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Nov 2020 · 38
google
Jas Nov 2020
Purchase |||
𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳?
Purchase badges,
Purchase batter,
Purchase butter |||
Purchase bu|||_|
We should retrace our steps
Maybe, visit here later?
Nov 2020 · 150
Caught
Jas Nov 2020
When, in time, where a moment
Of intense desire tips the jar of elucidation
Sets loose a smoothly sailing stream
Down a hungry throat
To the awaiting gullet stuffed with malaise,
Can the rage of enzymes be heard?
Will the breath of despair, and the wailing brew
Of alcohol make peace in silence,
Or is the feat of the battle proclaimed in slurs?

When, in time, will the meager klinks of newborn knees
Ring as explicitly as creaks in an ancient house?
Will screams of hunger conceive compassion
Or should thee be mocked and exiled
To recover from the blithe shame of dependency and impatience?

Hear the sounds tread in darkness
Pleading, crying in the embrace of frigid walls and sterile corners.
Record the rhythm of footsteps
Echoing and fraying -
Taste the smeared sweat of exertion.
Count the patches of lost paint
Stolen and stowed beneath polished nails.

Hold me similarly while I recover.
Show me while I regain sobriety that I was caught
When, in time, I was lost in misery.
Oct 2020 · 99
I
Jas Oct 2020
I
The rules of this game are clear.
It wins, typically;
A calm revoir
Imorisoned by a mind caught in rapture
In exile, persuades itself to be mute -
It recons with stealth during confession
Forges allegiance amongst its armies
For the sake of survival, and marries
The other which has proven to be insidious,
Ambitious!
Oct 2020 · 156
Intimacy
Jas Oct 2020
I'm finding it hard to digest these seeds planted in me
It's just not the right climate
For these sprouts to form rigid
Skins, and protrude through the dirt
This *** is barren and desolate.

Once in the spring I felt a bud bloom from these
Sweet caresses, oh I leaned in to soak up the medicine
From this foreign sun -
Light I'd been swimming in.

It grew and grew
Rose and slouched when it needed to
When these kind words faltered with truth
And this wind was too strong to master
Flower, subdued
For the night;

If I knew of the petals that would grow, this sweet flower
Sticking to you - inclined towards you
Would wither and grow grey,
Jasmine loses its color when the season doesn't stay, we grew fond of you.

The new, the pollination, my roots
This milk ran clear - oh, it grew and it grew
Wild flower in me is hard to digest because it's meant for two.
What can I be and what can I do?

Jasmine will always be fragrant and rich
Roots entangled, petals upturned
Growing in bunches, leaves left to spare
No room is wasted
But overcrowded, but
No one is in need of perfume.

Time is dwindling, nature is blue and patient
Bees are forgiving and gentle in hue
But no sharp words
No love so cold helps these seeds grow
My garden is land that cannot produce, or
Waken these seeds that are buried, and scared to brave the temperature

Flowers stay hidden, too.
Oct 2020 · 118
Dive In
Jas Oct 2020
My ears and my mind focus on the cicadas
Their cries erupt from their bellies in chorus
The sound of rubber sweeping the asphalt, townsmen racing across the bridge to escape the water.
The sunset was beautiful
hues of pink, orange and warm peach stretching across the horizon -
I watched the sky live minute after minute in the water's reflection, and I wanted to fly in that world
To be at peace in the depth until the glow of heaven's light reveals me in the reflection,
To jump in and leave the docks above me.
Oct 2020 · 166
"C'est là que j'ai vécu"
Jas Oct 2020
Woodland gardens, in their clunky brown depth
Of wet, powdered strings soiled in sap
The raw scent of shapeless red clay lost and wondered -
Where I, remember briefly, catching a glimpse of a bear
Or rather it's fur.

Mingled in the concert, a blur of peculiar bursts of noises
Struck with no identity, whimsical and plain
The songs of festivities -
Cool, romantic winds fueled the ferris wheel
As the man pressed flatly in pools of his own vitality
Broke my heart into orbes of fear and empathy.

If you watch closely
You'll come to know that men won't lie when you're listening
They won't hide.
You'll lie for them to yourself when you catch your eyes closing.
Sep 2018 · 282
Treasure
Jas Sep 2018
My words don't hit home for me anymore.
They don't hit home like they used to.
The brisk stabs of pain sprawling,
Stretching inwards, a sternness in my hips
Hunt for a budding takeover in the center of my pelvis,
This stomach ache performs a concert
In my system at full volume, and my walls?
Those are gone;
The racket of this band mangled my flesh -
Stretch marks and wrinkles and splotches of damaged skin,
A colony of bruises like water and mold beneath dried paint.
The belly of this wave folds and quivers
And each time I try to be free of this;

Before, I could ***** it out.
Before, my chills - that cool, clammy sweat -
Would break at a night's turn.
In burps and in sneezes and in gurgles
My words would slip off my tongue as bile
Would rise in my throat at the command of my gag,
And they, my words,
Would flow through the cartridge of my pen like ink
Awaiting the heat of my palm to paste them onto paper -
My words' release would exude a warmth down my body like ginger tea
But, none of this happens anymore.
I feel no heat
No comfort.
Sep 2018 · 235
Bouquet
Jas Sep 2018
With every passing of a reflective surface
I look for my face in all.
Each one unrecognizable
Each one undeniably plundering me -
My image, my mind
Into a frenzy of traumatic shock
Because this person,
This person travelling in my belongings
My effects,
Seems to morph and blend in the irises of whoever is seeing me,
Of whatever Jasmin their perception manifests
From what they know
Or have been told,
About me; and

For whatever thing I may be lacking in grows numerically,
The girth swelling and expelling carelessly -
Whatever bits don't fit the Jazmynn, or the Lily, or the Gardenia me,
But I'm stuck.
I'm stuck in my own mind,
And my mind holds many eyes
Of varying colors and windows,
Some sore and some blind - (And)
As I walk I rate my reflections,
I grade on beauty and demeanor and expression
So when the following moment or day arises,
I can adopt whichever vision suits best.

At some point, I must have put Jasmine on trial,
I must have worn her at some time
And discarded her just as quickly
Because she wasn't as trendy as Lily or Gardenia
And the creatures whose eyes I'm borrowing in my mind did not allow me to keep her.
But if I (no matter the version) had known,
I would not have been able to protect her
Or preserve her,
Jasmine would not have belonged to me -
I would not have known how to convert her and her space in my world
Because hers exists only within a frame
Possessing a finite amount of eyes and windows;

But if Jasmine were looking at me
She would see the same -
Some, such reflective surface
Drunkenly distorting each portrait of what she was supposed to be;

Even still,
We would not have known to keep each other in mind.
09/20/2018
Jul 2018 · 534
About a 3 Hour Drive
Jas Jul 2018
7am - Sun sits up in bed
Her fiery tresses stretch beyond my vision
And she yawns across the globe
Giving all else a lead to follow in her glowing shadow
The most delicate, wavy lock
Sways and dances like a pianist
She strikes the keys of my heart strings until my fingertips
Creep to the warm surface of the window
Where I can feel her so near to me -
But I'm restricted
Prevented from this lust
Oh it's not new to me
My skin prickles in sweat as my desire to touch overcomes me

But he's right there.
Walking the length of my thigh
Where his fingers curl inward beneath the bend of my knee
His gentle squeeze unlocks the feeling
Of what I imagine touching Sun would be
An exchange of heat between two bodies
When they meet
A mastery of intimacy swimming in my veins
Coursing through me and suddenly
I'm engulfed with his scent -
A simmering brew of chestnut and vanilla
With a twinge of sour
The taste of fresh bitterness and ground beans
His caffeine is the river I float in for about a 3 hour drive
As Sun gazes from behind this window that we share -
She rises silently and strides away in jealousy
While the stinging heat of her lust
Beats away at the window
Desperately trying to touch me.
Apr 2018 · 401
Fear
Jas Apr 2018
Fear

Run, run, destruction awaits,
From divinity devils fall,
Atop one’s head indeed,
Absorbed with ease,
The angels swarm about the knees,
Pulling, pulling
At gravity.
~
It’s shaking me,
I haven’t seen much of what’s been pulling me,
Trying and fighting for this grip not to defeat me,
Harboring,
Wondering how it got inside of me,
Bottling, waiting for it to start changing me,
And I don’t know –
Tell me what you see inside of me,
Is it you?
Some kind of pain from what you’ve been through?
Say it,
How do I take up designation apart from you?
Share with me,
What am I supposed to do?
It’s a risk,
Struggling to find the courage to try and fix it,
To lose touch with myself and scare away the damaged bits.
What am I besides the things I’ve been through?
Or can I be more than just capacity,
Potentiality,
I guess I never identified my own identity,
I sit on the shelf and wait for you to label me,
Price check, I guess I’m assigned my own value,
Put me up for sale instead cause no one wants to bargain me
On my behalf –
Sorry, let me bow and apologize for not helping
I am trying to find something, it’s rising to the surface of
What you said,
What he did,
Ordering and sorting through your mistakes,
Which is something I never got to make and now I’m learning,
Compared to better cause I wasn’t perfected,
Choking on my DNA cause I despise the taste of it – but wait
Isn’t that a reflection of you?
Isn’t what you made me into a small part of you?
Ruined and battered and ***** and always flavorless
I’m sorry, Mama
I know you want to eradicate this
But for myself I need to deliver this message
I wanted the chance to be a creator, too
I wanted the chance to walk in my own shoes
And now I have –
I’m trying to set myself on my own path
Free of you –
Surpassing the limits of what you allowed me to do,
And I’ll never be free
Cause the part of me that you reached,
Will always have you there
The infection you are heals in to my scar, you’re tissue
Fabricated into the realm of my love so I’ll never be rid of you,
But soon enough
I’ll learn how to paint over you,
So I can mend
And others will recognize you as something that can be breached, too.
Apr 2018 · 364
I have
Jas Apr 2018
A shoe box filled with borrowed song lyrics
About two cups of gel pens that still smell like hot glue and cardboard
Probably 8 Fiji bottles of water with about 3 swallows left in each
And a basket of hair supplies that are seriously lacking in bobby pins.

I love
A lot more people than I have room for
And each one of them believe they hold my entire heart -
I love
A few indie movies here and there, a few artists here and there,
Myself here and there -
Maybe I love
Reminiscing and trying to recreate the things I've lost
Because I always lose.

I wish for
Traditional objects of desire: happiness, excellence, definite love -
Shoes that don't have socks wedged where the toes should be -
About $10 more in my bank account to spend on chocolate,
A clear throat, a throat that doesn't always hold dissatisfaction-
A better singing voice because music soothes the sting
And I want to be irrevocably, singlehandedly responsible for healing myself

Most of all,
I want to continue to smile.
I should be writing my essay. ****.
Apr 2018 · 299
wicked lies
Jas Apr 2018
Terrors collected behind the barb and glass
Rising from the chimney of the lantern
In surfing shadows along each wall
He plunged in to slumber emphatically,
And they followed him there.


                                  ~ Mom & Dad
letters from Fears
Apr 2018 · 412
Seminar
Jas Apr 2018
My intuition used to keep me safe -
It used to sort my feelings in alignment with actions
My intuition used to save my associations.
Society locks away people that harbor justice within their intent
And the others simply dance away into the night.
When did my environment discover a new shape,
That which steals the form of a weapon that is legalized?
When did I betray myself and relinquish my grip on the handle
And when did I let the weapon choose my fate?
I bowed to the energy around me and decided to sink
But hell would not accept me.
Oh, how I wail for faith
How I long to understand why it abandoned me
And left me with choice.
Apr 2018 · 505
"Baby, I was wondering..."
Jas Apr 2018
Tell me about the things you do
And the things you've learned,
Let me try out your base experiences.
It won't unravel you,
They won't admit of your adversities;

And they won't bring me closer to the 'why,'
But by learning the things you've learned
I may feel some excitement and all other emotions around it
Similar to what you've felt -
And these feelings may be different, I know
But from what I DO know about you
I just might be able to feel something adjacent

And there won't be a need for you to be anxious about words,
You wouldn't need to fight so hard to release yourself to me
You will already be free, and I would be found by you.
Apr 2018 · 350
You Got Me Thinking
Jas Apr 2018
How I doesn't include you
But to us it means two
Not to kiss you, or to be near you
To hold you or fall in love with you
But just one;
To do it all one time.
Not sure where I was going with this, but it was in my drafts.
Feb 2018 · 340
Carnival
Jas Feb 2018
Passive stances and subtle aggression
***** dishes wiped clean
A bucket of bleach and toxic masculinity
This is home to me,
Lavish meals and trips dripping in fantasy
Older men's eyes had *** with me
While my neck was seared with fake jewelry
Home appears to follow me,
Desire wears a scarf of sin
Lust around my ankles and wrists
Naked for all to see
This was home to me.
Feb 2018 · 190
Reminder #4
Jas Feb 2018
It's hard to notice small achievements when your mind is set awaiting impatiently on the end result.
Feb 2018 · 265
Living // 18
Jas Feb 2018
Days pass
The hours are long
The minutes seem fast;
My impression of time is ******
And all I can think of
Is you
Loving me,
And I
You.
Feb 2018 · 199
Birthday Month // 18
Jas Feb 2018
Everything is going to ****.
My body is breaking down, my mind is heavy
And my heart is slouching behind it all.
For the first time, I welcome these pains and I don't block them out -
This is the first time that I'm feeling bad because of my body
Rather than because of the bad things inflicted upon me from other people
And I realize that there are two kinds of personal pain
And I don't know which one is more suffocating or if they're equal
But, for right now, it feels like I'm breathing in
Harsh, clean winter air
Rather than humid, murky vapor.
Jan 2018 · 235
Johnnie
Jas Jan 2018
My mind is an aviary of insane birds that I wish to fly alongside
Rather than feeling the freedom of their insanity
Through means of loneliness under an ever expanding ceiling.
Ref.: Theatetus, Plato
Jan 2018 · 305
Waiting for the Weekend
Jas Jan 2018
In the dusk of war
Of my own personal battles
That seethed and wailed,
uprooted from the ground
Like weeds beneath the shallow mulch
Did my own fears come to fruition,
Seeds nestled between memories
Suckling on life as soon as it enters me.
Joy,
Though rare and bleeding
Did spill into my life
At the same moment more people arrived -
Those who would do the cleaning
"Oh, come now," they said
For I'd been mulling about in
My own person,
Not as much as I'd been swimming in
A glass of Merlot and cherry wine;
For I'd drowned in a solution so pure before -
All besides the sting and reverberating warmth of
The lord in my glass
Would be toxic for me.
Nonetheless,
All else must be choked down willingly
And the audience an unworthy witness.
Dec 2017 · 363
Truth Serum
Jas Dec 2017
Paved in cobblestone
glittering hues of gold
Down my throat you go
and
I am home;
Burning and rolling in tar
scathing down that road
while
I remain with holes
infiltrate my blood stream,
make me crazy with desire
cause your cousin
unlike you
gives me fire
I'm a ****** to this feeling
but you laid a glaze that left me swooning
I'm in chains
a slave to your being
when you shove me with
the tip of your tongue
my purity is gone
and
I'm sitting in a river of me, wasted
Pinot Grigio (2016)
Dec 2017 · 1.4k
Untitled
Jas Dec 2017
He's cold;
Biting at the fingers
Hunting for the exposed skin
Turning it to ash
Finding sin
Nipping under the coat
He's winter,
And I witnessed the downfall of
All of the floral pieces under the sun
Watched them bend and die brittle
Dried and limp with frost
On the tips of its vanity,
Those that would cure she and he -
Wow, she
Flying in a sky filled with hazy poppies
Trailing her kids along to
Jumping fences over heartache
Inside of a globe filled with pain.
Wishing I could go back to happiness,
Bliss was 6 hours ago when I didn't know.
Nov 2017 · 280
Vol. 1 - Mix 4
Jas Nov 2017
She listened,
He deflated,
I broke
And it's so **** cyclical.
I leave little bits of me everywhere I go,
I find stranded bits of her in every new place
And like a metal detector he collects them all.
Nov 2017 · 288
Graffiti
Jas Nov 2017
I want someone to adorn me as if I were a blank, brick wall in the city.
I want someone to brand apart of themselves onto my bare surface
So that my purpose, no longer being to stand
Can be to unite those who tagged in memory.
I want the bubbles frozen in cement between each layer of me to be hijacked and painted in all colors;
I want the smell to stick and ferment inside of the holes, so that each person that strolls
Can smell the lives of the people who have touched me.
Nov 2017 · 329
Candy
Jas Nov 2017
There's something about text messages in the dark.
Late at night, with the glow of the LED
Illuminating one's face, burning the eyes
It's romantic and slightly painful all at the same time,
It's usually for love,
At least it sounds similar to it.

There's something about text messages in the dark
When you wake up from a nap.
Those tend to feel like
Midday shipman reminders;
One missed call from this one,
Several from that one
And a few text messages from friends -

Or when one arises, yawning
From a deep slumber and repeatedly slaps the bed in search of the forgotten phone burried underneath the covers
Scrolling through feeds, counting messages
Noticing the ones in particular from a special person
That's when one realizes they've missed their chance at a flirty conversation
But boy do they have something to dream about now
Oh, there's something sweet about text messages in the dark.
Nov 2017 · 626
Secrets
Jas Nov 2017
How long has it been since you've last gone outside?

Routines are the sedatives of all souls
The wild ones whose dreams bedazzle beyond a pillow
But all infallible ones turn the lights down low,
Lean against the window and count the blows.
The world appears to be wide awake -
It's deathly void of color
The lights from the stereo beacon for party goers in the making;

There's something to be said about life from the second floor.
I can't put my finger on it
'Cause you and your vision never make it to the other side of the window
But I don't want to keep stride through clouds of smoke.
When I succumbed to rest, the leaves were green.
As I rose, the branches were bare and accusing.
Nov 2017 · 268
Reminder #3
Jas Nov 2017
Don't live your life filled with rage. Don't drag dead weight around for 9 days.
Nov 2017 · 2.7k
You Forgot Your Shoes
Jas Nov 2017
At the beginning of the date he wanted sushi,
I wanted a large pizza with extra cheese that sounded like, "No thanks, not hungry."
It was cold outside and it was raining
So naturally we opened up the window as far as it would go -
He quickly lit the panda candle near the window
as if the spark came straight from his fingers
And all I could think was, "****. Even with the wind the candle is still lit. This is my guy."
It was romantic and slow and I was a **** fool,
****** in
Feeling like I'm falling after four days.
A little conversation and some food later, I could suddenly make out the width and length of his eyelashes -
"Oh ****. He's leaning in."
His hand surfed the curves and waves of my hip,
My entire body felt like a magnet towards his and
Having felt it all
I chalked it up to friendship
While thinking and dreaming of my "friend" wondering how
How could I have been such a fool?
I broke his heart and mine too.
Sep 2017 · 265
Reminder #2
Jas Sep 2017
Intimidation is a tactic. It ignites nerves and fear. Don't respond the way they want you to. Don't prove anyone right, you are not a postulate.
People think they're slick in college. The best thing about people watching you, is you watching them.
Aug 2017 · 253
friendzoned
Jas Aug 2017
That **** smile
Had my heart swirling and bouncing
For a while

And that walk? Oh man
If only I could match the tempo
I'm not sure if I can.

There must be something in the air.

What am I saying?
My breathing is as shallow as it's always been -
Not that you care.

I know what this is now
I've felt it for a while,
Somehow.

I've been worshipping you in motions
Exaggerated yearning
Dipping my fingers and testing the water
Oh, what a flavor
I can taste it.

It tastes sweet, I guess?
No, it's more of a nutty flavor.
Apparently I'm allergic.
Jas Aug 2017
The melanin which coats my skin so effortlessly
Propagates poetry, completely faultless
I am empowered and feared
Like an electric fence surrounding the perimeter
Of a jail house or asylum
Both on either side recognize me
As something without entry or exit

"You're cute for a black girl"
Is what they say to me -
Though my knees fastened in position
Standing tall
I am supposed to bend and bow,
To accept this "compliment" and condemn
Others before and after me
To accept is to limit the scope of beauty
Because I am
The exception;
Why?
I'm "cute for a black girl." 

To all of the people
With an outlook on life
That only encompasses the width and length of a rabbit hole
I salute your stupidity and arrogance
Your firm belief in marching behind those
Truly one of a kind, 100% seen faux compliments
That I am not supposed to be offended by -

When we all know every offensive statement begin with "no offense,"

How about
You're cute for an *******
And
You're absolutely **** for an imbecile -
Who needs abs when you've got this?
For anyone who has received this golden compliment of the highest order, do not let the giver slide away so easily. "Compliments such as these need to be burned and burried.
Aug 2017 · 291
August
Jas Aug 2017
Why can't I be in control?
At night I rake my eyes across the sky and see the moon shiver
Then, I always know.

But why when the sun takes morning shift do I forget?
The war drum sirens signal fire -
My body hasn't caught up with it yet.

I'm not "happy to have forgotten you."
My inner peace arose from beneath heavy rain fall
My mind is stagnant and taunt
It carries hazy reminders of voices raised, killing each other

Yes, I remember you.
I just prefer to keep it void of color and let all else burn vividly.
Jul 2017 · 226
Reminder
Jas Jul 2017
The good guys can still do bad things. It's our job to determine who we want to be and discern whether it's the whole character that's poisoned or just the faults.
Sometimes I forget that not every mistake has an alter ego. It was simply a mistake.
Jul 2017 · 488
Dear, You
Jas Jul 2017
We shared our organs in the space of one body, one mind, one soul;
I kept yours dear,
Made sure to
Squeeze a piece of me a bit closer to make room
For you -
All of the credits were to you
This physical need to be near
To struggle and push, to not give in to fear
And all of the time I spent saddened to see
The old me go
Left you.
It left you on a lawn of stray twigs
Searching for the old me
The one that you devoured
No,
I didn't spoil and I wasn't savored.
You wiped your hands and mouth clean so easily and I
Well, I made a liar out of you.
Jul 2017 · 168
Rising Snow
Jas Jul 2017
Colorful and clouded, thick as dough
Rain not melting, falling snow.
All but one tis all but need,
And ever more, shall rise evergreen.

For one that came, came a millionth more
Outside it showed with a stormy sky.
And all that fell but a special one
Did not melt, nor fell night.
Jun 2017 · 319
Growth
Jas Jun 2017
Age is a timeless prospect.
Youth refolds into a thick mold,
Heavy and demanding
But continuously folding matted knowledge.

Forgiveness
A steady, strong suit handed out to each player
When it's true form is the rarest form
Of acceptance.

A fighter must be as sharp and as slick as a blade,
To be as critical and focused
As a bullet leaving the carrier when aimed
But not as deadly.

There will always be a balance
Nature runs on a cycle that all fumble on
In the arise of dust left behind;

In its presence
Becoming lost is about as natural as the cycle itself -
An obstacle can be overcome
In the way that a challenge lights a fire
In pride,
All must accept;
Smoke clouds are blinding
Having the urgency to defend
The drive to push harder may as well be lost too.

In the midst of a cloud
A branch could very well be a snake.
May 2017 · 168
Summer Nights
Jas May 2017
It's warm here -
Not in the middle, slightly to the left
With my hair *******, laying on the edge
It's warm here -
The catcher's eye blinks red
Creases above my eyes feel swollen
Yet I lay still, unmoving
Watching the kernels on the ceiling pop
Or so I imagine in the dark,
But it's always warm here.
I don't understand my body. During the school year 4 hours of sleep is like a gift, but next thing you know summer break comes along and my mind says, "Now that you no longer have purpose, let's take a test and see how long you can function without sleep?"
May 2017 · 263
the Monitor
Jas May 2017
Something's inside,
We can feel it.
For every ring placed,
It appears as two.
It's not me, it's not her,
It has to be you
The one ******* around in
My private information -
I mean what's it to you?
You're never going to be visible,
You're not wanted.
The public eye and it's alley shadows
Curse you,
You satanic being
I condemn the both of you.

Something's inside,
We can feel it.
Her body is clay
And we need a craft
So pucker your lips,
Pull the mic close
I'll sing the words
Don't try and stop it.

I'm in control.
May 2017 · 191
42nd Street Blues
Jas May 2017
There was a mob of people here
All lined up a few bricks prior to the street light frozen on green
We were all imminent to the sound of a rusty metal bar snapping free of its locks
Our eyes remained open, no one blinked.
There were hard ***** of crusted orange paint illuminating the balding of the center caved as an aging man's youth did,
A slight shine for remembrance,
Its lullaby announcing delivery -
Its old tethered tires barely holding on
Its driver as still as a stoop with patience like a hawk,
Patient and expectant of the whole lot of worth never used to
Fund towards the Lime Green Stinge animalisticly chomping down on a hamburger.
It's an addiction;
An addict who creeps by the window huffing the aroma of freshly cut grass
As do I near a few pounds of regular gasoline but this one,
This is different.
It's bittersweet, spicy, nose wiggling, pocket itching, finger twitching, feet moving, toes curling, heart racing, such an extravagant smell -
There couldn't possibly be any better arousal than this.
May 2017 · 275
For Myself, My Grief
Jas May 2017
Don't take advantage
Don't take in vain
Recognize your mistakes,
Be humble
Ask for forgiveness
and don't blame.
Be selfless,
Not selfish.
Don't discourage
Have faith
Hone your pain
Don't turn away
Face it.
"I know, I know, I know,"
Speaks to me -
I believe.
"You're gone, gone, gone,"
Just like that I'm praying
On my knees
and not believing -
Relief is what I seek.
#loss #despair #relief
Jas May 2017
It was a heap of plaid,
Orange and vinaigrette
It dully blended the white washed denim
The sod contrasted around his knees
Pete Abrams Jonesy was a discovery on his own.

The glow of the night sky released
The party goers and the venomous tendrils
That loomed beyond the tree hats and
The milky grey drift of dust that
Skated around Jonesy’s fingers as he dug
Scattering the Earth,
Searching and searching for the creepy crawlies
Between the plates of dirt,
the patches he’s scabbed away before;
His mother,
Hard at work building a nation in the kitchen
And Johnny filling his swine
Slipping between the cushions of the sofa.
It was that very night
Tucked away under the fresh linen and the feeling of
His mother’s lips pressed against his forehead
Warming his entire body –
That he realized his kneading desire to take his journey farther
To take it to school.
That day on the playground,
His hands knuckle deep in the land’s treasure
Creating pressure beneath the stubs of his fingernails,
Did he meet her
He met Charlotte Anne Avery.
Her ladybug blouse was loosely cast away from her shoulders
And he felt the urge to push her into the sand
But he couldn’t.
Charlotte Anne stood with her
Pine cone hair mushed on either side of her face;
The chocolate spit smeared on her cheek
Was enough to lure the mosquitoes all around
And he wanted to be her friend;

She’s always seen him around
Though; never before had he been keen on
Gazing back at the eyes of curiosity
Or rather her brown ones,
The plain and wide innocence –
It loomed over her face as she knelt
Bent beside him and dug a hole into the cream sand
With her elbow, gently brushing the circumference of
The minuscule hole she created.
Her glitter pink glasses were
Riding down the bank of her nose,
With her bottom cushioned in the crevice of sand
And Pete Abrams Jonesy’s sandy-fingers
Shoving her glasses back up
To rest beneath the kind eyes
That laid on him.

The end of germs and suspenders came fast,
Summer sped around the corner
While Pete Abrams Jonesy and Charlotte Anne Avery
Flew through the highlights
And the untouched parts of the forest –
Gallivanting beyond the age of the bell toll of adolescence,
Did they lie beneath the Sugar Maple Tree.
The promises they made of an un-relinquishing friendship
Grew beyond compare
And ever so did a union of love between him and her;
Every day was a hot hurricane of journeys spent
Devouring the wilderness together
Until the occurring reign of school
Sprung up again.

A new appreciation for the human body
Was as much as Pete Abrams Jonesy
Had accumulated for the first semester
Attending Mayfield Middle –
His life was horribly array without the presence
Of Charlotte Anne Avery.
His new herd of acquaintances
Brought about a new kind of education,
One that was foreign to the halls of Mayfield
And while his afternoon lunches
Sparked a flame in his soul
He became well oriented with the hypnotizing effects
Of Rummy and Black Jack 21,
His mind still sauntered to the round table
In the bull’s-eye of the café
Where a cloud of pink headbands and perfume
Captured the interest of his Charlotte Anne Avery.

She couldn’t believe the variety of books and music
That were made to live in this world
Sharing the same space as her –
It was enthralling, thrilling, and slightly frightening
The tales and the morals were anything but limited
Was it possible to live a well versed life having heard them all?
Would the chance ever be presented?
Her friends were of everything that was made to be
From sports to gymnastics to video-games to art;
It had all been opened to her in a flurry of welcoming gestures
From the minute she sat down at this particular table.
Even as her best friend now swung in the birches
As his friends, the panthers, ran low
She’d always be welcome on his other side;
Though, surprisingly, she was comfortable in this
Shade of manila spotlight.

A second semester, of many years,
Was a gift in its own
A surprise gesture wrapped up in a bow
Of questions, tutors, late night studying
It all amounted in a pile of stress –
A mound of snow
Of tests and quizzes and failed homework grades;
Pete Abrams Jonesy wasn’t alone in his mind
There in the far corner of sawdust
And memories of the plethora of parties he attended
Did lay his old friend from miles ago;
Charlotte Anne Avery had moved away across the lake
On the tips of his fingers so far away
For whatever reason she had moved away
It was amongst him unknown.
“Should I feel an ounce of sorrow, of grievance
For this new found distance between us?
I suppose not; we have new friends now
A new family
I haven’t known her in a while.”

Solemn years passed.
Days of solitude and confinement,
Days of pondering and guilt – heartache
Mr. Avery had passed away
Lost to his kin
His pristine precious child
Charlotte Anne Avery.
The wake had been nothing more
Than shades of black and blue and grey
Uncomfortable heels and rough tissues
That rubbed her eyes and nose
As raw as the pain she felt for the absence
Of her father
Her mother’s happiness and
Pete Abrams Jonesy.
It’d been years since she’d uttered a word to him
Years since they’d even been in the same room for long,
Though her hands still cowered
When she shoved the letter in the mail
Serving him the news of what transpired –
He made no appearance
Her expectations should have dwindled over time
But they remained the same
As strong as ever,
Slightly calloused with time
Until there was nothing left but a sore spot
Of where he should’ve been.

The rumors still rang clear as she began to heal
She fell in love with Marcus Stalling
The final year of puerile days
Now left to rot in the past;
Graduation was held at noon,
Her cap was arced on her head
Perfectly set in place
The rumors still rang true.
Pete Abrams Jonesy was the
Shadow of a boy she once knew when she was
Figuring things out
He didn’t even make it to this day.
The rumors of the hit and run, the drunk driver
It spread around the halls like wildfire
She had been ashamed to have once claimed him
In any form of the word –
She missed him still.
What would his life become?
“No one will visit him. What will become
Of the adventurous and jovial mind
I used to spend time with?”
When she heard the news on the local station
She’d lost her father all over again
And still no one had the answers
To any of her questions.

College and Marcus
The grand scheme of life begun with those two
Wisdom came with age
Anger subsided
And joy was restored –
The life she once dreamt of having
Still rendered mist to her eyes
So many individuals were supposed to be
Toe to toe;
Charlotte Anne Stalling the center of it all
Yet she felt the same orbital satisfaction
Yielding around her with only those two elements.
All mornings were the same
Her sanity strove from cycling about
In comfortable routines and an endless screenplay –
A memory of a future once shielded her sight,
The warm bodies were anything but familiar now.

The winter would always be cold
Rushing the blood to the tip of her nose
But spring came about
In a parade of confetti and open arms
The coffee shop on the girth of the boardwalk
Met her every day during the breakfast of the sun
And the coffee kept her warm.
It was a morning where the tide was crashing down roughly
The sun fried her skin,
She was glowing
Her attention was snatched away from the scenic grounds
Stolen away by the scream and shouts that traveled
From the end of the boardwalk,
There stood Pete Abrams Jonesy
Clutching his arm while peering at the welt
Given to him by a Sugar Maple Boer.
I wrote this poem with the intention of it being a small fairytale about finding a soulmate, whether it be friendship or more. Instead, this poem became a long tale of what some - if not all - of us can relate to: surviving youth, acceptance, and growth.
#tale #growingup #youth #love #friendship #circleoflife
Apr 2017 · 221
Home
Jas Apr 2017
There isn't a more loving tale to spin than the one of us;
The journey we've been on in such short time and always my deepest affections head towards you.
Mistakes we've parted from lead to new roads -
Many of which ran the course of a darker path;
Somewhere along that trail I reached a brighter soul and you helped me see it through.
We were lost before
Holding a compass and a map and the cracks were never-ending in each step.
Sheer luck brought me to the brim of the glass -
At the bottom held we, I, and you.
Apr 2017 · 911
City Dreams
Jas Apr 2017
Up at the top
Hands in the air
Raising our glasses
In a silent cheer
To celebrate the things we've done
The resolutions we'll make,
The disruptions we caused
Shots fired in our wake.

Houses piled together
No room to breathe
Visions of death
Poison in our dreams.

There are the rebels and the gays
The fearsome and the rays
Of sunshine.
The thoughtful ones
The glass slippered girls
And the sneakerheads.
It isn't much
We aren't royalty
The most we can do
Is have the things we think we need
In our dreams.

Money can't be everything
But it sure seems
To be that way.
Instead of leading the way
We dig it up
No one walks on sidewalks
We all stay in the streets.

In the future
I hope instead
The streets will close at 10
And we'll all be in our beds.
Because if something happens
And we all go
Who will remember us when we're dead
If all we did
Was steal sneakers from weaker men
And spend spend spend?
Apr 2017 · 195
Charleston
Jas Apr 2017
Welcome to the city of bridges, shellfish and pearls!
Culture surrounds
the Tree of lives and smiles
Tortured souls foraging for a taste of
Perky life in the abandoned jail -
An aesthetic image on a postcard that cut my hand.

My spirit of childhood, the feeling of desperation
Soils the ink of perfection -
If man can create paradise
My sins are forgotten and I am a witness, I have made it;
I am in Charleston.

Welcome to the home of dissension and limitation
Where people like me have yet to be set free
Though brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers marry on the field of ancestry
Where the punishers and gapers intrude on the homes of ghosts, tasteful photography
Take your shoes off before you step through the glamour
Welcome to Charleston!
Inspired by Marcus Amaker

— The End —