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Jess Carroll Jul 2022
Dripping quietly
Leaving trails; clean and crisp
Down the glass
Merging
Or racing
Or fizzling out
And dying
Eventually ending
Upon the next sunny day
Jess Carroll May 2022
the way they look at me
i know they don't mean it
they laugh, make fun, kid around
and it hurts, like an inside joke
i don't know the punchline for
idk fam
Jess Carroll May 2022
Bright
Blinding
Creasing
Killing
Searing
Song on a too quick gone breath
Where did it go
It used to play so loud
You've muted it
And now
I don't remember the words
Just the melody
Searing
Killing
Creasing
Blinding
Bright
In my head
Read this one all the way through, then read it back up from the bottom, let me know what you think
Jess Carroll Nov 2021
Tiny specks of black, smudges of green.

Black line, cut, slash, through the middle.

Staring into your soul.

Judging you.

Doesn't know what you are, but knows what you've done. Knows your little sins. Those twin eyes, piercing you.
Mind.
Soul.
Body.
Knows you.
Doesn't want to know you, but has no choice.

Black, white, lithe body. Sitting there, tail curled around its paws, trying to get comfortable. Ears angled directly towards your breathing body, trying to expose you. Nose twitching, trying to figure you out. Green eyes, black tinted, trying to understand.

It knows you. You're always here, but it doesn't understand why. You've done bad things, and it doesn't understand why.

Why does it care when you leave?

You feed it, shelter it, clean it, pet it, and it doesn't understand these things, or want these things. It doesn't understand. So why should it care when you're gone? Or mad? Or sad, or disappointed. Or scared, or happy, or cold, or anything. It doesn't understand.

It doesn't understand why it loves you.

But it does.

This sinning creature, laying immobile and unconscious in front of it. It's bad. A bad creature. Why does it care for this bad, sinning creature? It shouldn't. It knows it's bad, and it knows it's bad to care.

But it does.

And unfortunately, always will. It doesn't want your company, it doesn't understand it. But when your company isn't there, it craves it.

It loves you.

And too bad for it, it always will.

Unconditionally, forever.
Woke up to my cat staring at me and decided to do a cat's POV I guess
Jess Carroll Oct 2021
Beans.

Yup. The kind in a can.

Beans. They go surprisingly well with ham.

Beans. You gotta love 'em.

Beans... Now, if only I had an oven.

Beans? Yeah, you heard me right.

Beans. Heaven's only true delight.

Beans. The nearest can is at that yonder Dollar Store.

Beans. I just don't have the needed $3.74.

Beans. I don't even have a way to get there...

Beans. Now I'm in my life's greatest despair...
Lord, I don't even know. Don't ask about the inspiration for this one.
Jess Carroll Mar 2021
Why do we write poems?
Why do we rhyme?
Because in truth,
That is never why our poems shine

We write to forget
Or to express our feelings
Or maybe your reason,
Is to get rid of the words
Your mind keeps repeating

But nevertheless,
Those reasons don't matter
I think the main reason
Is so we can be happier

If you write melancholy poems
It is to release your inner poison
I know how it feels,
Since I am one of them

But if you write happy poems
I suppose I understand.
It's just a little easier writing
When the only thing you're afraid of is hurting your hand

Of course I'm not trying to start
A pointless argument of which one
Has a better method
Of speaking to your heart

Every poem is different just like every poet,
Sometimes it's hard to say what you feel is really true,
But in the end it doesn't matter since the question is actually
What does poetry mean
to you?
If you think this poem was in interesting, I would really like to see some comments on what poetry means to each of you. I think everyone has a different outlook on poetry, and if you feel inclined to answer this question, please do so!
Jess Carroll Mar 2021
Everything seems better
Everyday seems brighter
Everyone seems happier
Even the air seems lighter,

But what about him?

Well, maybe he won't notice
The pain hidden away in the back of my mind
Maybe if he does, he'll ignore it
For his own good
And mine

Won't he still love you?

I hope so
He better not have lied
But I won't really know
Until I reach the place where I truly understand
The place after I have died

How will you know then?

He probably has things hidden away
Just like me,
Things he wants to keep away
Only to protect me
....
And maybe that knowledge should be enough
But it isn't

So why are you writing this poem then, if everything is okay?

You must have misunderstood.
The things I say seem to pass right through him
So perhaps he isn't the ghost I thought he was...
Maybe
In reality
I'm the illusion?
I really hope you can find some way of relating to this. I couldn't seem to get the words to flow right, and the rhythm seemed a little too forced, but whatever.
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