hearts,
to feel what mine denies.

The Dying Swan

The mother, the lover,
the dreadful price of city life.
Defeat in your diary,
neon the above.
You’ll get there, to the top,
but won’t notice your ascent.
Then topple down, just as you planned,
penning your own demise.

Over It

I left you with a number,
six hundred and twenty two.
It means nothing, you insist,
but my distance is your mantra.

You never finished our show,
said you didn’t care for it.
It’s still on your DVR,
in case it gives you one more chance.

You’re collecting brunettes now,
everlasting fixation.
I bleached my hair this morning,
and waved as you wept by my door.


The sea climbed into my head,
noisy niceness, I can sleep.
I arrive in sand, breathing,
the world is gone from my throat.

I tied myself to the sun,
sixty seconds, I need more.
Don’t drown my town, it’s not time,
for reality to choke.


No tempting draft this winter,
spent Sundays fixing the doors.
Mistakes in autumn, couldn’t be helped.
They settle in, for winter.
She decided, it wasn’t his fault,
but still shivers, this winter,
fireplace is not what it was,
he slips. A hazard of winter.
He slips right out the door.


You’ve been green in their rabid eyes,
cage you, glitter speakers,
to drown out your urgent calling.
Your voice cascades, blazing,
let us follow, and set you free.

Running Mate

Our same dress,
heels match and march,
I never ran, you stood stagnant,
so I waited for you to catch up.
The forest passed on your resentment.

You arrive,
“wisened” young fool,
you say the forest was your guide.
I could own the world, if I had gone.
You jump on my back, and we head south.

Fangirl, Fanworld

The trees throw their clothes at you,
like you’re some kind of rock star.
I refuse to believe it,
but now the sky is a mess.
Crying, screaming for your smile.
I cringe when the bench begs you,
for one quick feel of your arse,
I just fight not to join in.

Artistic Differences

“What are you?” “What are you made of?”
Churros, coffee and cream.
I’ve possessed you, for many years,
but it doesn’t mean much.
Lightened my shade, until I was,
base coat, not masterpiece.
I’ve possessed you, but I’m not yours,
my shade ruins your “art”.


A month of Monday,
left her sleeping below.
Persistent alarm,
dig denial, while she sleeps.
Drink earthy champagne,
when she finally awakes.


I long to wait,
at imaginary docks.
You round my shoulders,
lights in our sky.
Candy floss kiss,
as the tide fawns over sand.
Contagious loving.
Are you waiting?

© Jennifer Juan 2016