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Jessica Claire Apr 2014
Home is not where I want to be.
I want to adventure,
wild and free.
Away from the chains
of my adolescent self,
to grow up to be hung
on a greater shelf.
For outgrowing this nest,
wanting to fly away.
You'll be proud of me someday,
just maybe not today.

Take me away,
away from it all.
Away from these chains,
who are there when I fall.
I want to fly,
with my own compass,
I want to fly away.
Away.
Just maybe not today.
Jessica Claire Apr 2014
I'm into you,
but I'm not into
waiting around this way.
I'm here now,
but I'm not here,
willing to wait
forever.
Jessica Claire Apr 2014
help me escape
my mind;
it's a prison of insecurities
and hesitancy.
  Apr 2014 Jessica Claire
cg
You have to fight for everything, even yourself.
Nothing was ever built for weak people.
But you are precious.
You are all the things I never believed in but happened anyway.
You are all the last thoughts of the last moments of someone's life. All I ask is that you always find your way home like you lose everything except for this.
Remember that wind is a language, like everything else, and every time you meet a new person you are discovering how to believe in people. And where we live, there is a lot of wind.
So in effect, I believe War is another way of saying I love something so much that I can't stop breaking whatever makes it sad.
And where we live, there is a lot of war.  
And courage is the form we take when we become someone else's second chance.
Remember that Earth is cold, that the world is a scary place to live, but ask yourself what the world is made of.
We all bleed the same amount, and we forget that if you ask for freedom then you have already lost it.
That sometimes running and leaving and going does not always take you somewhere else, and that in order to keep things, sometimes we have to lose them.
  Apr 2014 Jessica Claire
Elizabeth
It has been one year
to the day
since I spoke to you last.
I do not miss you -
that is not what this is about.
It's just that sometimes
I feel phantom fingers in my hair.
Sometimes old photographs choke me up.
And remembering the good times hurts more
than remembering the bad.

I'm not sure if you would recognize
the way I wear my skin nowadays.
My hair is a different color,
and about a foot longer.

It has been one year,
365 days,
several startling discoveries,
a few tear stained nights,
half a dozen new beginnings,
and at least one bottle of whiskey.
But I still can't get
the taste of you
off my tongue.

— The End —