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Jul 7 · 236
a sunday dream
Jennifer Jul 7
i dream of a sunday
morning when all is
and the duvet
smells of
spring air
you’re breathing softly
near my ear
and i can smell
the sweetness of your
sweat and your hair
i can see the
rising from
our teacups
you groan and
twitch softly as you
we swayed slowly
in the kitchen last night
and you whispered
i love you
in my ear as we
i’ll never forget
  i’ll never forget
i’ll never forget
i love you too
Jun 15 · 360
Jennifer Jun 15
keep the petals, even if they
fall from the stem;
never take them for granted.
be grateful for them.
May 29 · 199
Jennifer May 29
morning: my least favourite time
of day, is made not so bad by
a slice of buttered toast and a
black coffee.

morning: when my hair is a mess and
my sheets cling to my damp
skin, is made not so unhappy
by the sunlight spilling in.

morning: when my eyelids are
heavy and i’m too tired to speak,
when my lips are dry and my
thoughts are static;

i think i’ll put the kettle on, and
sink into the day: slowly, slowly,
slowly, so that the hours trickle
May 28 · 201
summer’s spring
Jennifer May 28
i’ll remember the sound of the
ocean gently lapping the shore, and
the sound of birds chirping - which birds
i can’t be sure -
i’ll remember my feet blistering, and the
taste of red wine
i’ll remember the blue 10pm sky
and two magpies giving a

most of all i’ll remember the restless
joy that i feel, my yearning that reels,
my eagerness to escape and
my emotions, slowly taking
May 27 · 266
washing line
Jennifer May 27
washing’s drying on the line, dog’s
curled up in a sun-patch; i’m rocking
to and fro,
letting the time pass.
May 26 · 184
summer’s near
Jennifer May 26
sky’s pale till midnight,
satellite glided overhead like some
wandering speck of dust caught in
a patch of sunlight,
and the moon’s hung, like a curled
white eyelash upon the lens of
heaven. i made a wish upon her -
as you are supposed to with
fallen lashes -
though i mustn’t say it, or it mightn’t
come true.
it floats like a feather upon a
stream: hopeful. but to where? i
am not entirely sure.
to Lune.
May 24 · 245
nature’s lovers
Jennifer May 24
a delicate white rose,
sweet and lonely and
upon it, a butterfly
so fragile and light;
but when will it take flight?
when will it take flight?

ocean waves close to shore,
sand and water entwined
in loving embrace,
earthly beauty skin to skin;
but when will the tide go in?
when will the tide go in?

a passionate fire, spitting and
pouncing, rustled by a breeze,
kissed gently by the air,
the love between them devout;
but when will it die out?
when will it die out?
May 23 · 195
Jennifer May 23
mind races at night as of
late, eyes ache and i am
uncomfortably warm;
covers on and off,
hourly trips to the bathroom
just to break up my night
of turning and tossing,
thinking and dozing
but never sleeping.
aching with starvation and
frustration it’s
hard not to groan into
my pillow
and i squint at a
screen for a few minutes
yearning for a distraction but
no one is there.
too late: 1, 2, 3,
4 o’clock and the sun’s already
shining through my sheer
cream curtains.
feels like a trap, like a room with
no doors or windows
but it’s ever so bright.
my hair is tousled and damp with
sweat, dreams are black and
last no longer
than blinking.
May 22 · 315
Jennifer May 22
pile of folded clothes laying on my bed
doused in sunlight
coming in through the blinds;
today my eyes ache,
only managed to sleep in the early hours
of the morning, i could cry.
i want to go out
forget about my thoughts for a while,
focus on me and my little mind:
wind’s lashing though.
i hate the wind, it blows my skirt
and my hair askew.
wish i could go down by the river
and see all of the little painted boats;
forget i am alone.
May 20 · 157
Jennifer May 20
i am empty, except for the
butterflies that tickle my
stomach. forgot about food:
thinking of you and
everything i will say.

May 13 · 129
Jennifer May 13
taste the bitterness upon flowering
buds, it’s a bliss known only
to those who can bite the dark
and see the beauty within it.
May 12 · 188
Jennifer May 12
heed the air
for there are particles swooping
like vultures there,
with every breath death does prance
like a playful fawn,
and some ritual dance.
i never thought this bane would come
to this small world i live,
shutters closed, streets numb,
faces masked and souls glum.  
stare at the same four walls a day
at least i’m safe, netheless turning
dizzy. read, read, read till my eyes fray;
my ghost is ebbing,
flowing far away.
May 10 · 228
windows to the soul
Jennifer May 10
sadness that sweeps the eyelids
into a lead-heavy lethargy,
an awake weariness that
flicks through every bad thought
and pulls me from sleep;
like heavy curtains being dragged
across the threshold of
my vision - where all conscious
thought is a bleeding burden.
i just lie here waiting;
waiting for what? i do not know.
all i know is that i
cannot sleep.
Jennifer May 9
a cog too easily wound
is my heart,
for even if i do not love
i never ache to leave -
not even a silver bullet could part
me from those i display a
sliver of my soul;
for loneliness is a growth,
a vampire-like specimen that *****
the hope from my
a poem on loneliness, the fear of being abandoned, and the fear of never being loved again.
May 6 · 178
Jennifer May 6
painted my nails, nice and
red, glossy.
smiled at the sky,
moon: silent woman in
a white dress.
eyes rolling;
sweet surrender.
May 5 · 298
Jennifer May 5
clouds tumble gracefully across
the velvety expanse
like some frightening titan
reaching down from
the void of heaven,
blackened and ghostly.

breaking apart and
welding together,
some mighty, sickening
war must be bringing that
chill, that quiver in the air;
storm’s coming.

dark Nyx, my soul trembles
when i think of eternity,
the vastness of beauty and
of trepidation that hang over
our heads like some spinning

i am so afeared i could weep
or dance.
May 4 · 439
Jennifer May 4
breeze and distant
traffic whisper,
smells like lavender,
words get scrawlier,
head full of coffee and dreams of
it’s just another day, sky’s blue,
sleep’s on my mind;
all i see is concrete.
it’s noon.
how is it noon?
May 2 · 1.3k
aphrodite’s reverie
Jennifer May 2
love, i dream of you
often. my
mind is lost in a
haze aphrodite
cast upon me;
my skull is a
waiting to be
up by some loving
Apr 30 · 176
Jennifer Apr 30
cocooned, like some hungry
butterfly desperate to flee
once more into the world,
i stare at the sullen clouds from
my kitchen window and
sigh with longing.

if only i were a leaf, or a
then a soft breeze could carry me
some morning thoughts.
Apr 28 · 247
Jennifer Apr 28
dogs snarl and
yowl as she approaches:
her silken dress trailing
the ground,
her ashen face, unsmiling.

lady of the night: she leads
her army of ghouls with cold,
heavy chains that make a
sickening sound as they
stroke against the black concrete.

she is unseen, but watching,
cold malice in her
shadowed eyes.
she can see the sweat beading
upon your pallid face
as you struggle to wake, gasping.

heed her unnatural beauty,
for it is too dark to see
her true face. she
parts the road thrice
and awaits your decision.
a smile curls her lips:

she is warning you.
Apr 27 · 173
Jennifer Apr 27
i feel like a dream;
like the misty memory of some
mysterious face looming
in a corner, unnoticed.
those who notice me
pass me by
for i am only a ghost,
the weak wavering
matter of someone else’s memory.
my expression twists and
lurches and tangles itself into
a heap of unknowing, and my
heart heaves some lonely
if only i could
mimic those passing faces
and become whole.
but i am just a
disjointed ghoul;
a static soul unable to
tune in, and it shows
in my reflection.
Apr 26 · 130
Jennifer Apr 26
hi. this past week went by like
a half forgotten dream: the time
passed too quickly,
i did very little and
i seem to remember the time i slept
and dreamt better than my
waking moments.
my mind has been scarce of
creativity and
even thought - though
i am healthy i feel
quite lifeless.

today is white and
dull, days like this
sometimes feel like static, like
the world is buffering,
the time has come to a halt.
i don’t usually miss the sun, but
these days are dull to
begin with.
i sit all day staring at screens and do
not much else - i’m growing quite
tired of it. but
on days such as these i feel
i barely have a
choice, so here i sit writing to you
and i am not all displeased.

at least i can say i wrote
but what will all of this writing
come to? maybe
a poem, or a love
note, or a memory. or maybe
it will be something i can
look back on,
and giggle at how
and sentimental i am.
just a journal entry of mine that i thought sounded particularly poetic.
Mar 28 · 159
when warmth returns
Jennifer Mar 28
a spark, then a flame,
blue and dithering
kindled by scraps
of musings
scribbled by a roused hand -

mind, where did you go?
are you lost somewhere, encased
in a glass bottle, uncertain?
you have left me vacant,
easy, thoughtless.

abandoned as a smouldering
flake of ash, fluent on a breeze of
doubtful wonderment:
may i once more catch aflame?
i am hopeful:

that flittering fire grows
ever warmer, and in the flames
i scry those musings, fluttering.
ashes are borne to the air,
each pregnant with a flame

with the capacity of fire.
Mar 27 · 177
city of the guls
Jennifer Mar 27
concrete castles, brick battlements,
chimneys billowing black smoke.
sky, leaden and forever dull;
this is the city of the guls.

perched upon red brick walls
and slated rooftops
they unleash their cries of battle
and dive, strafing as they fly;

gutting wheelie-bins, squabbling
over human trash and muck.
this is treasure to the guls,
their feathers diseased and their

necks sporting plastic trophies.
they ****** from grubby human hands
and swallow all they can;
their gullets hold no guilt or shame

for the human filth called 'man.'
the guls know their city: every cranny
and every nook. they have always ruled
from their royal perches:

ruthless, ***** and proud. they look
upon human men with beady eyes
as they leave humble offerings,
and they cackle

chorusing with their high-pitched
squawks. for humans are
mere pests
among those mighty guls.
haven't written in a while! go easy on me ;) thank u to Jolyon for supporting my poetry n for helping me with this one <3
Aug 2018 · 666
grave burrower
Jennifer Aug 2018
i see you, grave burrower,
from across the churchyard.
pointed ears, alert - afraid?
can you hear me breathing?

i know, grave burrower,
i know where you hide.
you hide under cracked stones
where decaying bodies lie.
i see your nose twitch, grave burrower,
can you smell the death?

your garden is bountiful, grave burrower,
it’s a beauty to behold.
how did you get it so beautiful -
are their roots cradled by bones?

i wonder if you see them, grave burrower,
smell them, feel them;
the spirits of the buried.
do you know something about death
that we don’t?

i know you see me, grave burrower,
from across the churchyard.
your wide eyes see in every direction.
can you see me staring?
Mar 2018 · 620
Jennifer Mar 2018
fingertips tapping upon
translucent glass.
blurred skin on the opposite side,
pink, pressed up blotches of
arm and leg,
lip and ear,
hair and head.

alone on the other side,
lack of colour and lack of light.
watch them through the see-through wall,
just the swing of a bunched up fist
could break the fall.

the fall of light within the room,
the dim sound of laughter
from the other side,
the lack of voice that resides

on this side.
waiting is silent,
solitary in a cell of glass confinement.

an hour, another,
more time slips past,
when the room gets darker
so does the glass.
Feb 2018 · 519
i think too much
Jennifer Feb 2018
sometimes wish my skull was hollow,
sometimes i think it is.
brain replaced with pansies,
flourishing from liquid dreams.

face blank; staring into
unfocused air.
cursed with a sleeping brain,
blessed with its craftsmanship.

memories caught on tape.
scenarios rolling smoothly;
every moment, invoked upon personally.

worries creep in like Japanese knotweed -
can’t ever get rid of it all.
most of all, thoughts like shattered glass
make me bleed from unusual places.

sometimes wish my skull was hollow,
sometimes i think it is.
feel like i exist more in my head
than i do here.
Feb 2018 · 1.4k
ocean wine
Jennifer Feb 2018
wish the waves
moved like your mouth;
speaks to me
like the crash of water
upon the shore.

drunk on you
like water to wine
and i watch your words form
in the waves.
Feb 2018 · 300
Jennifer Feb 2018
i cast my soul into the air -
let my mind carry it to a
familiar land that
only i can envision.

here, but also
somewhere else.

i am always caught somewhere
in between.
Feb 2018 · 1.0k
what you left behind
Jennifer Feb 2018
unaware that you had embedded
yourself - but i felt a shift
and embraced it.

marked by rose-scented words
and the curve of your lip and
the arch of your collarbone;
furrowed into my mind -
plays on repeat like a broken record.

marked by cotton touch
and midnight whispers,
playing pretend -
speaking like nostalgia.

technical spark, honeyed words,
fingerprints upon a computer screen;
happy tummy pains.

attractive eyes like shallow hot springs -
i wait till i am close enough to
feel their steam redden my cheeks.

beating heart proudly exhibits
the fingertips you
blemished into me.

flowers grow in their place
every time i think of you.
Feb 2018 · 1.3k
Jennifer Feb 2018
paths are not for me.
peel me off the surface and
carry me to a newfound land;
i yearn to be lost.

each day i shake off gravel
from the path i once trudged upon.

now, i stroll through open yellow fields
and rest upon beds of daisy chains;
i lick my pollen-stained fingers
as i watch formless clouds swim
through the vast bluish sky.

sometimes, i will come across a path -
yet i am always pulled off track -
so i will never keep to it.

i stray upon my own, guide-less path;
for gravel only poisons me.
Nov 2017 · 421
Jennifer Nov 2017
masked, he came towards me
weapon in hand, hands bloodthirsty.
the white of his mask showed no purity,
only a sinister mystery.

most would run, or scream even
but i could not; legs tied with fear
tongue tied into a knot,
i remained silent as the assailant
drew near.

close enough to feel his breath
warm upon my cheek
he whispered:
‘my name is Hope.
this is what i look like.’

i could feel his blade
cold, pressed against my thigh
yet he entwined his leather gloved fingers
with mine.

swaying gently, bathed in an unknown,
gentle light.
but the light grew harsher;
i notice it reflecting off my

the silver blade, burrowed into my chest.
my knees buckle and
the floor is ice.

warmth drains from me and
hope crouches down - removes his
faceless and empty,
empty with unknowing.

from nowhere, Hope’s voice echoed
he said:
‘my name is Hope and
hope never dies.’

— The End —