Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

A Day In Which She Wasn’t Late (For Once)

We hold on to the strangest things,

in the ten minutes of turmoil,

from bridges to crosses.

I hold on to the other day,

to distract me from the crowded silence.

I hold on to the other day,

when I counted the seconds,

until I could count the characters in your reply.

Now I am waiting again,

buried underneath the dreams of the damned,

daring to dream my own nightmare,

where my heart hurts,

then heals itself,

as I twist it into whatever you desire.

I am built for your embrace,

holding the pole,

just to be safe,

resisting the urge to unfold into you entirely,

wishing I could,

wasting another thought,

on the one who is busy,

but hopefully,

still seeing me somewhere in his mind’s eye.

I am carrying my whole life in a case,

for a couple of days,

and for the first time,

on one of my many quests to escape,

I just want to go home,

to you.

Do you understand?

I don’t want to be alone,

for the first time.

I don’t want to be alone.


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

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Night Walks

The world flickers,

fading away,

as you tell me,

that you think I could be meant for you.

I start to wonder,

my hair at the mercy of the wind,

my heart at the mercy of your own,

in a new world,

that builds up,

as you build up the courage to kiss me…

 

I start to wonder,

why the man who believes in nothing,

made an exemption for me.


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

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Mwah

Layering lip gloss,

daring him to do his worst,

playful,

I pretend that I am blind,

to the desires that bind him to me,

as if I cannot hear,

what his hands scream.

I ask him,

with one glance of my eyes,

to the lust in his lap,

what his plans are for tonight,

and then,

I am snatched into a sensual storm.

He rains.

He rages.


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

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Pretty

She told me I was pretty.

I wasn’t sure if I should accept,

or apologise again,

for a mistake I didn’t know I’d made,

until she made it clear,

creeping into the tiny temple I’d built,

inside of my head,

where I learned to believe.

img_2262

She didn’t mean to invade,

it’s just one of those things,

because life is as fair as my raven hair,

and you were good for me,

until I saw that you weren’t.

She told me I was pretty,

that I’d find somebody new,

but after investing so much,

yet still ending up destitute,

I wasn’t sure I wanted her to be right.

img_2260

I wanted you,

still,

sorrowful and set ablaze,

placing the books I wrote for you,

back on the shelf,

and then in a new home,

the fireplace,

cursing the gift you said belonged to me,

for being regifted,

rescinded,

and,

FUCK

I still want you,

and maybe you want me too,

maybe I am so destitute,

that I am at peace with my destiny,

being locked away,

in a hidden folder on your phone,

so that she doesn’t know that you’re divorced,

totally over for her,

feeling things you never felt before.

img_2256

You keep me to yourself,

so that she won’t know that you never loved her,

or that I was your first and truest love,

so she won’t know that I’m so fucking different,

and that you said you loved me,

after you stared at death,

and realised I was the only one you lived for…

img_2264

I still want you,

still,

wondering if your words were ever true.

She told me I was pretty.

She didn’t even sound angry.

She sounded like there were lots like me.

She told me I was pretty.

Your wife called,

and she told me I was pretty.


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

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

Casablanca

In the darkened hours,

lost in fever dreams,

orchestrating affectionate insanity,

volcanic vulnerability,

expecting the worst,

yet I still jump,

over the edge,

unleashing the words I swallow,

because I’m afraid you won’t like how they taste.

img_2051

Under the bright lights you bring to my life,

tempted to stay,

in the fantasy we create.

Am I going mad?

Maybe I am just new to being needed,

sleeping in the shadow of my growing heart,

oblivious to how fast I fall.

img_2052

Shaking as I wake and remember,

counting twinflowers as I wait for you to arrive,

always impatient, impossible,

racing past my past to keep up with who I want to be,

everything I think we can be,

dreaming with tentative hope.


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