There’s a new song available from me, on Soundcloud, and Bandcamp 🙂
It’s called Oh Wow. I hope you enjoy it 🙂
Jennifer Juan · Oh Wow
On today’s episode, Jennifer shares some new poems, and talks about creating during the coronavirus crisis, being labelled as a “quirky girl”, lucid dreaming and what a funny coincidence it is that all men just happen to have a long list of “crazy” ex girlfriends…
Jennifer also updates you on the recent events in British politics, including Boris having a baby, Priti Patel making an idiot of herself (again), Nigel Farage making the big return that nobody asked for, and Tory MPs demanding that journalists bow to Boris and his baby.
A million mirages,
a million ways to look okay,
when life looks bleak,
a million smiles,
that cost too much to keep,
when you close the door,
and are alone,
sliding to the floor,
with your heart in your throat,
your eyes a waterfall.
It can be lonely,
being a lady.
We are strong, but soft,
dainty, but depended on.
The whole world leans on us,
leers at us,
locks us up,
because free women are a fantasy,
and to be a woman is a madness,
in the rules we are set.
In our springtime,
we are sweet,
melded into our madness,
run ragged until we are rigid,
expectations flow like wayward strands of hair,
in rare moments that we forget,
and just run.
When winter comes,
free but invisible,
we will be our own broken dreams,
wondering how far back we can go,
wondering how to reclaim ourselves,
from the life we were assigned.
It can be lonely.
It can be maddening.
It can be frightening.
It can be overwhelming.
It can be different,
if we choose it.
If we break the rules,
say it’s okay not to smile,
say it’s okay to let the world stand on itself,
say to your sister,
that you will stand for her too.
Art is ludicrous.
Art is loud.
Art is your heart,
glowing and gliding,
colliding with the limits you live by,
growing and shining,
until your heart casts a shadow,
that leaves you so sure,
that the whole world could be yours,
if you wanted it.
Art is loud,
Until Art is silent.
Until Art is complicit.
Until Art looks the other way,
and she always does,
because while Art declares herself loud,
life changing and limitless,
Art is selfish,
Art is egocentric,
Art is a social climber,
Art is a networker.
Art would like her fans to know,
that she wouldn’t work with somebody
that she BELIEVES to be an abuser of women.
Art says that she still doesn’t understand the whole story.
Art says that it’s not really her business.
Art says that he is an incredibly sweet and gentle man.
Art says he was never inappropriate with her.
Art says she believes women,
just not THAT woman.
Art keeps her feminism as a deep cut,
she only plays it at concerts,
where the audience is already booing,
because Art does not realise,
that slick production is not enough,
to cover up the crime of complicity.
Art does not see itself from the outside.
Art does not realise that every line,
lyric and rhyme from her mouth,
is replaced with a simple but sad phrase.
“I want to be famous,
and I’m willing to sell out other women
to get what I want.”
You talk to me,
like I’ve been lobotomised,
like the way that I’ve been traumatised,
means I love to be patronised.
Maybe I don’t mind,
maybe I like watching you
do everything you think I want you to do,
as if you know the rules.
I watch you,
without a single cue,
you cut up my food,
you lace up my shoes.
Don’t talk so slow,
or my ideas will catch up,
and I will soar above,
out of reach,
out of view.
I am a project for you.
The flour baby,
from your youth.
You think if you don’t let me die,
then I’ll survive,
and I never had the heart to say,
that my heart still beats,
whether you micromanage it or not.