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 Jul 2015 Jen Grimes
lucy winters
It's one of those days where I need to remember to be kind to myself
When my breath is hardly enough to give life to an elf
One of those days where I struggle to get out of bed
I cant get anything to sit right in my head
Simply for eating something, I pat myself on the back
I have to keep reminding myself not all my thoughts are fact
John Michael stipe says not to take pictures of the bad days
To hide them away and leave it where it lays
But I take the pictures, and keep them on a shelf
To remind myself how to pick me up again when I fell
I send the bad me good thoughts on postcards
To tell myself that some days are just hard
The bad me is cold, careless and not at all nice
She likes to indulge in every frowned upon vice
Yet I accept the bad me just as I do the good
Tomorrow might be a better day and the good me will win in all likelyhood
It's not you
    I promise
What I say is true
      He never deserved
           You

     It's not your fault
           I know for a fact
      Trust me
             You are better
          Than a boy like that

It's for the best
       Please,
    Believe me
          He'll do it to the next girl
       And the next
            And next
      You'll find your one
          In this world

        It's time to breathe
             Have faith in what
          I'm saying to you
      This might just be
                Poetry
          But I was cheated on too

It's time to believe
      You're worth more than
   You can see
           No more tears, please
      He's not worth your pain
             You're gorgeous
       And you're NOT to blame

     It's for the best,
              It's not you
          Please,
    Just Breathe.
          Believe me,
  Cause I've made it through.
         I know,
      What I say is true.
             Cause
         **I was cheated on too.
I'm here for you.
I tune the radio to a station I know won't come in.
Because it sounds just like the ocean to me.
And a fake ocean is far better than no ocean at all.
It sounds like a place so far away from here, so free.

I place blankets over my curtains, which are over my windows.
Because it makes me feel safe when I sleep.
And a bit of sleep is a lot better than none at all.
It seems this new habit I've formed, I'll keep.

I run outside every single time it rains.
Because the cold jars my lifeless body awake.
And some feeling is nicer than no feeling at all.
It hopefully cleanses me, for I know my soul's at stake.
 Jul 2015 Jen Grimes
Yung Wifey
It took me to while to realize that
This too
Is poetry
How I feel is poetry
How I move is poetry
How I breathe is poetry

Everything is poetry
i have spent my entire life being sad solely because it is familiar
-
once i cried for 13 months over an 8 month relationship that ended within a phone call
-
i wasn't ***** but they stole something from me and i don't know if i'll ever get it back
-
sometimes i refuse to wash the clothes that you've touched and i just say that i forgot
-
showers used to give me panic attacks and instead of seeing a therapist i cut all my hair off
-
i sleep on my stomach in hopes that even just once someone would check to make sure i'm still breathing
-
i get on buses alone in the middle of the night just so i can feel unknown to something else again
-
when i told my father that i was feeling scared again he couldn't understand why it was so relieving
-
i push people away and then i cry when they fall into someone else
-
i'm terrified of adulthood so i stopped celebrating birthdays in hopes that they would take the hint too
-
this barely makes sense to me, but i guess poetry doesn't have to.
He kissed his fate on the lips and jumped.
 Jul 2015 Jen Grimes
Poetria
Jecca
 Jul 2015 Jen Grimes
Poetria
Your compassion for art
Led me to think I loved it too,
But it wasn't art I grew to love
**It was the memory of you.
I wonder when I'll see you again...
I heard an antique music box
Play out of tune and rather sour
But, the smell that came from in the box
I could savour by the hour
It took me back to days gone by
Days where messages weren't mixed
Where you heard terms you no longer here
Like "he got eighty sixed"
You'd watch tv together
Or sit and sing around the fire
Things were simple, crisper then
Not all muddled in a mire
Things had double meanings
Now, this music box I speak of
played a tune, I'm not quite sure
I think I heard it in a movie
sung by Dorothy Lamour
Lovely Hula Hands...I think
It took me back to days before
You could see inside the music box
There was a little secret door
I worked to get it open
To see what secrets it did hold
What some child might have hidden
what to them glittered like gold
I worked the rusty hinge some
And it opened with a squeak
Inside I found a flower
so brittle and so weak
Someone hid this flower
for a reason, only theirs
And it remained here deep in hiding
Away from peoples stares
I wrapped it in some paper
Put it back inside to hide
I left it for someone to find it
Long years after I had died
I could imagine where it came from
I might be right or might be wrong
But, in the not too distant future
They'd try to figure out the song
I decided that I'd leave it
Out of tune and slightly bent
For a time when I would need to
go back in time, with that sweet scent
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