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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
Gripped my shoulder
You told me I wasn’t following the rules.
I watched the door shut in front of me
My mouth went dry with words I couldn’t speak.

I try not to remember
The good things about you
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.
You still had leftover
Anger bottled up
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
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
Bring us back to
January 27th
When touching you
Was like slow dancing in the rain.
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.
Jen Grimes May 2015
In March I fell asleep
And dreamt of a ribcage
Like the branches of trees
When I was 16
I counted calories
Like a clerk at the bank

A week later I lost 5 lbs
And you told me i was beautiful
But I knew it was a lie
When I lost 10 lbs
My mom told me I looked good

In April I daydreamed of bones
And ate carrot sticks for dinner
When I lost 20 lbs
And fell asleep on your couch
You held me together in your arms
When I lost 25 lbs
My mom said I looked tired

In May I had a nightmare
About birds stuck in a cage
I woke up with sore ribs
Pictures of models
Lined my bedroom walls
But I didn't stay long

In June I moved to another bed
A different room
My ribcage extended like branches
But the birds stopped singing

You came to visit me
But were afraid to hold my hand
You thought my bones would break
My mom stopped telling me how I looked
She just dabbed her eyes

That night I dreamt about floating
In a river so wide
There were no branches
To remind me of bones
You cried and told me not to go
My mom begged me to stay
But the light was so bright
I couldn't look away
Jen Grimes Dec 2015
The light emitting from my computer,
Morphs my bedroom into a spacious
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
I’m chapters away from home.
Jen Grimes Jul 2015
Last night I dreamt of you
And it brought back repressed
Memories of shedding my skin
Beneath your cigarette
Stained fingertips

It makes me wonder
About the difference between
Falling apart
Falling into place

You showed your teeth
At me in that sly smile
And I cringed

My nerve endings
Were fried
Beneath your fiery palms
And ashtray lips

It makes me think about
Your hands and my blood
Your hands and lighters
Your hands and gunpowder
My hands and your neck

Last night I dreamt of you
This morning I woke up
And washed it away with hot water
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.
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
Jen Grimes Oct 2015
They watch us fall together
And break apart
Like tree branches.

I watch us split apart.

The splinters in my back aren’t from your words,
But from me bending to fit the mold you made for me.

We’re like flies
Hovering in wood ceilings,
Waiting for someone to turn on the light.

And they watch as we dance around it.

We move too close,
I’m not Icarus
But I fly towards the sun anyway.

I want to feel the heat on my skin;
Instead of feeling like your emptying out what’s left of me.

Icarus didn’t know better,
Neither did the flies.

I know better.

I’m aware of our insanity
But I let us repeat ourselves.

Your words hit my skin and leave me
Breathless again, like an addiction
And I let memories of your heartbeat
Drown out the logic of my conscience.

I’m not the fly.
I’m not Icarus,
And you’re not the sun.
You’re not the light,
I am.

And it’s going out.
Jen Grimes Aug 2015
Empty pizza boxes, and green
Couch cushions
Chapped lips and sunburns
Staying inside because your air conditioning
Actually works

The ice rink that’s always cold, but you
Wear short sleeves anyway
Kissing you between sips
Of hot chocolate, kissing you
Between people cheering
And crowded stands and pucks in nets
And spilt popcorn

The time we broke up
And you cut off all your hair

I bought you a Boston Red Sox hat, so that
You’d remember our city and cover your scalp
While your hair slowly grew back

That night I was drunk
And stained your shirt sleeve with makeup
You never thought the shaking would stop,
I blamed the *****

Corsages and suit coats, tightening your
Tie to match the dress, which took
Months for me to pick out
You never got to unzip it

The morning after, packing up
At 7am because the house was
Too full and my stomach was

Crossing my arms in the passenger seat
And mumbling that maybe
We needed time apart

Only to come barreling back together, like
Lighting a matchstick
And kissing to relieve the casualties

The time I lost my breath
But found it in your arms
“you’re okay, I'm here… I'll always be here”
And just knowing, just knowing, just

That night in the backseat
When it felt like the first time with you
All over again, the wheels clicked inside the motor
everything fell apart, the world stood still
And then everything fell back together

While going through the trash, sorting plastic
Organizing bottles and classifying cans
I told my mother we had 10 days left
And my tears dripped into the recycling bin

Dreaming about losing you to a plane ticket
And pushing your number at 3am
Because I only have 12,960 minutes left, to hear
The heartbeat through your shirt
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.
Jen Grimes Feb 2016
It rained
There was ice in a patch
Blocking entrance to the gazebo
Dry, a shelter in the foggy, wet
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
Jen Grimes May 2015
The walls harbor my secrets
Pink wall paper
Tucks them away as I sleep
Ballerinas dance in my head
I want to be like them
Graceful, thin, light
My secret scrapes at a dinner plate
Longing for more
But begging for less
I want to be her
The girl in my dreams
Who has perfect pirouettes
But when I wake
My knees meet
Bathroom tiles
Bile spills into
A porcelain bowl
I'm not a ballerina  
I'm a bulimic
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

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.
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.
Jen Grimes Sep 2014
Vivid memories
Dance in my head
Change in an old mans jacket
And calling your name
White walls
And clocks
That never seem
To run out of time
Warm beds
Reaching for your hand
In the darkness
Of a crowded room
Running through the maze
Of green lights
And stop signs
Thinking that I could
Find my way back
To you
Jen Grimes Nov 2015
Do you remember insomnia?
Running through clocks
And wandering through typewriters

I wish we were falling
In the deep blue
Where I always find you

Can we move back to the city?
I miss the buzzing noise
That always echoed behind the window pane

Don't worry.
I won't forget how you
Painted the stars
And we danced under their fluorescence  
Barefoot in the grass

I saw you dressed in green
Your heart beating out
Side of your chest,
I used my humble hands
To gently place it back inside

We'll drown in the deep end
But I love the thrill of the dive.
Jen Grimes Aug 2014
They touched my wrist
They all did

It seemed that
That’s all they cared

Whether or not
The flesh was healing

What they didn’t seem
To see
Was a girl

With dry eyes
Just trying to feel

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 Jul 2015
Sadness clusters my chest
The phone woke me up this year
And now I’m mourning, this thought,
Your loss, even though you’re here

If atoms are what you’re made of
How’d you slip right through my hands
I dreamt of you last night
Sinking into death, falling into quick sand

You’re skins not wrinkled
You’re so young, so why are my eyes red
It’s just a touch of cancer
That they found inside your head

I’ve done enough of research
I know how cancer cells grow
But this isn’t how I pictured
One of us would go

They told me they would slice it up
Cut it out of you
This poison that’s taking over
And turning your lips blue

I told them not to wait one minute
Every second counts
I left for lunch that afternoon
Before it was announced

Last night I dreamt that
I was holding tight your hand
But your grave sights full of dirt
They filled your lungs with quicksand

Chemo shrunk the tumor
But killed the you inside your brain
The left side of my bed is empty
It’s just the mattress, and the frame
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
Jen Grimes Sep 2014
In the cold
We seek comfort
Beneath layers of clothing
Soaking wet

We stumble inside
And you bump into
The corner of my mother’s
Kitchen table

A laugh escapes your lips
The type of laughter
I can see in your eyes

You always squint your eyes
When you laugh

I got lost in those eyes
Those fields of
Emerald green
Or were they pools
Of blue
It would be easy
To just forget them

But it makes me smile
When I remember

The way the sleeves
Of my flannel shirt
Always slid past your wrists
Concealing your fingers

And the way
You looked at me across the table
Over your empty cup
Of tea
Jen Grimes Jun 2015
Our world collided
When your lips met mine
The sun shined brightly
The stars aligned

You closed your eyes
But it didn’t last
I barely blinked
It was over fast

Like a head on collision
We spun out of control
You ripped out the breaks
No one told me not to fall
Jen Grimes Sep 2015
Tonight, on the roof
You told me about
The cones behind your irises
And how they turned
Your greens to grays.
And I almost told you
That I knew exactly what that felt like.
Jen Grimes Sep 2014
My heart beats
Like a stallion
Fresh out of the gates

Bets are off
When it comes to
My unstable heart

My head
Is a strong

But my heart says
Place all your money
On the black
Jen Grimes Aug 2015
you said i painted you as a monster
i hate my hands
now i finally understand
why Van Gogh cut off his ear
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.
Jen Grimes May 2015
Our fingers bumped
As we connected miles
Between Florida and Vermont with our hands
On the map above your bed

Our fingers bumped
Like we did  
Connecting and kissing beneath the sheets
The most intimate part of you
Meeting mine

Filling the spaces where I felt
Would always be empty

I know you
How your skin feels
Brushing against mine
I know the curve of your lips
Every knuckle in your spine

I drown in your eyes
Deep shades of brown
I lose myself in those irises
Miss you painfully
When you're not around

We drew an imaginary line
Between states
One at a time

Somewhere in the middle
Your hand caught mine
And I didn't want to let go

Not any place
Or anytime
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

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.
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
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
Jen Grimes Jul 2015
Fresh grass kisses my cheek
I inhale the earth’s scent
And feel the buzzing ground

Seeds root up from the soil
Leaves laugh in the breeze
And I try to exhale the sound

Birds make a call
Out to red bellied mates
I crush the dirt in my hands

I watch you dip
Your toes in the river
And hope stems from every branch

When our bodies converge
I taste the sun
And a mist begins to emerge

We branch apart
You’re breath’s like pine
And I become a drop in the earth
Jen Grimes Sep 2014
Eat baby, please
It’s killing me to watch
While you wither away to nothing
It’s killing me
But you need to know
It’s also killing you
I know the way that full plate
Heaves its weight onto your shoulders
I remember the way you looked down at it
As if you would fall in
And drown in the numbers
I know that you pretend
You’re stomach doesn’t pinch
Or stab you with the hunger
But I see the way
You sit hunched over
Trying to shrink into yourself
Forever trying to make yourself smaller
As if the hunger isn’t
I know you long for bones
To be the only things
Distending from your skin
But darling
You’re forgetting
That your worth,
Your value
Does not rest in a number
Whether it’s on the back of a box
Or a creaky bathroom scale
You’re forgetting that
Bones are brittle
They break, love
They break
How will I hold you
When my touch could splinter you
When I could snap you in half
How will I shelter you
When that voice festers inside your head
And it rots your thoughts
Your innocent thoughts
Sweetheart, you’re forgetting,
Pushing food around a plate
Won’t give you dignity
And that voice
That voice inside your head
Does not define you
Do you see your eyes, love
When you look in the mirror
Can’t you see the light is gone
From those beautiful eyes of yours
Or do you only see
Failure and flesh
Clinging to your body
Holding on for dear life
As you try so urgently
To shed it from your skin
Let me remind you
That it’s okay darling
Go ahead,
Pick up that fork
It’s okay
I promise
Trust me when I say
I know
I know it’s hard
I know it hurts
I know it’s not just chewing
That causes you misery
I know that it feels like cotton
Whenever you try to swallow
I know that it’s like a rock, that food
Stubborn as it sits in your stomach
I know it hurts
I know
Just let me remind you
Let me remind you
That its okay, love
To feel
Jen Grimes Nov 2015
The sun bursts
An eclipse
In your eyes

I thought I saw stars
But your irises

I'm a sunflower
In the rain
Drowning from these contradictions

You give me air
In the spring
Just to burn me up
In your sun
Jen Grimes Jul 2015
I still wake up and smell coffee brewing.
Even though,
The *** is gone.
You took it with you on the same day you said,
You didn’t like poetry.
It made me feel like the tree in my front yard.
My neighbors refuse to let us cut it down,
Even though everyone knows it’s dead.
Now I try to rest my comfort in
A mug of chamomile
Or over a book I know you’ll never read.
Because in the winter we went to a book sale
Where you bought me a latte
And, let me read you poetry.
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.
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.
Jen Grimes Jul 2015
I wonder if
The minute you decided
To distance yourself from me
You zipped up the last
Of your suitcases
And tucked them under the bed
Where I wouldn’t see
Is that why you keep
Your shoes on now
Each time you sit on my couch
Just in case your heart
Grows fond
And you know
Its time to walk out
I feel like a road block
To your destination
Now I’m just a pit stop
A leftover in the making
I wonder
Does your heart put up a fight
When your lips come close to mine
Does your conscience come out to play
And leave me on the other side
I feel like the dog
You took out to the yard
But forgot to shoot
I just watch you check your pockets
And leave the keys, but take your boots
I wonder if
When you chose
To distance yourself from me
You pushed me from behind
Where I couldn't see
Jen Grimes Jul 2015
Please, can you skip ahead to the end
Its my biggest pet peeve but
I can no longer pretend
That there’s nothing wrong with the fallout

Soon we’ll be ripped apart,
The universe will want to collapse
But we’re not a work of art
Ill try to hold it in my hands

Come on, just turn to the last chapter
Or rip each one out, instead
Don’t rewrite the story
There’s only one end
i can't stop time or stop you from leaving, so ill write to ease my mind.
Jen Grimes Nov 2014
I look for you
For your freckled face
In every crowded place

I search for you
For your butterfly kiss
In others drunken lips

I try to find you
Find your tenderness
In all of life’s madness

I try to face you
Face your decision
With ears that refuse to listen

I search for you
For your meaning
For the answer to your leaving.
Jen Grimes Nov 2015
The first time I saw you naked
I cried, and then tears dripped from your eyes
I don’t know how you can be
My angel,
And all my demons at the same time
But you are

I want so desperately
To be you, that I’ll
Crunch numbers together, make my mouth open
Just to fit your mold

Last night when we spoke over waffles
That you drenched in syrup,
And grapefruit I never touched
You stuffed me with the words
I was trying to say

You left the table,
My plate still full of "harsh opinions"

I’m not mad;
I’m tired,
Tired of picking out the shards of glass
From beneath my fingernails

You can’t be the ****** weapon
And the search party,
You can’t be my white horse
And the dark knight

But you are.
Jen Grimes Aug 2015
The globes shattered
Into the floor
Like pieces of the earth
Our earth, see
I tried to put them back together
But the bass was too loud
Erupting the satellites
Igniting thoughts between
Not like the numbness
That's been happening in my throat
When I think of her
Sitting on your bed
It's hard to swallow
There's this familiar
Ache in my chest
And it feels like yesterday
When you let go of my hand
Jen Grimes Jul 2015
Don’t pick the flowers child they’ll die*
Said my grandmother
And I listened

She promised that if I left them
They’d grow and bloom with care

But she never told me that
People are like flowers

And when I picked you
All your petals fell
Jen Grimes Sep 2014
I remember those December nights
When life became frigid
And our future looked bleak
We used each other for body heat

I remember those mornings
You know the ones
4am conversations about pills
And dying

I remember all your quirks
That you drank tea, never coffee
I know that those scrapes on your knuckles weren’t mistakes

I remember thinking it was love
The way your words were woven
But the promise you made
Wasn’t a promise at all

I remember you kissing her
And I lost my appetite

I remember January 1st
When you bled a little too much
And I tightened the noose

I remember that you went to the hospital
And I just stayed home with a bruise
I guess you were the gun
And I was the trigger
Jen Grimes Aug 2015
There's this recognizable
Hole growing in my chest
And I miss you
i miss you
But I never really knew you
I'm currently reading Marina Keegan's stories and I'm feeling this grief like I was a close friend, when I never knew her at all.
Jen Grimes Aug 2015
It’s my fault, I know
My face is blue with “I’m sorry”s
And I feel like stuffing my mouth with asphalt

My words are a blessing
And a curse
I think about not writing anymore

I’m sorry I put you on display
I painted a picture of you
That I can’t erase

Everyone has a dark side
I guess my biggest
Flaw is exploitation

When you’re the artist
It’s easy to forget that there’s ever
An audience in the first place

So high strung, sweating out
Colors in order to express
What’s inside of me

Can’t you see?
It’s the antagonist in me, I was always
Meant to write the story

Ink drips from my pen
At night, until I pick it up
The typewriter is a part, a part
Apart of me

Clicking inside my head, gears
Shifting and turning
Until I find the perfect words

And I’m sorry I unspooled the thread
Of your sweater, I apologize for leaving
The string behind
Leaving it for you to find
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.
Jen Grimes Mar 2016
I was thinking of so many things
While the sun was painting a backdrop
I wished to hold onto that order
As if nothing else mattered
I was in the mountains again
But now the birds sang
And my ankles were boney
Wobbling against the war-zone of stones
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
I wished to stay here
up on the hill,
watching the sun shimmy down through its peaks.
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
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
I know how the sun feels
I feel strung up as well
My subconscious pulling the strings
While I'm only left to follow
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.
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,
and Orange
are nothing like the waves
and Green.
Jen Grimes Nov 2015
I am no longer me
But pieces of others
Put together by fragments
Of a memory

You’re long sleeved pink shirt
The one I wore after spending the
Night, in your tower of a bed
I thought it fit just right

The umbrella you left by the door
Still shaking from the rain
It’s been here for eight days
But I haven’t reminded you to come pick it up

You’re lights with laser pointers
And black-light parties
Where we laugh and slosh alcohol on the floor
In cups we can’t afford

But I keep waking up to piles of empty
Beer cans, and a vacant bed

The note you gave me
When I sat in the passenger seat of your car
Staring at the hollow parking lot
We thought it was over

I shook more than I cried,
I thought I was over

It’s been months now
Since you flew to Florida
But I still keep the note in my wallet

I know you’re gone
But I want to let you know
The ink is fading fast

I am not me

I’m your sweatshirt
And his worn out blue jeans
Holes still fresh in the pockets
My things keep falling out

I’m the t-shirt you used to work out in
I’m the dollar bill
We use to snort up our confidence

I’m the empty container
Of Mary J. that I wished
We could’ve smoked together

I’m a darker shade of brown in my hair
I’m the **** of your cigarette
I’m the first one drunk on Friday nights
And the last one to wake up on Sunday morning

I’m no longer me
Can’t you see?
Jen Grimes Jan 2016
I'm a genuine believer in goodnights
But you keep doing it without me
Keep doing it

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.
Jen Grimes Jun 2015
You said you loved me
You don't even know me
There's room in my shoes
I've still got growing to do

I stand in the mirror
Not sure what I should see
I look inside
To try and find me

If you look closely
Take a peak through my soul
You can see
What I might grow up to be

I poke and ****
And push things around
Trying to plant my tree
Without roots in the ground

I'm still a girl
I've got lessons to learn
There's room in my shoes
I still have growing up to do
Jen Grimes Sep 2014
If I wrote it all down
Would that make it easier
To rewrite our own history

Or would the tidal
Waves keep crashing
Against the shore
Erasing our handprints
From the sand
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