Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

Sant Jordi, With You

It has been so many days,

three hundred and sixty six,

to be exact,

since I sent my dreams down the river,

on a boat,

I planned to sink,

seeing love,

as a damaging dream,

that would kill me,

if I didn’t kill it myself.

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I spent a summer writing to myself,

sitting on the shelf,

where I felt safest,

banishing roses from my bedroom,

blood red beating heart,

begging for company.

I lamented,

languishing in loss,

living in a grey world,

dreaming of the dream I drowned.

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I wrote a world of roses and promises,

but sometimes books burn,

torn and tattered,

when they are given with love,

but not loved in return,

so I decided to stop,

just writing to myself,

spending Sant Jordi with my soul,

buying myself books,

roses,

and cider.

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This year,

I am at the riverbed,

reviving the dream that I drowned,

and mourned,

writing new books,

with new twists and turns,

roses on my skin,

with each kiss you plant,

and I give those kisses,

sweet like roses,

to the dream

that found her way back to me.

My heart,

safe in your gentle hands.

My dream,

alive.

My soul,

alive.

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.


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Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

Love Is Cannibalism

I ask you again,

before you’ve even finished reassuring me,

for the thirteenth time,

I ask you if I’m awake,

existing in a time,

where someone truly adores me.

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I rest my head,

on all the scenarios I have seen,

in my overactive, overexcited imagination,

asking myself why I can’t sleep,

why I can’t breathe,

why am I walking into woe for the hundredth time?

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I sing my self through sad sweetheart hours,

pathetic and peering at my phone,

wasting all my wishes,

on texts and kisses,

that form a candy trail,

into your forest,

where I will meet my demise,

and frankly,

I will be relieved that it’s all over.


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

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Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

Ghost Duet

The world is background noise,

a loading screen of my longing,

yearning for you to send more sweetness.

I awake,

aching for the warmth of your words,

pinned to my sheets,

by the sound of your voice,

examining each syllable you spoke,

as I fell asleep on the phone,

a luscious lullaby,

that followed me into my fanciful dreams.

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Our ghost duet,

speaking affection into the air,

watching it float and fly away,

hoping it will find the right path,

haunting each other with our hunger,

our destinies dance,

so close,

surrounding the sun,

as they burn up,

fading away,

with a dream of each other’s arms,

and the same sublime, sorrowful story.

I am yours,

and you are mine.


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