I have no need for what I want, for what I want cannot be what I need.

I want the deep breaths of an adolescent to grow louder,  to overtake dreams that haven't been true since the last generation swept them up from dusty hallways.

I want the smell of old paper to succumb the thoughts of those who want to change the rotation of life as it comes, making their life worth it.

I want the wrenching love held in everyone's heart to be pumped through every word and action used to be "the better part" of the story, to be caressed against the grainy surface of doubt, filling it with grace, and to be smeared along the cracks along ever weak solider in need of a purple heart.

What I want isn't always what is needed, but I'd often like to think it is.

(j.a.r.)

I love how the setting is after rain; I can almost focus on the sound of my steps as if it is the only thing I need to worry about. dry, chapped lips from the cold breeze that has set in only allows a few whispered words to pass at a time.

droplets along the window blocks connect each thought as my fingertips connect each dot, allowing my mind to wander where it usually does not. the drops along the metal roof tell a story like a rambling poet agains the keys of a typewriter, uncertain of which drain will drain the pain away.

(j.a.r.)

A circle.

We were sitting in a circle together playing a game of tag with our eyes, trying to steal the thoughts and actions of the other when you looked at me in that way.

I talked to you all the time just like I did everyone else, and then I realized how I really saw you.

"you smell nice." and "that was cute." made things more genuine when they passed from your lips.

I mentally winked at myself like you did at me the first day.

fingers intertwined as you made jokes about holding my hand, you tried to make it less awkward by only making things a bright red color.

leaving was like standing up through a sunroof at full speed, so breath-taking that you don't realize how easy it is to slip until you lift your hands high.

(j.a.r.)

• grape gatorade
• baby powder engraved earrings
• glow sticks
• the smell of old holy pages
• peach cobbler
• complement circles
• heterochromia
• crazy hair
• wet clothes
• dr pepper
• cold rain against the humid air
• glances people steal


(j.a.r.)

he underestimated her in beauty. an attraction to fake for calling truthfully real. side comments for fun; some lies, others anonymously touched with fuzzy feelings. no good thoughts before actions came with him, and the effect was shocking on a content soul. who would've thought how strong a few words could last? who would've guessed that a trashed mind could be fulfilled with a small tug of the corners of a strangers mouth? while a being of such isn't rare, the souls true heart speaks for it's self. If something in her beauty meant anything to him, he would've spoken up before now, not lied again and again to the one honest answer that stands before him.

(j.a.r.)

I watch them drift gently back toward the shore, hands intertwined. "So, this plan of yours...You start with avoiding him?" I sit silent for a moment, listening to the licorice kisses, and when I look over, there's genuine sympathy to think about him as a regular person, and not feeling the sun seep all the way into my soul. It's like watching dragonflies buzz, and just like that, I see the clutter for what it really is. They're memories, and once he's gone, they're all I have left of him.

(j.a.r.)

the remarkable thing is that in all of my confusion about you, I really knew from the beginning all I needed to know and then some. I knew that this glass panel I had placed before me was mucky and soaked with dirt; I was seeing the full picture, but through the wrong lens. I don’t think about you much anymore, maybe once or twice every now and then, but all of the bundles of escape and the masks of summer were torched in all of our distractions from reality. time has moved like it always does, and our minds have evolved to our own separate desires. for you that would be the fake laughs and twisted foul calls you don’t fully agree with, and for me, well I’m not really sure at this point… maybe it’s my decoupage of memories that keep me going, or maybe it’s just the benefit of the doubt. sometimes, I picture all kinds of wildflowers; purple, yellow, red, and white, and I try to imagine them as the serenity in my life, so out of the ordinary to be left unnoticed. that’s exactly how you have become, just a plain old wildflower in my life left on the side of the highway.


(j.a.r.)