Caught up in a generation,
Where our strengths are attached to our egos
Caught up in a generation,
Where our insecurities are hidden behind the weaknesses of our hearts
Broken promises creates cuts in our memories,
And their scars are a reminder of who we no longer trust.

We run our mouths longer than we train our brains,
So we quickly get tired of our own thoughts
And the only source of hydration we seek is the validation of others.

Our tears are a reflection of how strong we wish we could be
We are haunted by our past,
And killed by our future
The present moment is the only time we are free.

Encouraged to be ourselves
Yet we are judged for being ourselves
Silenced into individuality,
Yet we scream for each other’s help.


Adolescents are rushed into growing up
And yet they fear growing old
We demand kindness and warmth
Yet our actions towards the ones who love us are cold.

I'm not an option
Or a second choice
I'm in your life or not
I don't want to be a hidden voice
My friendship was a gift
Not a game
From then, you'll meet fake friends
But i warned you, what a shame
They'll replace you
The second you put a foot wrong
You should've of stayed with me
You should've held on.

I'm so far removed
From your path
I laugh

My laughter echoes in the silence

Dearly beloved,

You are an ancient painting filled with radiant colors of wondrous beauty, pleasurable for all to enjoy, yet my hope is for I and I alone to explore and endure. I wish you could see what I see in you. You're afraid to love because you don't think you have much time left, but what if you're wrong? What if all of this is just a test of your strength and when you finally let go of all that is making you suffer you will begin to heal and grow anew. You can only hold on to pain for so long before it devours you whole. It's a senseless practice, practiced every day.  You eat up the darkness as though it's your last meal. You aren't disposable or recyclable, you are the embodiment of love and grace. And so I ask you this, why so fearful of loving and being loved in return? Would you rather not have been truly loved in its purest form of elegance and chaos, or take the latter and not be loved or love another at all? We have been denied the right to remember our past lives and whom of which we have loved in those lives. Our days are spent searching and scouring the planet for each other again, without a clue or definitive reason why we are searching, only an insufferable pull that shakes your bones. Knowing you must do this and you'll feel whole again. Yet we do it endlessly until our hearts can no longer endure the pain we have afflicted on it. Self infliction of our own convictions that we truly believe there is someone out there solely meant for us. Someone we fully connect with on a spiritual, mental, and physical level. A thought so deeply ingrained within us that we torture our hearts and souls until we are left with nothing but scars and empty valves and all the blood drained from our lifeless veins.

I wish you could understand you are the light by which sparks my soul, my heart, and inspires me to wake up every day and breathe life into my lungs. This ache encompasses the entirety of my being, and without you I don't know that I could carry on without losing the fundamental tools and skills in my brain to function on a day to day basis. And when I tell you I love you with all that I am and all that I will ever be, I mean what I say. I am not saying it for sake of saying so. These roots you have planted within me run deeper down through my core, implanting a strong hold, blooming leaves and budding flowers as our love grows. Don't you know my dear sweet love, you are everything in this world I could ever ask for or wish to be. You are the mirror reflection I gaze tirelessly in to everyday and I wish not for another mirror, I'd shatter every last one of them if you weren't the image looking back at me.
© 2014 Christina Jackson

but im only human
I only miss you on Sundays when the sun peaks through the blinds and the tea tastes like regret and unhappiness.
So I spit it out and make a new batch.
but im only human
I only miss you on Mondays when the dusk meets the dawn and I have to throw the pages of something I loved away.
but im only human
I only miss you on Tuesdays when the scent of you is traceable on my clothes and no matter how hard I scrub its still *there
but im only human
I only miss you on Wednesdays when its the middle of the week and the clouds hide the sun like a punishment and I remember how much you love the rain.
but im only human
I only miss you on Thursdays when I know you would've been home by now, and I would make some ****** dish of food that neither of us would eat but you would say it's "delicious anyway."
but im only human
I only miss you on Fridays when you would put on a movie we've seen seventeen times and absentmindedly rub my hand over with your thumb and I wish you would've rubbed it raw.
but im only human
I only miss you on Saturdays when the cemetery is closed and I have to drive past it on my way to the store because we're out of milk and you're not there to buy it anymore.
*but im only human

[PART ONE]
xeroxed, RT'd and plagiarized
so many times on so many blogs
tween blogs to republican blogs
to blogs in Russia and
blogs no one ever scrolls though...
original content is prey
but I have a warning for they:

overrated, over-shared
content aggregators beware
the lines you swap can
rot and ware
the World Wide Web
does not care.

[PART TWO]
original content
original contests
original continent
original controversy
original coordination between strangers
original calvary riding their connection into the battlefield of internet memes; creating nothing and sharing everything

[COMMENTARY]
original nothing, nowhere, nobody except facebook "Funny Vidoes!" & "Cool Quotes!". 'Like' pages whose sole originality lies within their own existence but nothing they share. They steal from the rest of the web and re-post what they find for out-of-the-loop troglodytes; often done so in inferior context and with no perspective. The 'refried beans' phenomenon, I call it. I find it fitting because 'refried beans' are a double misnomer. The name comes from 'frijoles refritos' - which means 'well-fried' not 'refried'. They are also never traditionally fried more than once. Yet the name sticks, it gets repeated, it gets re-shared and now that's what they are: refried beans. This phenomenon is why I believe art and all original content eventually become so over-shared and overrated that it's no longer interesting but irritating. These three parts of the poem "Original Content" are separated in abstract authorial presentation. The author has clearly expressed his dislike for the disjunct un-imagination of the internet and presents it as such.

[PART THREE]
original authors losing control of their audiences who believe they are the creators and the artist's art is somewhat shareable
original miscommunication between web 1.0 and web 2.0 reality
original alphabet they use to type on their keyboards
original grammar they learned in school
original money their gov't printed
original content they re-post
original refried beans
original content
orginal contet
ogrinal cotent
ognal ctt
oc
.

There is something within me
something I cannot say
the song of my soul steps forward
but I cannot translate it today

This song moves within me,
of love and choice and grief,
it stabs and bleeds my mind,
a sword without a sheath

The song of my soul is true
each of us finds it in time
yet until that fateful day
this poet struggles with her rhyme

How strange it is of life
to love with no love in turn
How strange it is of life
that a cold shoulder can burn
How strange it is of life
that you bring a tear to my eye
How strange it is of life
that you let me pass you by