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WIFE and servant are the same,
But only differ in the name :
For when that fatal knot is ty'd,
Which nothing, nothing can divide :
When she the word obey has said,
And man by law supreme has made,
Then all that's kind is laid aside,
And nothing left but state and pride :
Fierce as an eastern prince he grows,
And all his innate rigour shows :
Then but to look, to laugh, or speak,
Will the nuptial contract break.
Like mutes, she signs alone must make,
And never any freedom take :
But still be govern'd by a nod,
And fear her husband as a God :
Him still must serve, him still obey,
And nothing act, and nothing say,
But what her haughty lord thinks fit,
Who with the power, has all the wit.
Then shun, oh ! shun that wretched state,
And all the fawning flatt'rers hate :
Value yourselves, and men despise :
You must be proud, if you'll be wise.
I'm getting lost on purpose.
Going down the bad roads,
Looking out for no one not even myself

I'm sick of this place, there's too much
That already has a tie.
I need something free.

I figure ill **** up a little more,
Maybe find myself in the reflection
Of some gas station mirror in the middle of no where.

I think I'm destined to be happy
Just not today
And not here.
 Sep 2013 Jessie Meredith
MRR
IV
 Sep 2013 Jessie Meredith
MRR
IV
Broken glass and sleek charm
Slide on the floor beneath our feet
The calm light of a quiet town
Sifts silently through the windows
The pitter patter of the wind tip toeing
Through the tree tops invites our ears
To a time where the beauty around us
Was everything and the
Troubles surrounding us
Meant nothing.
I am white dresses and floral lace
Hair in bows
The rest displayed as roses
I dance as I walk
Describe me as dainty and cute
Invite me to your garden parties and front porch tea time

Just so I can show up in reality, burnt out.
18 years of small scars from big adventures
Bones already creaking under the weight of my own privilege
And I have always wished to be something attainable
Simple and pastoral  

I’ve decorated my world in bundles of lavender
They hang next to paintings of flowers and handwritten letters
I dream of sheep and fields of farmland  
But my lovely is fading fast and I have not created something to be proud of in quite some time
 Jul 2013 Jessie Meredith
Ugo
Sag my corpse
in 32 degree weather
through the city of God
where paraplegics dream of running.
“Oh Rhodesian mercenary,”
humble my soul again
like in C(hi)(ca)ongo.
But remember
The revolution starts
on my mama’s bed
at half past six.

So excuse me while I smoke my drink like a Brooklyn Leftist from the 40’s tramples
burning cigarettes on cold pavements where codeine and Sprite
make any Tuesday fabulous because we already suffered from (and for) the goods of mankind.
But before you read me the history of Hatchepsut;
I learned the art of man within the confines of FCC regulations after my ‘Pa threw ******* out the window and made life in the cell not mundane by telephoning philosophical-entendres    
that tomorrow never happened.

He too was from the blood of the ancestors whose bodies were charred on as goods
whose children now char their bodies with the goods of the goddess of Victory—
the official trademark for the lost Exodus—the blood and blue moribund—
sagging pyrrhic victories in 32 degree weather as homage to their charred ghost (fore)fathers
who preyed to the city of God for bread
 Jul 2013 Jessie Meredith
AJ
Lying in the grass at two in the morning,
Smoking some Marlboro 27s,
With a bottle of Sobieski by my side.
I'm staring into the completely blank sky,
And the clouds have gypped me again.
My stomach feels warm,
My head feels heavy.
The clouds where too ominous.
I should have remembered foreshadowing from my childhood.
The one vocab used every ******* year ,
From ages 10 to 18.
I knew it was going to rain.
By this point I don't have enough sobriety stored up to care.
Or to leave.
If the rain wants to get in my hair, and my mouth, and my clothes, and my soul,
It'll be closer than I want anyone else to be at this moment.
 Jul 2013 Jessie Meredith
AJ
Everyone hopes that they are broken,
Because if you're broken
That means that there is a cure,
A treatment,
A medication,
A program that can fix you.
If you're broken,
Then someone can make it stop.
The real fear is that you're fine,
And it can't get better.
The real fear is that this is normal.
It really hurts this much to lose a friend,
To move,
To not get the job,
Or to get the job.
Just to feel so sad and scared and disorientated.
It is all completely normal,
And you can't fix it.
No one fears being broken,
You can make that stop.
It's the real ability to feel pain that you can't change,
And that is terrifying.
 Jul 2013 Jessie Meredith
MRR
Dream
 Jul 2013 Jessie Meredith
MRR
I saw you in a Dream.
I was lying in the grass,
The panic filled my lungs
With a silent scream and my
Eyes with tectonic tremor.
You sat across from me.
I had never seen you before,
A gentle touch to my temples.
Perhaps it was the uncorrupted love
Of a beautiful stranger that
Made me ache for you when
I awoke. I know that I will
Never see you again.
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