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 Oct 2013 Jessie
T R H
I spent the first hours of the new year
laying on the floor of a guest bedroom,
drunk,
listening to you tell her how much you love her
closing my eyes
and wishing it was me.

My jealousy will always get the best of me.
 Oct 2013 Jessie
Erck
Untitled
 Oct 2013 Jessie
Erck
Let me fall into an abyss
of darkness
Where there is no noise
or feeling
Where I can rest
and sleep
For the rest of eternity
Because my soul
Has been awake
Since the beginning
of time.
 Oct 2013 Jessie
Octavio Paz
Touch
 Oct 2013 Jessie
Octavio Paz
My hands
open the curtains of your being
clothe you in a further ******
uncover the bodies of your body
My hands
invent another body for your body.
 Oct 2013 Jessie
Shane Keller
drinking black coffee out of a cracked mug
its warmer than you ever were
more sugar in my mug than coffee and its still just as bitter as you
 Oct 2013 Jessie
SGD
I was never a sinking ship, just the remains
of an ocean liner, settling on the sea’s lips.
At least, that’s what I think.
I am not a tragedy, no,
but so many of my pages are empty and, my god, I need
you to know that if I am a book,
I am half-complete (not half-unfinished––I'm learning, you see?),
but it’s the back half,
and a few scattered paragraphs before that.
Now and then I write in my own history,
just for others to read and believe
there’s something more to me
than a leather bound cover over cheap poetry.
That’s all I am, really.

I’m just trying to keep my head above the water.
I keep my secrets close, and my happiness bottled
––for the nights when I need something stronger
than spirits that burn on the way down,
something that can keep these ghosts
from crawling back out my mouth
to tumble from my lips at last.

Listen, I'm really not hard to figure out.

It’s broken glass,
it’s the smash of a car crash,
it’s the smell of smoke and ash,
it’s a statue of a girl learning to laugh,
and to know, and how to venture
into you. I count the number of times I've been sure,
on my knuckles instead of my fingertips,
because it wasn't the touch, it was the fist
that first said: I am better than this
(fires will die but they fight harder than all else).
Besides, my fingers are not for counting out.
I think they're for you,
to weave yours through,
and to feel on your skin
when I spell out I love you,
because my fingers do not flinch
as easily as my mouth does cringe
and strangle truths in anger.

If you feel I am pulling into myself,
remember I'm likely collapsing inwards,
and know this:
broken homes beget broken bones,
but more often they spit
broken boys and girls from their lips.
My body is new,
no longer mould and mildew,
but steel, mortar, and brick,
and stone
and stick.

I am almost always cold.
My wrists look too thin for the weight of my world.

I carry on, but I am not strong.
**** knows how long those days have been gone.

To the person who will somehow fall for me:
I am not a tragedy,
but a mess of a story.
I write dumb rhymes to feel like I'm growing.
I speak as a cynic, but at heart I'm all dreams.
Sometimes I take a minute to listen and, slowly,
I think I'm becoming someone worth being.

I seem bare as a clinic and empty as glossy magazines,
but it's all a set and some props, one day I'll end scene.
I'm not ready yet, but on One Day, I'll be.

I swear, I'm almost there.
My world is readying,
like winter prepared
to yield to spring.
 Oct 2013 Jessie
Sand
Untitled
 Oct 2013 Jessie
Sand
Raindrops do not drown
When they hit the rough ocean -  
They add to madness.
 Oct 2013 Jessie
tdf
19/10/13
 Oct 2013 Jessie
tdf
two words:

cig lit
ex hit
tongue tracing
hearts racing
show grounds
he's found
don't care
soul bare
hate him
love dim
can't lie
still high
for it
little bit
have fun
shot gun
 Oct 2013 Jessie
Jay
She blushed
I blushed back.
And suddenly
I found myself
thinking about things
like if she was looking at
the same stars or if
she pours milk into the bowl
before adding cereal
or if it was
the other way around.
Then I smirked
at these thoughts
for feeling foolish.
But I fell asleep
smiling
because I found myself
Thinking about them again.
 Oct 2013 Jessie
Seamus Heaney
When you plunged
The light of Tuscany wavered
And swung through the pool
From top to bottom.

I loved your wet head and smashing crawl,
Your fine swimmer's back and shoulders
Surfacing and surfacing again
This year and every year since.

I sat dry-throated on the warm stones.
You were beyond me.
The mellowed clarities, the grape-deep air
Thinned and disappointed.

Thank God for the slow loadening,
When I hold you now
We are close and deep
As the atmosphere on water.

My two hands are plumbed water.
You are my palpable, lithe
Otter of memory
In the pool of the moment,

Turning to swim on your back,
Each silent, thigh-shaking kick
Re-tilting the light,
Heaving the cool at your neck.

And suddenly you're out,
Back again, intent as ever,
Heavy and frisky in your freshened pelt,
Printing the stones.
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