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Jan 2018 · 300
Lupine
Jen Grimes Jan 2018
Caught in the garden, in the rain
Reflections against glass
windowpanes.
And I promised you, I would bloom
where I was planted.
Sep 2017 · 365
Snapshot
Jen Grimes Sep 2017
The back of a pearl earring, a maroon scrunchy a bowl. Filled with jewelry silver necklaces twisted tangled. BIRDS OF A FEATHER blue nail polish. Crinkled bed spread white curtains ball point pen, scattered push pins. Black boots in the corner, one laced one undone. Half of a lit cigarette ashed on the window sill an imprint on the mattress, purple index cards splayed over a white desk its paint chipped. Glass mason jar filled with coins a barrette collecting dust underneath the bed. A guitar missing two strings a grey green flannel. Grey rug. Ray bands a phone charger a porcelain bowl, prescription bottle. Tie died lighter bear with a missing eye and bowtie. The dog chewed it off.
May 2017 · 406
To Ten Boys I Kissed
Jen Grimes May 2017
I.

my lungs felt like glass bulbs and my head was full of the sea. I leaned across the glove box with my eyes closed. He told me that was the best kiss he'd ever received; maybe it was the mint chocolate chip ice cream.

II.

from far away they were green, up close though, his eyes were blue. Definitely blue. A comforter beneath my tanned legs, his  hand against my thigh. His lips touched mine, gentle and innocent. We fell asleep to the buzz of the television.

III.

algebra was another language, but when he spoke to me; I understood every equation. His kiss left my head spinning. Maybe the pencils held too much lead.

IV

we spent the summer in a run down arcade. He had a freckle on his chest that I swore looked like New Jersey. Our kisses tasted of kettle corn.

V

his hands were calloused. I wish I never knew what cigarettes tasted like.

VI

I could write an entire book about each time his lips met mine.

VII

my sweater reeked of *** but he didn't seem to mind. When we passed through the halls he called me Jess.

VIII

it shouldn't have been him, but too much ***** can impair ones judgement.

IX.

we spent nights lying in the grass, it tickled my back. He gave me his lucky cigarette.

X.

the room was dark and the stairs creaked. His fingers quickened the pulse in my neck. I kept my eyes open.
Apr 2017 · 230
Shards
Jen Grimes Apr 2017
I keep having dreams about you holding her hand. Somehow I’m standing right in front of you but its like your looking through a pane of glass; sharp and see through, like there’s nothing left but your reflection. It’s always been about you; I knew that. But when you held my hand I thought you could read my skin like a page covered in brail.

I keep kissing him and remembering the way your hands traced my face. The moon left us in the dark, searching for the sun’s warmth. He made me feel like a piece of art, watercolors bursting from a canvas but he left me to hang on the wall.

I keep thinking that it’s better this way, but when I took out the trash I felt just like the aluminum can as it clattered to the floor. Empty and used. Nothing but traces of drunken fingerprints against a label that no one cares to remember. Memories rising to the back of your throat only to be swallowed down like a pill you take to cover up all the places where you’ve been broken.

I forgot that loving you was like pouring a bowl of cereal and then running out of milk
Feb 2017 · 850
A Kindergarten Valentine
Jen Grimes Feb 2017
I gave you a heart shaped card
No chocolates. No flowers.
Your name scribbled in magic marker.

You gave me one of your kisses
The chocolate kind;
And we walked about, your hand in mine.
Jan 2017 · 302
Wicked Game
Jen Grimes Jan 2017
There’s water in these veins
But somehow
I’m still thirsty

It drips across my collarbone
Reaches for my heart strings
But there’s a chord missing

There’s fruit inside this brain
But somehow
My stomach is empty

They’re just words
Being swallowed whole
Stretching to fit down my throat

There’s a fire in the depths
Of this heart
But the hearth only holds smoke

Inflating these lungs
Burning a hole

-I’ll be fine-

Where
Your lips used to be,
Pressed against mine.
Jan 2017 · 270
Boundaries
Jen Grimes Jan 2017
Faltered by that look in your eyes
I went back on all those things I said.
Because seeing you,
Because seeing the way you gaze at me
Made me fall in love with you,
All over again.
Dec 2016 · 203
Silence
Jen Grimes Dec 2016
Silence eroded like
Mountains in my
Chest.
Each intake of breath as
Misspoken words
Left.
Dec 2016 · 265
Untitled
Jen Grimes Dec 2016
Consider the stars;
Let them illuminate
Your dark.
Dec 2016 · 421
A Snow Globe Life
Jen Grimes Dec 2016
Shaken not dis-stirred
Flakes float silently
It's music to me

Fire crackling
Dancing around beneath glass
This Winter love lasts

Footprints stick in the
Fallen snow, I travel where-
Ever, yours go.
Dec 2016 · 344
Sobriety and Heartache
Jen Grimes Dec 2016
“I’ve been sober for two months now,”
I was proud of these words when I sent them your way
You seemed proud of me too.

Two months battling the Beast
Inside of me
Always craving, itching, howling
To be let out of it’s cage.

I resisted.
I defied the Beast for the people I love,
And for the people who cherish me.

“One day at a time,”
The councilors tell me,
And I learned, slowly, how to treat myself well.  

We spoke on the phone last night,
After I had finally gotten my med dose right.
“I’m single now; we broke up…”

The way you said it tugged at my heart
As if I was going to be your fresh start.
And I fell, knowing you would catch me.  

“I’m getting drunk now.”
Were the last words you said to
Me. The recovering addict.
As if my words seemed feasible
You cashed them in for something better.

If words had arms attached to them,
Yours would punch a grenade in my gut.
Sep 2016 · 4.2k
Don't Cage the Elephant
Jen Grimes Sep 2016
Mom said it's not a jungle gym,
It's not a jungle gym.
It's not a jungle gym.
It's not a jungle gym.

But it was a GIANT ELEPHANT!
And chains are for clanging
And metal is for banging
And roped off areas are for sneaking
Under

It’s not a jungle gym
It’s not a jungle gym
It’s not a jungle gym

I didn’t understand why mom wasn’t excited
She just stood next to me staring up at the Elephant

It’s not a jungle gym
I let go of her hand
It’s not a jungle gym
I ducked under the rope,
It's not a jungle gym
I almost didn’t need to duck

Then I touched the metal elephant,
To test if he was real.
Sep 2016 · 1.2k
The Dog
Jen Grimes Sep 2016
The Dog


I found him, outside the basketball court
Sunday morning.
His golden coat seemed soft like
A Patagonia in dead winter, like
a blanket over your legs when the summer breeze hits.

I found him outside the basketball court
Sunday morning,
He came up to me with curious eyes; like
A child in a candy store, like
Detectives, always curious, like
staring at the phone waiting for your mother to reply
Curious.

I found him outside the basketball court
Sunday morning,
His gold tail hiding between his legs, ears perked like
when the caffeine finally kicks in, like
recognizing your best friend in the hallway, like
the addition of red roses to a bouquet, like
her ******* when the water is cold

I found him outside the basketball court
Sunday morning,
His fur was matted, his body emaciated like
The body of an anorexic, like
A child rotting from leukemia,
No longer soft, like a Patagonia.

So I covered him with a blanket,
His eyes fearful, not curious but wet
Like his nose hitting my arm, like
Carrying him in my arms, soft
Even in chilly November;
light as a feather.
Aug 2016 · 207
Serenity
Jen Grimes Aug 2016
I still don't know what I'm doing,
But I know how it starts.
Magic floats through my fingertips
The sun rises in my chest
Slow. Warm. Orange.
And I think of a better place
And I wish for a slower pace
And I dream of embodying grace
And I dream
And I think
And I wish
For days to drip by like honey
For nights to end bittersweet and glowing
For more time to savor the moments
The ones you know that count
I think that's what writing really is.
Jul 2016 · 353
Ex with Benefits
Jen Grimes Jul 2016
I know you said you wouldn't go
And I promised I felt nothing
But every step you took snapped a nerve in my brain
You left without a backward glance
Every molecule in my body was running out of water  
Out of oxygen
I relieve my lungs now
with cigarettes
Because the rush calms my head
But I'm just a flower you ripped from the ground
And you smiled, and you waved goodbye,
As all the flowers died.
Jul 2016 · 539
Ice
Jen Grimes Jul 2016
Ice
He had the power
To send me spiralling
Back to white powder.
Or keep me steady
With the anchors of his words.
Either way,
I was done for.
Jun 2016 · 310
No Mans Land
Jen Grimes Jun 2016
Have you ever felt like you were drowning?
Maybe, you were sitting alone, in a cafeteria full of people
laughing, smiling, eating
But all you could feel were the eyes of judgement
Burning into your back

Maybe you were awake at four in the morning
Praying that peace would find you in the form of a dreamless sleep
So you wouldn't have to relive the memories behind your irises
The ones that make your hands tremble, and your knees weak, and your breathing come in spurts

I feel like I'm drowning.
As if someone cast an anchor overboard and somehow it snagged onto my heart,
Pulling me down to the bottom of the ocean
Because I can't even hear your name without feeling a piece of my chest splinter.

Does it hurt?
The way that you crack a smile when someone else laughs, so nobody will know you've been  spending too much time practicing that facade in front of a mirror
Or that you've been running to the liquor store four times every week because nothing else lulls you to sleep

Does anyone notice?
The way your hands tremble just slightly right before you enter a room full of people, because anxiety has overpowered your own mind.
Or the way your heart stammers when you bump into someone on the street, and it takes you back to when he held you down in the passenger seat, seeking pleasure from your pain.
Or when you run out of things to say because nobody reaches out to you first, you just go silent, hiding behind printed pages in novels where you wish your life resided.

Have you ever felt like you were drowning?
I do- every day.
But I've never set foot in the ocean.
Mar 2016 · 366
i'm sorry, my love.
Jen Grimes Mar 2016
Your strings snapped
In my hands,

I broke them;

all the strings
that were holding you together.
Jen Grimes Mar 2016
Purple*
Yellow
Orange
I was thinking of so many things
While the sun was painting a backdrop
I wished to hold onto that order
Purple
Yellow
Orange
As if nothing else mattered
Purple
Yellow
Orange
I was in the mountains again
But now the birds sang
And my ankles were boney
Wobbling against the war-zone of stones
Purple
Yellow
Orange
The snow wasn't stuck to the grass anymore
But melting away
lone piles of it slumped against, wasted rocks
That the mountain had decided to toss away
Purple
Yellow
Orange
I wished to stay here
up on the hill,
watching the sun shimmy down through its peaks.
Purple
Yellow
Orange
Like the way I lined up my socks
Sometimes the purple ones mate would go missing
It's pair left to sit lonely in the sock drawer
Purple
Yellow
Orange
I walked the hill alone
My stomach empty, my head in control
The sun seemed to dangle in the sky,
as if  held up by one string
Waiting for the world to blink asleep
But the birds kept chirping
Purple
Yellow
Orange
I know how the sun feels
I feel strung up as well
My subconscious pulling the strings
While I'm only left to follow
Purple
Yellow
Orange
The mountains make me miss the sea
I miss the beach
Take me back, back
to when we walked the waterfront,
salty ocean air cutting through the heat.
Purple
Yellow
Orange
Maybe I should've jumped
when you told me we could escape
"We could go far, into the sea," you told me.
I think that's when i realized,
Purple,
Yellow
and Orange
are nothing like the waves
of
Blue
and Green.
Mar 2016 · 275
Your Fallen Star
Jen Grimes Mar 2016
I saw a star once.
In the mirror
It was me
But it’s been a year
No,
1 year and 7 months
to be exact.
Now when I look
When I peer
Into the silvery cold glass
I see a stoney girl
Strung out
A lonely girl
A boney girl
Stuck out
****** in by a riptide
Out in the sea
Filled with dreams.
Mar 2016 · 261
Untitled
Jen Grimes Mar 2016
And here I go again
Opening closed doors
Because I’m tired of being shut out
No amount of
Overturned stones
Could break through your glass house
I’m on the outside looking in
And someone snuffed the light out

She’s a shiny new ploy
Captivating your attention

I can’t seem to brush
This dirt from my shoulder
People keep dropping it
In the grave we made
But I refuse to admit its over

I’m digging deeper
But there’s nothing left
Just this swelling
In my chest

When you open up your door
No one’s on the other side
Mar 2016 · 433
Bullying Mia
Jen Grimes Mar 2016
Your words of loathing
Penetrate my thoughts;
I let them

Your friendship was
An act, a façade;
I walked right into it

Your retched voice
Encouraging my futile addiction
However, I persevere

I’m disgusted by the way
You make me crouch over the toilet,
Bile dripping into porcelain

My hatred for you
Burns beneath tired bones
And yet I cling to you,
As if you are my last breath
Jen Grimes Mar 2016
Two days ago
My sister claimed
That you were emotionally abusive,
I didn’t think it was true until last night
When your hand struck out
And,
Gripped my shoulder
And,
You told me I wasn’t following the rules.
I watched the door shut in front of me
And,
My mouth went dry with words I couldn’t speak.

I try not to remember
The good things about you
Anymore.
Because a bottle  
Of cheap *****
Isn’t enough when
I feel like I’m swallowing
The sea.

Instead my mind
Plays back images of your hands slamming against
The punching bag that you kept hung in your basement.
I wonder if you’ve ever pictured
Your fist hitting my face
While you were sweating out your anxieties.
Somehow,
You still had leftover
Anger bottled up
And,
You raged at me.

In February
It felt like my first time
All over again,
Your hands were gentle and,
My heart quaked but
I tried my hardest not to cry.

I had always looked out
At the world with hard fists
And,
Cold eyes, but you touched my heart
On your couch.

78 days later
All we had left in common
was *** and hanging on for dear life
To the scraps of us.
Your knuckles were scraped up
but you still managed
To **** me
While the stereo
Played every track I knew.

I touched your back
Like I used to play piano,
I tried to read the knuckles in your spine
Like brail
And,
Bring us back to
January 27th
When touching you
Was like slow dancing in the rain.
Jen Grimes Mar 2016
I know you’re sad, I feel it too. As if the galaxy left us with nothing but the moon. The only constellations I can remember were in his eyes, when he looked at me. But I try not to remember, sometimes his pupils tried to tell me he was addicted, I ignored it. Let me tell you, love, he’s not it. He is not the galaxy when suns burn in your irises. His bones aren’t as fragile as yours; they don’t have words carved into them like the tree in your backyard. Don’t carve them there love, they don’t belong. His hands only made you recoil after that January, you thought he was a furnace but honey your forgetting how he burned you alive. Don’t you remember in August when you kept cutting your hair, trying to get rid of yourself?
Your mother didn’t raise you for this; she baked homemade bread to warm the house with love. She also cooked you up in her stomach for months, darling, you held tight to her pinky and I don’t remember her ever letting go.
I know you’re sad, I know its cold and brittle and January makes your spine quiver. I lay in bed too at 2pm, shutting the blinds because I want to delete the world too sometimes. Letting go is a funny thing, you see when I let go, my mom knew I was ready to walk out into the world. Those first steps were brilliant, relief from fear, headlights to freedom.
My dad taught me how to ride my bike without training wheels. He held on to the back seat and I screamed, “Daddy don’t let go!” It was a hoax really, because we all know he was going to. But he told me he wouldn’t. I went squealing down the track in triumph, like the world was under my feet and I was right on top. The bones on my bike broke, and the skin of my mouth cracked; we both smiled. That was the first time a man ever lied to me.
I feel it too. Holes in my skin, holes in my sweater; I’m avoiding it. Stitching it back up would disprove my denial; I don’t want patches or Band-Aids because they don’t hold. We fall down, we open scabs and the holes rip open again. I looked back at him, before I fell; I looked back.  He drove away and I looked back, because instead of scabbing my knee, there was a hole tearing into the skin of my heart.
I know it’s sad, I know you cried each night he was gone. But darling leave the scissors there; your mother loves your golden brown hair. She’s the one who sends you care packages on the weekends, because she feels it too, when you’re sad. Her skin itches and breaks because mothers know, they just know. She bakes bread on Wednesdays when she misses you, tucking the warmth into her house, your house. Dad eats it at night so he can fill his house with warmth and Mom wraps in it tinfoil so when it comes in the mail, you can feel its warmth too.
I know you’re sad, I feel it too. There’s an imprint in the mattress from where he used to lay down and fill up your eyes with stars. Love, he’s not the sand man; I know you stay there too long, on the mattress; your tea gets cold while you’re still trying to trace his lips on your mouth. You won’t find him there, just the remnants of cracked lips and the warmth will be gone.
Don’t worry though, mom will keep making bread and sending you her love through the oven. You burned through her belly and she always knew the galaxy was there, on the soles of your feet. Don’t stop running darling, keep moving forward, stamp every place with the stars on your toes.
I promise when he comes along, he’ll tell you about the stars. Orion’s belt and Saturn’s rings. I promise your tea will always be warm and he’ll help you understand the words on your spine. He’ll like your mother’s bread almost as much as you do and you can lay in the bed of his truck instead of on the mattress while the warmth fills your bellies. Dad told me the sky goes on forever, I think he was right.
Feb 2016 · 375
The L-Trains
Jen Grimes Feb 2016
It was 2am
And the L-trains were still moving
We
Were still moving
Bodies

Freshness poured from my mouth
And my skin waited
For flakes to sprinkle down from
The ash

There was no snow
Only clouds sluggishly
Whirling by

I don’t think they had much better to do
The clouds, except watch a spectacle
And his girl
Get high

Traces of marijuana
Stamped out by light blue
Spirits

They bit their lips
Let the smoke omit from tired lungs
And reveled in sleeping on clouds

He flicked the **** to the ground
Dirt caked in brown snow
Caked in muddy grass

She wanted to throw her body
To the hillside
Find long grass and tousled hair
Lay in the fray until the sun peeked out
Behind evanescent clouds

But it was 3am
The L-trains stopped moving
When they did

Jupiter aligned with its moons
And she turned on her back
Exposing her underbelly
To the brightest side of the moon.
Jen Grimes Feb 2016
It rained
There was ice in a patch
Blocking entrance to the gazebo
Dry, a shelter in the foggy, wet
Weather
We passed the **** back and forth
A ritual
Breaking our lungs
Forcing the smoke in to gravitate our minds to another place
You're my favorite partner in crime
The rain kept us in a soundtrack
On repeat
And I lit a cigarette
To keep us dry a little longer
Feb 2016 · 507
Dreaming Symphonies
Jen Grimes Feb 2016
She is comfort after a sea of dreams
Her friends and her eat clouds for breakfast
She likes espresso beans for the buzz
Buzz buzz
Sometimes I catch her dancing around the room
Folding laundry and picking up her room
To the buzz buzz
Buzz
Of acoustic symphonies
I taught her about the strings  
And she showed me the power of words
I strum and she stumbles for syntax
Metaphors come easiest to her
In the dream we meet by the shore
There's always wind blowing through her sandy blonde locks
Sometimes I catch her
But most nights
She floats away with the clouds
Buzz buzz
Buzz
Feb 2016 · 277
Lies
Jen Grimes Feb 2016
So here I am
Tied to this lie
That somehow
You could find me again
That somehow
I would find you alone

And maybe this time,
You’d pick up the phone.

I’m not out of the woods yet
But you’re in the clear
Somehow to you,
This seemed fair

I thought we stood a chance
I thought we had a fair fight
Everyone but me
Seemed to know I wasn’t right

Its 3am
When I reach for the phone
But in the dark, in my room
I’m answered by your dial tone

The past haunts me
Every step of the way
Makes me wish you would track me down
Or find the courage to stay

There’s this fight within me
Scraping at the door
Thirsty, dehydrated
Falling through memories, wishing for more

I’m looking forward
That’s a fact
But I’ve never felt this inclined
To turn back

Turning over stones as if
You’re hidden just beneath
Only to have the tide come in
And sweep our handprints into the deep

So here I am again
Tied to
“I’m fine.”
Because you’re the only one
Who knew
When I lied.
Feb 2016 · 450
A year without snow
Jen Grimes Feb 2016
This year, there was rain
Snow was only a fantasy that Sinatra sang about
On my grandfather’s cassette tape

Before the rain, my mother would make cocoa
And we would sit by the crackling warmth
Of the fireplace
Waiting for our holiday lights to blink on

This year, my boots were caked in mud
And I tracked it around the house
My parents sent me a Christmas card via email
Along with tips on how to detect frostbite

On snowdays I used to stay inside,
Curled up on the couch, with the dogs
Watching the white flakes dance in the wind
Fancying your blushed cheeks and peppermint kisses

This year, I declined candy canes
While the wind, howled
Mourning the death of our trees
And I stopped calling my mother.
Jan 2016 · 279
Untitled
Jen Grimes Jan 2016
I can’t.* Allow those words
to melt off your tongue.
May they shiver and crack
as they hit the ground.
Relish in the crumble
that comes with every step,
as you crush those words
beneath the soles of your shoes.

Repeat after me:
*I can.
Jan 2016 · 329
Star Gazer
Jen Grimes Jan 2016
It’s a full moon tonight
I know it looks the same
From where you are

I know I shouldn’t
But I still hope that maybe
When you look up at the stars
You’ll think of me

I know you’ll never see this
Along with other poems
And
Love letters I will never send

But there’s one thing
I do know for sure
You’re out there
Right now

Whether it’s with a pile of friends
Sipping some beer
Or your toes in cold Florida sand
I know we are connected

By the break of the tides
And the beautiful sight
Of a full moon
Jan 2016 · 262
Goodnight Moon
Jen Grimes Jan 2016
I'm a genuine believer in goodnights
But you keep doing it without me
You
Keep doing it
Without
Me

There's strain on each syllable
I write it to you
Like I'm saying it out loud
Because I wish I was

But your eyes have already closed
You're already getting pulled out
To a sea of dreams

A sea of dreams
That you won't recall tomorrow

I wonder if in the moment
When your eyes flash open
Will your mind only think of
My name.
Jan 2016 · 237
Untitled
Jen Grimes Jan 2016
It's been a while since I've written
Poetry
But I can never forget the
Words
That are stapled onto
My back.
Jan 2016 · 368
Shattered
Jen Grimes Jan 2016
It stained all our memories
Like broken windows
Like broken mirrors
Like broken windmills
For your broken heart
Jan 2016 · 320
Exhale
Jen Grimes Jan 2016
She exhales smoke and it cuts through the air
Like her pixie cut
The guy with the flannel rubs her back
In the woods
And they share a log for a love seat
With romantic whispers
And high eyes.
Jan 2016 · 266
My Monsters
Jen Grimes Jan 2016
You said, I want to be bigger
And I knew you really meant
You'll like me better that way

Last night I dreamt of bones
And that you'd love me better
If my waist was small

You called me beautiful
As we sat there
In the parking lot
And you listened
While I told you about the monsters in my head

You called me beautiful
And I cried
Because the monsters kept telling me it was a lie.
Jan 2016 · 340
Sleeping with You
Jen Grimes Jan 2016
We are half moons
Our eyes, stars
Behind a sheer darkness.

The tip of your nose
Nuzzles mine
And the soul of your foot
Warms my cold toes.

Almost as if
We scrolled letters
From our open mouths
To the souls of our feet.
Jan 2016 · 257
In the Dark
Jen Grimes Jan 2016
I want to say I love you
But I'm afraid the cars motor
Is too loud.

Afraid that you'll say
What?
And you'll ask me to say it again.

I want to reach out
And touch you,
But I'm afraid I'll do it wrong.

I'm as loyal as an Ace of Spades,
But you're the wild card
In the hand I was dealt.

They keep telling me
To write about
The sky,
The way the sun sets and what it looks like,
How the colors swirl like sherbet or cotton candy  

But I keep thinking about
What happens when it hails.

They ask me to write about
The flowers,
The way they reach up from the soil,
And emerge with the hopes of spring

But I keep thinking about
Their petals fallling.
Jan 2016 · 478
Dear Burlington,
Jen Grimes Jan 2016
I want to thank you.

I want to thank the men
At the bus stop
With smiles and ties
Reminding me that I wasn't a deer
in the headlights of destruction

To my legs
And October 21st
When they carried me home
Strong willed and striking the ground with unwavering steps

For that day I took the bus
By myself
And still felt a small sheet
Of saftey

To Cherry Street and
Pearl Street
For easing my mind when I thought
I was completely lost

For the kids with backpacks
And pink hair
Because their home is mine too.
Jan 2016 · 514
Home
Jen Grimes Jan 2016
A fragile bird
I tried to hold you
In my hand

The crinkling of my eyes
Brought tears
Drowned out by the patter of rain

I wasn't ready to see you
But I couldn't wait

For months I felt like
I had forgotten how to breathe

Your hand was cold
But your eyes met mine
With warmth

And the restlessness,
The tide breaking
Underneath my skin
was finally, futiley
Still.
Jan 2016 · 473
A song for Melanie
Jen Grimes Jan 2016
Last night I started listening to bands that I don't even like
Because you told me they make you feel whole in all the empty places

Last night, when it got dark
I listened to their words and tried to understand what you could've heard in their voices
That you never heard in mine
When I told you how lovely you were
Jan 2016 · 396
The Hardest Goodbye
Jen Grimes Jan 2016
Last night we sat in my driveway
Your chest heaved and I knew
Your heart was cracking under the pressure
Of "goodnight."
Because it was so close to saying goodbye

I scooted onto your lap  
While your tears dripped onto my thigh
And I tried to press my heart
Into your chest
Because I hated to see you cry
Jan 2016 · 319
Soldier of Misfortune
Jen Grimes Jan 2016
It's 80 degrees today
The grass beneath me
Freshly cut
I can hear the birds
Singing in the distance
And the taste of peppermint
Left traces on my tongue

These things have nothing to do
With you
Or the fact that I
Am no longer a we

The suns rays are strong
But there's still an ache
Somewhere deep in my chest

Summer is chipping away
At the time you left me with
Under different circumstances
I would be lost inside a novel

But somewhere along the way
Underneath the sun
I got left with a note
Ending in goodbye
Jen Grimes Dec 2015
I love him.
I would run into a burning building to save him.

I used to think that was worth something.
Dec 2015 · 515
Mel's poem to me
Jen Grimes Dec 2015
Dear friend,
This one is for you
You have been there for me
Through thick and thin
I love you
You understand me
You don't judge me
You would never lie to me
Everything is better when you're here
You make me feel like I'm not alone
In this battle
We can conquer anything together
All I have to say is
Thank you
This one is for you

Sincerely yours,
Mel
Dec 2015 · 474
My Lucky Cigarette
Jen Grimes Dec 2015
Cigarettes are nothing but addictions
You would never understand

Because all you ever needed was your hands
Strong willed and expert in making beauty
Out of broken wood  

Nicotine rots teeth
But it makes the shaking of my fingers stop
At least, for a little while

I admired that about you, your hands
And the way you never wondered too much
About life, you just lived in it

Weakness was never something you were
Allowed to own
And I guess that’s why you would never understand
Mine

Cigarettes are nothing but addictions
But I don’t mind the smell of smoke

My mother knew how to sew
But I never paid attention

Maybe I should’ve listened
When she told me how to
Put things back together

Cigarettes are nothing but addictions
I’m not sure you ever knew

But I swore
When we met
My hands stopped trembling.
Dec 2015 · 575
Aquarius
Jen Grimes Dec 2015
The light emitting from my computer,
Morphs my bedroom into a spacious
Sea.
Still blue waters,
Where bubbles form from my mouth
Only to float to a shimmering surface.

I want to tell you,
I miss you.
But in this underwater
Fiction,
I’m chapters away from home.
Dec 2015 · 288
Chasing You
Jen Grimes Dec 2015
She used to think
I was too good for her
But now she's tame to cigarettes

Here's the thing, Lucy
Cigarettes won't kiss you back
Dec 2015 · 1.0k
Stonehenge
Jen Grimes Dec 2015
The stubble left on your chin brushed my cheek and I couldn’t ignore the burning in my chest any longer. Our lips held a conversation without words and your hands found pieces of me that I forgot existed. I swore you were the one, but maybe it was just the tequila.
here is something I have been working on in my writing class as a professional writing major, called a stonehenge. A stonehenge is a story that is only made up of three sentences. I hope you enjoy it, and maybe write a few of your own!
Dec 2015 · 289
Between the Pines
Jen Grimes Dec 2015
I wish I could live
In the space between your fingers
And the guitar strings
Maybe then, I wouldn't ever feel lost

My skin danced with the leaves
In the fall
I felt like running through life
But I stopped to walk the trails with you

Colors felt crisper and there was a blush in your cheeks
I thought about pine trees

In autumn, just before every leaf fell
I thought we were falling in love
Again

Now the pines shake
Winter comes in brisk bites
Cold, cuts through my spine
And stains the front porch in ice

Something in the air
Makes everything turn quiet
The trees sleep, bark naked
And we keep walking side by side
In silence

I remember telling you that my favorite season is winter
But beneath these layers
My skins cracking like the icy terrace

Caution falling ice and snow
Stop, don't go
There's always an addiction
There's always a decision

The cold reels me in
With its sharp glistening light
But I find I get lost
In the blacks of your eyes

I wish I lived in the space between
Your lips
Because I keep dreaming for the sweet breath
Of spring's kiss

Please come soon.
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