Danielle Jones

Danielle Jones Dec 2010

Antique

You caused the cracks and creases in my childhood images.
The downpour of this sworn secrecy never quite made sense,
with your ***** hands folding up
and crushing my lungs into compact boxes.
Lungs in storage, collecting dusty atoms and rusting over,
fossils forever imprinted in my metal ribcage.

I lost my voice.

I promised I would never speak vowels, nor syllables.
But you never warned me how my suffocating
lungs would force me to split my vocal cords
in
two.

So, I spoke in soft rushing winds, knocking
the heavy air out of my aged chest.
I wasn’t strong hearted,
you focused on the limbs tangled together -

you brushed off the blood from the blows,
and I gathered the words and
I went back to bed.

I covered with sheets of muffled thoughts and lead.

Danielle Jones Dec 2010

Rough Draft

A rough draft between you and me,
swimming through the marrow of our bones.
The ink from our letters stain the carpet as I
fall through the lines of your misconceptions.
Your loneliness. The ghost you encountered was that of false impressions.

I’m someone you want, but not really.

My veins fill with your realistic voice as I
breathe.
breathe.
breathe.
I am suffocating you out, ridding myself
of your syllables.

I’m someone you wanted, but not really.

Danielle Jones Dec 2010

Don't Sell Yourself Short

I figured,
just an overnight amusement,
but I didn’t know it’d come to this.
An overview of your disarray and unconcerned nature,
I felt your heart slow its pace when you forgot.
I never forget.
I can’t say the same for you.

Tuck in the sheets before you go,
since I wish to clear the area.
If only it was that simple,
to wash this room clean with liquid
solitude.
Why did you come here anyway?

My personal accounts don’t count for much.
I guess I’m learning how to forget my respect on the front door.
I’m leaving it for someone new.
I just need to forget you.

Corrections spit at me in numerous directions,
hydrating my bone dry systems.
I’m not yours to choose.
I should have not been the one to hand this off.

But I was.

Danielle Jones Dec 2010

Tall Tales of the Young

you guided my guilt down my shoulders into my
fingertips,
and i felt the worry wash my hands clean as you
spoke.

i am ever so foolish, the little girl who fell for the magical
stories,
of daddy building castles and fighting fire breathing
dragons,
the ones that held false images and beautiful
love.
the stories i gulped up at the age of five,
withheld the aches and ordinary routines of
adulthood.

yet, those misguided tales has filled my eyes once
again.

i haven't grown up.

Danielle Jones Dec 2010

Old letters

To: The fierce hollow spinal cord.
From: Your screaming fractured bones.

Dear unkempt boy,
You’ve thrown your back out of place;
arms extended and neck inclined.
It seemed so innocent to me,
but you cracked and crossed your fingers in precise time.
The bones fold under you,
and still I carry your dwindling body back.
The accident you knew all so well collapsed when you gathered each vertebrae in pride.

Collect and reveal your ignorant ways.
Refuse.
Excuse.
Bemuse. I am finally jaded.

Just,
Your twisting structure.

Danielle Jones Dec 2010

Space

And I will love you with all my might,
said the sun to the stars,
as the atmosphere grew heavy.
Satellites permit and continuously split our thoughts in doubles,
I’m oh so sorry for all the troubles we have yet to find in the sky.
Illuminate the gravity of this,
twisting the lines and signs as we maintain order.
We can follow the cracked pavements or the rusty border,
holding up the glow of our universe.
But I will love you throughout the night,
via satellite,
until the morning stretches to our eyes.

Danielle Jones Dec 2010

Generation of Unknown

My generation has never felt the heart of real work or effort,
tasted the rust of the heated sun sewing up their lips,
or have become acquainted with calluses on their hands,
because they have high expectations for everyone else to do their work for them.

It’s unsettling,
knowing that there is a disconnection in these minds and it only reconnects when these children,
hardly adults are searching for the next sip of poison to get to the next **** that even they know won’t satisfy their hunger for some kind of act of love,
the kind that could tie you up at gunpoint and you still wouldn’t give in because you know that there’s nothing stronger than that.

But how would I know?

(I have only seen it in movies.)

And I see the mothers and fathers that strive to better their children but feel like failures because they only thought it was a stage,
that they were experimenting with fire,
but that’s just them turning the other cheek until it follows them to the ends of their nerves,
biting and tugging and burning.

Loose ends never knotted up again.

They always knew better than that,
and I’ve seen too many beautiful people do ugly things because they knew they were beautiful and didn’t know the difference.

So I’ve concluded that I don’t want to be a part of whatever this world might become,
I don’t want that kind of blood on my hands.