Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Pride Month 2021, Writing

Westbound

You ask me which way is westbound,

as we wait around in London Bridge tube station,

for some kind of miracle to occur,

some kind of magic where I am miraculously made aware of where I’m going,

and my confident stride is finally earned.

It doesn’t come.

I put my palms across the wall,

splayed as I display a lack of direction,

asking my hands which is right,

which is left,

and then, I am left with embarrassment as I remember that this wasn’t even the question that you asked.

My cheeks are cherries,

soothed a little by the sweetness of your kiss,

as we step away from my shyness and ask for directions.

You are direct,

kissing me again,

my lips this time,

clearly sensing they were envious of my embarrassed but abundant cheeks.

You spoil the rest of me,

so fevered, against the silver of the platform walls,

we shine,

showing off,

hands braided,

kissing like we are fated to teach the world about love,

smiling into each other’s mouths,

like we are the first girls to discover this passionate pastime.

We miss several trains,

but we don’t miss each other,

and that’s all that feels important.

Posted in Blog

London Was Always My Soulmate

I miss the grey fingers of your smoke,

around my throat,

as I spent the night,

sleeping while awake,

in a dreamlike state,

tattooing trees,

with all the ways I loved you.

I remember longing when I was with you,

always longing,

because I’m lonely,

and unlucky,

still just the way that God made me,

but longing,

with your eyes upon me,

soothes and satisfies me,

for a little while,

long enough that I can pretend I live in a movie.

I was a big star,

montages down your boulevards,

always “Coming soon!”

but never quite arriving,

thriving on the thought that I was someone’s Bridget Jones or Charity Hope Valentine,

a brass band,

a bumbling but loveable beauty,

that will be face to face with good fortune,

one sweet day.

I miss the grey fingers of your smoke,

around my throat,

polluted and poisoned,

by how the past could never stay,

and how hard it is to accept,

that I’m just a girl,

who used to wander around London,

alone,

to take the edge off of her endless loneliness.

Posted in Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

My Misspent Youth

Cool girl,

Canary Wharf,

pickpocketing promises,

of necklaces and neck kisses,

when all she wants is dinner and drinks,

the chance to collapse into the city,

see the world,

on the right side of the river.

Taking notes,

in lectures,

bustling bars,

on how to find a rich man,

to take to the inevitable family events,

where everyone asks,

“So,

darling,

what’s going on in your love life?”.

Maybe she could be a rich man,

like Cher said,

drinking and dining alone,

on the docks.

Cool girl,

Canary Wharf,

pockets full of diamonds,

dreams,

and determination.

Posted in Blog

Live Performance In London Tonight

Hola amigos,

I’ll be performing tonight, at She Grrrowls. I’m really excited to share some of my new work with you, and I hope to see some of you there 🙂

You can find full details and buy tickets here

Besos,

J x


Read My Books

Hear My Music

Hear My Podcast

RECENT FREE CREATIVE WRITING COLLECTIONS
In The Garden Of The Free Children
Virgin Vogue
Sad Girl’s Love Song

COME FIND ME
Twitter
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Ask Jen

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Patreon

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Amazon

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Spotify

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Posted in Blog

Live Performance In London Tonight

Hola amigos,

I’ll be performing tonight, at The Week Behind Bars in London. I’m really excited to share some of my new work with you, and I hope to see some of you there 🙂

You can find full details and buy tickets here

Besos,

J x


Read My Books

Hear My Music

Hear My Podcast

RECENT FREE CREATIVE WRITING COLLECTIONS
In The Garden Of The Free Children
Virgin Vogue
Sad Girl’s Love Song

COME FIND ME
Twitter
Soundcloud
Instagram
Ask Jen

Facebook
Patreon

Tumblr
Amazon

Podcast
Spotify

YouTube
Rumbl
Email Me