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jer Jul 2019
Dear Little Girl,

Right now, you just stare
At the ceiling, at the wall,
Wondering if your hair
Will ever look pretty at all
Will it ever one day be tame?
I think you’ll be happy to know
That the bigger you grow
It’ll be more beautiful
But look exactly the same
This one’s about self acceptance and growth, featuring one of my all time biggest insecurities—my hair
jer Jul 2019
He talks like autumn—
walks like he is the breeze
that blew out the sun
and knocked down the leaves.

Winter was too quiet
and it was far too cold,
when I was defiant
and became far too bold.

So next was the spring
and I was a flower,
but I could only grow
if there were a few showers.

Summer was too strong
and I was set on fire;
the days were far too long
and the heat left me tired.

I froze in winter
and melted in the sun
and spring's far too teary
to have any fun.

But in the autumn,
when it's not too hot or cold,
that is the season in which
I want to grow old.
this is about boys if you couldn't tell
  Mar 2019 jer
Mary Elizabeth Frye
Do not stand at my grave and weep..
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awake in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft star-shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry..
I am not there. I did not die.
jer Jan 2019
Once when I was drunk
I held my hand to a flame
And it didn’t hurt
jer Aug 2018
I beat the sunrise.
It can’t outrun me
when I’m up all night.

And secretly
the energy
in my personality
is the courtesy
of the adrenaline in
the morning
that’s been lasting
since 3 AM.

Every time the sky glows
my body knows
how it always goes.

My goosebumps raise
until the jealous sun’s rays,
flaming around laze,
come to whisper the day,
and they often say
the morning is “mine”
and now it’s time—
because they call me the Lark—
for me to tell,
on branches from which I fell,
the day to start.

I hit my head going to bed.
Now I’ll be awake
even when I’m dead.

And secretly I’ve
always liked
the fright of night
and spite
of all things bright,
often unkind,
in this sour mind
of mine.

Every time the veil lifts,
this is it,
how I can’t quit.

My feathers jump
and the sun’s always stumped,
traveling slowly up,
why I haven’t yet done
the morning fun
as I reluctantly climb,
and now it’s time—
because they call me the Lark,—
for me to tell,
on branches from which I fell,
the day to start.
I want to be someone else. But I’m trapped being a Lark, putting on the facade, stuck in the same routine doing the same thing everyday and it’s not what I want to do—not who I want to be. But what other choice do I have?
jer Jul 2018
Nothing travels faster than money—
      And I’m a dollar bill
      From hand to hand
      Across lakes and land
      You rid me at your will

I’ve traveled in air and underground—
      And I’ve seen every state
      Every wallet, every store
      When I become a bore
      You spend me, won’t hesitate

I’m dropped, lost, and found in small places—
      A toddler’s piggy bank
      Lose me anywhere
      But to a millionaire
      What difference do I make?

I have been in every back alley—
      Given away in the dark,
      Tackled in the mud,
      Responsible for blood,
      But don’t even make a mark

I can’t remember everywhere I’ve been—
      Every day a different fate
      Through the gutter
      From one to another
      You won’t hold my weight

I’m there when you need water—
      And when you need food
      But in the end
      Just follow the trend
      You forget I was ever used

People make themselves slaves for me—
      But then I’m thrown away
      Worth less every year
      After holding me dear
      You just replace me the next day

I’m only worth something when used—
      And that’s always proved
      Time and time again
      I lie to me but then
      Always find that it’s my truth

I was created for it, made to be used—
      Now I’m ripped apart and torn
      Beaten, trampled, stolen
      Until I am broken
      Far beyond how I was born

I think I am alone, then I somehow find—
      Billions of me out there
      So try to remember
      A million of me together
      Can break a millionaire
Everyone uses me so here, have a metaphor:
jer Jul 2018
I don’t care how
or care what you do
to make it happen;
I just told you
make me shine
so slather me in turpentine.

I want the sun to shrink
and the world turn dark,
when she’ll no longer rise
after she rests her eyes
upon my fiery spark.

I want the moon to swoon
and raise the tides
when he looks for the sun,
but instead
it’s my beauty that he finds.

I want the stars to bow down
and shower me in gold
when I shine brighter
and reach higher
than the stars of old.

I want storms to make
the world stir
when I walk upon
their earth,
no matter what it’ll take.

I don’t care
if it kills me;
just answer my plea.
I just want, so badly,
to shine,
so slather me in turpentine.
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