Planting Roses

No bars to break,

but here I am,

surrounded by searching space,

a prisoner,

encased in ivy,

that I have imagined,

grew side by side,

with the roses we planted.

 

 

I never knew my charge,

but I was sentenced to be sped,

back to the real world,

on several delayed trains,

with barely there air conditioning,

and piece by piece,

I felt each flower fall,

all around me.

 

 

The empty, invisible walls tell tales,

and I can’t tell which voice is yours,

anymore,

because the rain still falls,

and the wind still wails,

but I’m not sure they’re really there.

I’m not sure where it hurts,

I just know that it does,

and I know why it does,

even if that isn’t “proper science”.

 

I don’t know if you’ll wait for me,

or how long you’d have to wait,

but I know I need you to.

I remember this kind of crying,

thirteen,

Hastings beach,

knowing my world wouldn’t fit into a quaint country village,

not just the bright lights,

I had dreamed of,

for as long as I knew how to dream,

but a love.

I wanted a love,

that I couldn’t yet describe,

and maybe never could.

 

 

Again,

twenty three,

pausing at Preston,

with my heart in my throat,

poking it’s way out,

with razor blades and regret,

knowing it had found the love,

but not the words,

to explain how essential it was.

 

 

It never ends,

it only eases,

until it doesn’t,

and then,

I am back behind bars,

that cannot be broken,

by anything but,

freedom to be locked away,

planting roses,

with you,

and watching your excited eyes,

as we we wait for them to grow.

 

img_1926.jpg

I could walk away,

at any second,

out the door,

into the sunset,

under a train,

but with each step,

the chains of my choice,

and the punishment it brings others,

would grow heavier,

until my legs broke,

and my torso wept.

 

 

Give me rain,

or sun,

or death.

Give me some way,

to make each moment just a moment,

rather than a reminder,

that I have a life,

and a job,

and a whole realm of responsibilities,

that don’t include planting roses,

with you,

and watching your excited eyes,

as we we wait for them to grow.

 

 

Give me hope,

that one day,

I will find a time,

when I can survive on the inside,

and see it more as the outside,

real life,

my life,

without you.

 

 

Tell me that I’ll survive,

even if you’re lying,

or,

better yet,

lie down,

keep my side of the bed warm,

rain roses from the roof,

petals,

settled in the sheets,

growing strong under bright lights,

waiting for me to make parole.

 

 

I’ve found the words now.


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Mi Alma

You and I,

by the church,

holding hands,

listening to Cindy Scott,

in sweet silence,

that didn’t frighten or bore me.

That’s when I knew,

as the night wrapped her arms around us,

the sun fast asleep,

behind the tall trees of the square,

your hand,

still holding mine,

trembled and teased me,

and my heart wept as she lost control.

I knew,

as I glanced up at you,

to see you glancing back,

the most beautiful boy,

at our party for two,

surrounded by the stars,

cigarette hanging from the lips I loved,

and I,

so alive,

risen from the dead,

by your deadpan declaration of affection.

I knew,

on those steps,

as I sank into your sweeping shoulders,

my lashes meeting,

gossiping about you,

as my eyes closed,

and the city walked past,

staring at you,

as if they knew too,

and I knew,

that my soul,

was sitting on some steps,

in Leicester Square,

with his best girl in his arms,

and a cigarette hanging from the lips she loved.


Enter The Poetry Competition here

Order “Kissing Boys, Just For The Thrill” here

Order “Stormy Weather” here

Order “Last Of The Greenwich Glamour Girls” here

Order “The Things We Did Last Summer” here

Order “Home Wrecker” here

Listen to”Past Preston” here

Listen to “2AM” here

RECENT FREE CREATIVE WRITING COLLECTIONS
What Ever Happened To Baby Jen?
Notes To My Muse
Are You Afraid?

RECENT BLOGS
Release Day
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Why I Hate Dating In The Modern World

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Parma Violet Prince

Opium,

under my skin,

soaked into my soul,

slightly sweet,

supernaturally seductive.

 

My parma violet prince,

on the air,

my mind,

my lips,

nestled in my neediest nights,

when I creep down the stair case,

sniffing and sighing,

like a mad woman.

You are my affliction,

addiction,

obsession,

conviction.

I am handcuffed to heaven,

living in violent,

violet,

vintage.

 

I am driven to distraction,

destitution,

and desire,

by your slightly sweet,

supernaturally seductive scent.


Enter The Poetry Competition here

Order “Kissing Boys, Just For The Thrill” here

Order “Stormy Weather” here

Order “Last Of The Greenwich Glamour Girls” here

Order “The Things We Did Last Summer” here

Order “Home Wrecker” here

Listen to”Past Preston” here

Listen to “2AM” here

RECENT FREE CREATIVE WRITING COLLECTIONS
What Ever Happened To Baby Jen?
Notes To My Muse

Are You Afraid?

RECENT BLOGS
Release Day
2AM Music Video
Why I Hate Dating In The Modern World

COME FIND ME

Twitter

Instagram
Ask Jen

Facebook
Patreon

Tumblr
Amazon

Podcast
Spotify

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