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Jessie Sep 2014
I live in constant fear
of the goose bumps on my skin, waiting,
expecting the hair on my arms to stand on end.
Pinprick needles
pushing up through my skin.

2. My mother can’t sleep through the night,
constantly checking for some visual sign
of telepathy, her cheek permanently frozen
to the screen of her cell phone as she lies in the lightless room.

3. My sister’s habits habituate
into those of a lightning bug in the daytime.
Unusual and unexpected, five toe touches
on this carpet’s edge, seventy-two
fingertips on her own eyelids.
Idly fidgeting until it is time
to zip around in blinding light.

4. Day after day I am weighed
down by mountains beneath the ocean’s surface,
chained, hovering just above the break,
gasping for dear life and
screaming for salvation.

5. I can’t control my thoughts
(my thoughts control me).

6. Thought bubbles in my head
only float for a little while, clouding
my vision and crying for their lightning,
as thunderbolt after thunderbolt stikes—
anxiety sounds like the color black.

7. I lie on cheap sofas spasming and sweaty,
skyscrapers of disappointment
looming over my miniscule banged up
Toyota of a body. There’s a dent on my side door.

8. When I sit, still as a smudge of black ink
left over on my thumb, I pray that the vending machine
won’t steal my money—I only have two seventy-five in my pocket.

9. I call my dad. He is the messenger.

10. Any two words can spearhead a revolution; my eyelids always lose and the floodgates break down, the people in the streets scatter for safety.

11. If I think about the future, the sky becomes one gigantic storm cloud, the world becomes a tornado, and everyone survives but me. The heavens turn dark and I am thrown
into a world made up of a computerized font. Courier New.

12. Courier New is very monochromatic. An angular typeface. My face is pretty round.

13. When the storm ends, I am black and white with exhaustion, a pressure washed pane of glass, waiting
to again need a thorough cleaning. The pressure washer comes every few days.
Panic disorder.
Jessie Sep 2014
When I was 8
I would draw
stick figures of black and white
standing alone next to a forest
green trees, dandelions, and carnations pink,
swaying in the wind amongst a sunset
orange and bittersweet.

When I was 10
I would draw
twinkling outer space purple mountains
majesty still as midnight
blue bell rings, encompassing all things atomic
tangerine planets and occasionally a piercing laser
lemon electric lime stars streaking through the sky.

When I was 17
I would draw
scribbly doodles run wild
strawberry heart screaming tickle me
pink blush on its face, waiting
for its cadet blush crush
to save it from dreaming in history of jazz
berry jam scents lingering on its lips.
How many crayola colors can you find?
Jessie Sep 2014
His eyes seem to be
almost as if he is sleeping,
dreaming of New York City and
bright lights and other girls
dancing among flashing strobes,
their trendy halters halting his breathing
and startling him back into awareness.

He realizes he’s been resting
his cheek on his knuckle, though
all he can really feel is numbness and
a slight tingle as his nerves begin to increase
to match the angle of the plane.

The jolt of landing reawakens his arm
and the buzzing bee inside his brain
as he envisions with an almost painful smile
a perfect dive into the great water before him.

He is there and I am here, but
my hair is dripping wet.
Jessie Sep 2014
You wake up in the middle of the night
and you hear an unfamiliar sound—
a gasp, it sounds like,
or a choking, a struggle.
You are disturbed, yet unafraid,
you are curious, but too lazy to leave your bed.
Three deep breaths, and the sound stops,
and you realize that you were just
choking on your own words,
your own thoughts trapped between your
throat and your lips, the thoughts you
always want to scream but only whisper
quietly to yourself, the thoughts that are
thunderstorms inside your head,
clouding your vision and pushing you
down to the floor, the thoughts that
time after time break down the dams
behind your eyelids
but only in controlled isolation.
You hear yourself gasping for breath,
your breathing remnants of thoughts,
your thoughts tough hands
around your own neck,
squeezing firmly until you fall
back to sleep.
Jessie Sep 2014
Last night's storm woke me up in the middle of the night, and I don't know how but I think the lightning struck through my entire body. I felt my every muscle spasming with pulses from high-energy electric waves and I heard the omniscient thunder echoing between the cliffs inside my head. I can still feel the reverberations but all I can hear is emptiness; I don't know how the thunder found a way out but I'm going to keep scaling the walls until I find a door. I don't want to be enclosed in this box anymore.
Jessie Sep 2014
I don't even want to bleed
I just need to know I'm alive
I'm freezing but there's no AC
The air is so ******* still
My stomach hurts so bad
Acid is burning down my cheeks
I couldn't dance around in my pjs if I wanted to.
is this even a ******* poem my god
Jessie Jul 2014
I’m riding waves of unhappiness
With peaks of glimmering hope
And troughs of utter disappointment--
I think I’m in love.
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