Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Everything Is Fine, Don’t Give Into Despair

I ran away,

just to come back,

when I thought nobody was looking.

Racing away,

to sit by the sea,

watching anime,

in the middle of the night,

as the tide copies me,

running and returning too,

just to see if things feel any better,

when you finally escape.

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It doesn’t,

if you’re followed by what you ran from.

I am followed,

by absurdly long,

run on sentences,

that don’t rhyme,

because I’m pretentious,

and a teacher told me once,

that I didn’t have to be like everyone else,

so I’m consumed with that,

along with complexes about my appearance,

my heart,

and my destined destination.

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I sent my lover a love letter,

from the shower,

because I was showered with suspicion,

that maybe he’d stop loving me,

because I’m just the kind of girl,

who can’t accept,

that maybe,

I am destined to be desirable,

to somebody,

and now I’m sounding like a Smiths song,

surrounded by shame,

at the fact that I’ve never felt proud

of who I ended up being.

Hang the poet,

because,

fuck it,

she might enjoy it.

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In the afternoon,

I watch a Prince,

feeding pigeons,

outside a dungeon,

where I keep my heart,

oh,

but as you’ll know,

she’s gone missing,

happily captive,

and forcing me to smile a little too.

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The pigeons show their gratitude,

by asking for more.

crowding his crown,

their mouths still full of food,

spitting seeds as they scream,

“Please Daddy,

can I have some more?”

and,

honestly,

I can relate.

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It’s Christmas soon,

and I have a complex about that too.

I meet the eye of every elegantly dressed tree,

saying “How do you do?”

to gift related anxiety,

as I journey through December,

waiting for it to be over.

I have a long list of wishes I want,

but my mum can’t get them on Amazon,

so I’m not sure I should say,

“Just get me a new face,

a competent government,

and an end to the ache

of being unsure of where my life is going.”

because,

well,

nobody invites Debbie Downer back for New Year,

even if they gave birth to her.

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I have waited for the life I have,

and the life that I see in the horizon,

for as long as I have been alive,

yet,

every time I get a hit of happiness,

I am back in the gutter,

back at it again,

vapid,

with eyes full of wonder,

watching pigeons pester strangers,

for more of the same,

mouthing,

“same”,

as I smoke a cigarette,

expelling smoke rings and regret,

over nothing in particular.


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Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Fine Wine and Smirnoff Ice

Someone asked me why I won’t date men my age.

They asked me and I was cast back through time,

on trains and buses,

listening to men my age,

when they think they can’t be heard,

boasting about body counts,

swapping stories like Pokemon cards,

about women who trusted them to keep it to themselves.

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I hear men my age,

when they think they can’t be heard,

because my earphones are my guard dogs,

and we have mastered the art of looking unfriendly.

I hear men my age,

confidently crowing about their sexual prowess,

trying to impress and outdo each other,

not seeming to realise that the only cunt they’ll be seeing tonight,

is their reflections in the mirror.

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I am so bored,

listening to them babble on,

being so overwhelmingly underwhelming in every way,

but it’s like a car crash,

and I’m glued to the trash TV, that is men my age.

I hear men my age,

when they think they can’t be heard,

and I think,

wow bro,

men of all ages can be monsters,

but at least the older ones have the experience

to try and keep the mask on for a minute.


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Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Left Behind

Maybe the way your voice shakes isn’t an impediment,

it’s relevant to remember,

that you only get caught up,

abandoned by your own breath,

when you think too much,

about the way you lost your last voice.

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You only get fucked up,

when you think of how you lost her,

the way she clung to your coat,

as you began the long road away from yourself,

closing your eyes,

as if it would silence her screams,

as she begged and pleaded,

wondering why she wasn’t good enough to stay in your body.

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Maybe it’s an indication,

that you’re choking on the things you stole,

and the corpse of your last cause,

your last voice,

that you lost,

lays inside your throat,

staring up at the way she was replaced,

growing more vengeful every day,

getting in the way of your new life.


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Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Art Ho

I’m playing where we met,

my voice shaking,

the way my heart does,

when you approach,

encroaching and invading,

on the safety of my single life,

where my mind was mine.

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I’m reading thinly veiled things,

trying to keep it casual,

so I can carry on creating an image,

where I am intricately independent,

insulated from the effects of your affection,

but you are standing at the back,

glistening in golden lights,

as I pour out my mind,

pretending I don’t mind,

that you are mine,

and I am yours.


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Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

New Podcast Episode Available

Hola amigos,

There is a new podcast episode available, featuring some new poems, as well as discussions about how I’ve been inspired by the new Prime Minister Boris Johnson, how to find the lighter side of losing someone I love, my journey so far with ASMR and my childhood dreams.

I also debut a brand new segment to the show, called Luxury Hot Takes, where I give you all my uninformed hot takes, in a very luxurious and glamorous fashion.

You can find the new episode on your favourite podcast provider here, and you can find the episode guide for Sincerely, Jennifer x here.

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Besos,

J x



Read My Books

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