I fell in love with a hurricane
Jessie Rowe, you asked me for metaphors
To explain the love of my life
And here you go.
My Anna was, is, always will be, my hurricane.
She entered with flashing red
Warning lights
And she blinded me.
Did you hear that?
She ******* blinded me.
I still can't see around the red
And when I told her that she blinded me
She had no clue.
She asked me what I meant.
As if I could explain.
I told her of my love of rain
And she was a down pour on me.
I felt her touch my skin
Like I did that day I cried
When he left and I couldn't help
But stand and watch him leave.
She soaked me in whatever
She was
And then gave me nothing to dry with.
I was alright with that.
It was only a slight thunderstorm
And part of me was wishing for more.

I shouldn't have tried to get closer.

No one warned me that she was a hurricane.
They just let me *****
Blindly I might add
Into the storm as they ran
Past me in the opposite direction.
How was I to know?
All I saw was her
And all I felt was her
So why should I have left with them?

Maybe I should have.

She told me that I was deeper
Into her than anyone
Had ever wanted to be before
And she told me that she didn't
Understand why.
I couldn't come up with an answer.
She was rain and lightning and wind
And I was in love at the first flash
Of thunder as it
Came over me and into my bones,
Breaking apart the constellations
Between them.
I fell in love with the way
She couldn't stand being
Destruction and strong
And with the way she cloaked me
In everything she was.
I fell in love with a ******* hurricane.
With the rain
And the wind
and the way she kissed
And the way she fell in love with me as well.
I fell in love with a girl
Who was my devil and my angel
In the same moment.

The eye of storm was supposed to clear
And beautiful in a different
Way than she already was.
And I yearned to see it.
But ****, she wouldn't let me.
She thrashed against all of my forces
And struck me with lightning made
Of her lies and then
She was gone.
My hurricane disappeared.

People always talk about
Rebuilding a city
That has been struck by too many
Girls and boys who tend to be
Associated with tropical storms.
I watched as they rebuilt
From my Anna
And the storm she was.
Many people cried.
Many people ignored her leaving
And they went about their lives.
Me?
I miss the rain.
And the wind that was her.
I miss my hurricane.

But the damage she caused me
Has me bleeding out too quickly
So I might not be around
When another hurricane arises.

So tonight
I'm letting go.

The last time I got upset at a relapse,
She told me that I was going to be okay.
That the people who love me would never
Change that because I got bad again.

I want to say I'm sorry, though.
My girl asked me to stop.
I told them all of the past 9 months.
They yelled and said they would
Check my body everyday for
Any more signs of self hatred.
But I can't think straight and
It's been a week and all they've done
Is pop a pill into my mouth and
Yelled when I couldn't calm myself
Down as quickly I used to.
So maybe it'd be okay to break
If only for tonight.

I still remember her voice that night
When I could have had her at my lips
But told her no and listened to her
Utter in a broken way,
"Just one more."
I can feel that voice showing into
My everyday conversations and
I can't shake this feeling that
I'm not complete without it.

So, as a warning,
I'm breaking tonight.

I want my poetry to start
Making sense again.

Never believed.
Told to.
So did.
Sat quietly.
Spoke softly.
Came often.
Not enough.
Given water.
Given body.
Given blood.
Six girls.
Made promises.
Gone now.
Empty words.
Cold crosses.
Still showed.
Came barely.
Sat alone.
But quietly.
Spoke never.
Told to.
Yelled to.
Asked to.
Prayed to.
Beaten to.
Pleaded to.
Could not.
Never believed.

Yes, I remember that the rain did pound against our backs.
Perhaps that is what brought us together.
Those concrete stands are still there,
Waiting for us to rejoin them as we sat on a hill.
Maybe we wouldn't be hurting so bad
If those kids hadn't watched us hold hands
As they rolled down a hill like you told me
You had back in April across the field.
And maybe if that cheese hadn't gotten
So much rain in it, it wouldn't have
Tasted so horribly and I would have
Bought you a hot dog instead of our friend.
Maybe if my dad had told me no
And that my shirt showed too much cleavage,
We wouldn't have been scared of
Your dad seeing us from across a stadium.
And maybe, just maybe
We wouldn't be in this mess.

I've always liked rain
But maybe,
After tonight,
I hate it.
Blood is the
Same consistency
And it flows off
My skin in the
Same manner.
So maybe I hate
Seeing rain now
Like I've been
Instructed to
Hate seeing my
Own blood.

It
Took
Them
Nine
Days
To
Catch
Us.
We've
Had
Nine
Days
Without
Them
Involved.
Our love grew on hiding...
That scares me.

in case you are not aware,
another month has come and
soon, i guess, it will be gone
you'll be left stranded again.
i'm tempted to, just for now,
to indulge myself on you
with what i have and
i'm wondering how you
could have possibly made it
three months with no piece of me.
maybe you haven't
but i hope that everytime you
hear or see or stumble stupidly
upon the number fourteen,
you think of me.
and how we hit nine months
and i still want to be your longest
relationship when you
get back here.

It's dark in this room
I don't know what
Monsters
Hide in the corners
That my little sister
Used to be afraid of
And I don't know what
Is crawling in my closet
All I know is that
I don't care enough
Anymore

The demons in my
Head hold a darkness
Greater than the
Absence of light.

I don't have anything to hide, either.
It's just that no one
Wants to ask to see what I do
On my darkest nights
And it's not that
I'd tell you no.
It's just that you never asked
To see that side of me.
And what am I to do?
I can't just pull up my sleeve
And say "here I am"
Because I wear short sleeves
And no one tends to see.
Even the ones like you,
Who know that they are there.

I have a complex
A condition as it may
To call nothing mine
For what is mine
Tends to want to fly away.
They dream of knives
And perhaps a little blood
Beating senseless
What I call nonsense
Like no one else ever would.
I call them dreams
As simple as it may look
Because they prosecute
And search for all it seems
That I have once took
To the cages and the burrows
They whisper of home and
I hear a little shouting of lies
Falling down and down here
Once more.
Nothing is mine.
Nothing is all of yours.

It's alright if you fall in love with a girl
Who has a rather grotesque addiction.
But keep in mind that she will want it
When you ask her to give it away
And that she will,
At times,
Choose it over you.

Because it has been around longer than your suitcase
Which she expects to be moved any day now
Like all of the others who have seen
How the disease spreads over her like an ocean
But this one is blood red and there is no
Ridding her skin for there are too many stains
And not enough soap or love in the world
To clear them off of her
But she's just hoping that enough
***** and cigarettes and *** will make them fade.
She will push you away when she craves it
She will not be able to stop and you should know
It is never your fault.
She's just addicted.

Do you remember that girl you fell for in middle school?
How she smiled and laughed and kept your attention?
Do you remember how she left you?
And all you wanted was to have her back?
That is her addiction.
It is so purely sweet and blissful to her.

A warning to the one who shall fall.
It will haunt your dreams.
You'll become addicted to her like she
Is to what keeps her sane.
You will want her to stop.
You will want her to see and find something better.

You won't be the first.
She already has your suitcase packed.

There are these
Old poems
Dedicated to
This one boy
Who
For about a week
Made my heart
Stop with
Nervousness

Not the kind that
Makes you want to
Dive in head first.
No.
It was more of a
Shaking feeling
That I didn't
Understand to be love.
But I guess it was
At least back then
Before the
Silence
Followed me there too.

He had a charming way
About him
That made all
Of the girls fall in
Something like
Love.

It was nice to
Know a man like him.

I remember his eyes
When he told me
He loved me
And there was nothing
I could do to
Change that.
And his embrace.
The memory is empty
To me now.
But I know
What his arms
Felt like around me
That one time it
Felt
Right.

This one's for you Miss Gray!

My love for you is like the most Gorgeous celery,
Your face reminds me of Adorable birds,
Together, we are like Chicken and ketchup.

Oh darling Anna,
My Gorgeous celery,
My Adorable carrot,
The perfect companion to my Chicken soul.

Hearts are red,
Diamonds are blue,
I like writing,
But not as much as I love loving with you!

Oh darling Anna,
Your hands are like Undescribable papers on a winter day,
You're like the most Mine doctor to ever walk Boston.

Your Adorable face,
Your ketchup soul,
Your Undescribable hands,
Your Mine doctor being...

How could I look at another when our Gorgeous celery love is so strong?

I love you Miss Gray!

I am a paperback novel
Sometimes my cover is damaged
You can see where they have
Opened and closed me

My name is painted on the spine
Which anyone could break

Along my sides you can see
All the lines of frustration,
Laughter, joy, feeling
A reader left on the
Outside of me

You can even tell where they stopped
How far they've gone
How far they still have left to go

I am a paperback novel
Look inside to see
I've been marked,
Dog-eared, defaced
All the lines of confusion
And realization of a reader

They will dig into my words
Wondering what I am saying
But what can I really say
That will mean anything to them

I am a paperback novel
At the end of me you'll find
Praise from all the "important" people
Yet all they do is lie
They'll day that I was great
A well written piece
But I have a hard time believing
I am worth anything

On the back you'll find
A paragraph about me
Pulling you into my story
Because every reader believes
To some extent that they are me

I am a paperback novel
I have been damaged,
Beaten and torn
By everyone who has held me

I am a paperback novel
Come and open me up
Or so long readers hurt me
Criticized and beat me
I've finally had enough
So show me how you'd treat me
Unlike all the others
This is my one last straw
Before I get a hard cover
Because you will never see
How difficult it is to be me

A paperback novel.

I seem
To have forgotten
why
That girl is
Struggling to
Get away from
Her own body
Of a
Cigarette.
It seems thin
Enough to me

I look at your pictures
And it's all dream like

Your kisses
Your skin
And smiles

They're dreams


I never want to wake up
When I allow myself to remember.

I want destruction
Everyone tells me that poetry is a form of such
But my therapist tells me it's great for my health
I don't want healthy.
I want bony ankles and legs and
A concave stomach
Filled with pills
That is also covered in my own form
Of detriment.
I want ****** and death that is also beautiful.
So maybe I do want poetry.
But I want it written in my eyes
So everyone can see what happens
Inside of my head.

My hair my hair
Oh my pretty pretty hair
Once so shiny and fair
Simply beautiful
As I was a girl
Stuck in a world
That seemed a little too big
For my hair my hair
And the pretty pretty locks
And the pretty pretty box
They stuck me in
When my hair oh my hair
I cut it off
And lost just a little too much
For everyone else's luck
Because she cried over
My hair oh my hair
And its pretty pretty locks
But forgive me if I ask
Did she cry when they
Set me in the
Pretty pretty box
In my pretty pretty dress
With my pretty pretty cuts
And my pretty pretty scissors
That I used to cut off
My pretty pretty hair
When the world became too much?

"You... Have no idea what to do right now."

"I don't want you to do anything because you feel like you have to for me."

"I love you."

"I hate pickles. And olives. So we are going with the pickle theory instead."

"This is just a road block. A delay in success."

"During connections the other day when you caught me looking at you, I was actually staring."

*that look she gets when I do something wrong, or right, or ****, or she just doesn't know exactly what she wants to say because I do something to her that even I don't understand

"I had figured out that my eyes were broken long before that. But that day I started to worry that the people in charge couldn't see either."

I miss the type of poetry that
Stirred fire and beget rage upon me
And those who happened to stumble
Upon the things I've carelessly
Strolled into when the weather got cold.
Cigarettes who once kept me warm
Now hold stones at my grave
And oh they laugh for it is not me they
Seek and I envy
The next patron over.
That is the type of words I miss.
I'm sick of that little girl
Sneeking her way into my soul
Even when it's bright outside
And I'm hidden in my own sort of
Shadows.
I yearn for her to disappear among
The midnight movie goers and
****** who just need a little extra cash.
If it weren't for the ***** I'd oblige.
Alas. She once spoke of me in tongues
Known only to me. I think.
Pathological lies dont, never have, done well during
December parade marches and streets.
But that was just me.
I miss poetry that doesn't make sense.
I miss it and yearn to retrieve it.
But she has my head thinking
In block formations.
I have to get out of this town.

Reasons I'm giving myself to hate you:
You came here.
You let us let you near us.
You got attached to destruction
(Let's admit that's what I am)
And we got attached to something
We knew we couldn't keep around.
I hate you because I'm left in the ashes
Of the mess we made
By fighting fire with fire.
And I'm not stable enough
To keep my friends from dying
Like I used to try to be.
So what am I supposed to do when
I can barely keep my own heart steady
Much less hers. And his. And theirs.
With you, I was finally on common
Ground with someone.
Now I'm left being the strong one
When everyone forgets that
I was the one you kissed
And touched and loved
In a way other than sisterhood.
But no.
I'm not allowed to feel it.
Everyone else needs me to bandage
The wounds your leaving left on them.
I guess two weeks was enough
Time to get over you, in theory.
I'm finished crying over you
At least over this.
Because I'm too strong.
But my friends seem to forget
That I no longer have an outlet

And I'm bound to snap one day.

I'm not wanting
Inhibitions
Or conditions
That make me hang
By a thread
I can't handle
All the scandal
Propaganda
That injects me
With such dread
I'm not ready
For addiction
Or convention
That makes me feel
Like I'm dead
I may be lost
But it's my choice
And if I'm tossed
Or lose my voice
I'll just remember
What I have said

cm

You've got this way of moving
That always made me believe that you
Wanted me to learn how to dance
Because that was what was to be done.
Little girls were to take ballet
And not kiss other girls behind closed doors.
That's what you always taught me.
But, no, you never said those words.
All you said was a child's version of
"Yes, ma'am" and "No, sir."
But actions speak louder than...
...Wait for it...
Words.
At least that is what my band director taught me.
You always wanted a band kid,
Right, Mommy?

You played nice.
You showed up to my performances
You cried when I played the right notes
And I found my spot on stage
You were all you were supposed to be
Right, Mommy?

I've always had this feeling
That it was all an act
That you showed up for the cameras
And for the other parents
That's why you came to church
All those years when I was younger
Right, Mommy?

I started to doubt you when
I had to sit in the third pew by myself
After he left us again
But you were always sick
That's what you always told me
The old women who sit behind me
Don't believe that anymore
I'm too old for that now
I've lost their pity but maybe they gave it
To the little girl who...
Oh wait, no other kid sits alone
At the front of a Lutheran church.
It's always been just me.
But you were sick all the time; tired
Right, Mommy?

And you brought all of those men
Into our house
And told me not to bolt the door
When the last one left
But I was tired of being belittled
And beaten because you couldn't
STAND to be alone for a year
But I guess I'll get married four times
Like you did because you are
An excellent roll model
Right, Mommy?

I can't remember being little, Mommy.
Did you let him hurt me?
Or them
What are the chances that you were too busy
Crying your eyes out for an act
And they hurt me?
Slim to none I'm sure,
Right, Mommy?

You've always been a good actress
Maybe that's where I get it from
But you have become so good
That even you don't notice how fake
Your words have become
Especially when it comes to me and who I love
I don't know what to believe anymore
So maybe I'll just start up an act
Like my mommy did.
That seems to be the way things should be
At least that's what I've gathered
From sixteen years with you.

smile
This is better.

Right, Mommy?

Before you ask










no.

It's become
Routine
To walk alone
Down the freshman
Hallway on b-days
And to have
An empty seat
Where you should
Be during band.
I wonder if she
Makes note
Of your empty
Seat in her class.
I know your
Friends are still
Angry,
But they don't
Show it to me
As much anymore.
I'm still the one
They blame.
It's become
Routine
To wake up
Every morning
And swing the
Pendant of my
Necklace around
To the front and
To pull the chain
Until it is in
Its place.
Because we are
Playing this
Out right for once
And I can't help
But be sad
At the idea
That when I fix
This chain
You stop thinking
Of me.

I kept screaming
And I couldn't stop.
Something is wrong with me.
I burnt my hand
And screamed at the top of my lungs.
I took four breaths
And just kept screaming.
I haven't felt release
Like that in my lifetime.
And I recall
Trying to choke it back.
I tried to stop screaming.
And when the screaming stopped.
And the sobbing began.
All I could say was
I'm sorry.

Something is wrong with me.
I'm demented.

I've never been one to turn a serious card over, especially only after barely a month.

Much less after four days.

She didn't stop
Because I was self
Destructive.
She didn't stop
Because her hands
Had touched the
Core of my demented
Existence.
She didn't stop
Because I took a
Sharp inhale of a
Breath at the
Feeling.
She stopped because...

Maybe she should
Have unzipped my jeans
And pulled them off.
Maybe she should have
Walked me over to
A closed door and
Pushed me against a wall
Until my knees buckled
And we sank to the ground.
Maybe she should have
Slipped off my shirt
And felt me up.
Maybe I should have
Let her demons get
Farther than she wanted
Them to.

Maybe she would still
Be mine if my stomach
Hadn't had blades on it
Too many ******* times.
Maybe she would still
Hold me if I hadn't stopped
When she did.

Maybe she'd still want
Me like that if...

No...

It would still be
The same.

You're always caught on the wrong end of silence
Disposable
Isn't that the word you used
To describe yourself to her?
But you know you are not trash
Just a piece of hell wrapped into a skin bag
Who always ends up on the wrong end of silence
Part of me, a big part of me,
Is waiting for you to realize that love is useless
When compared to the silence that drowns you
Look around.
Two years of silence from that boy.
Two years.
An abundance of silence
Because
"I had hoped you would have handled this yourself by now."
Until it became convenient for her to tell
And open her mute mouth.
And silence because
What you do is just
Too horrible to speak about
So you, they, shut it away
And look at you now.
Can you even breath under that water?
But people say sound moves slower
Under strong currents and especially in the
Blood like density of this water
Can't you see that no one is coming?
That you are drowning?
No words are coming out towards you.
She's gone.
The silence is real and you
Won't wake up from the dream
Two years later and forgive him.
Won't have to hear her tell someone and
Get what you do on record.
Won't have to listen to a woman
Tell you things you already know.

Anna is gone.
And all you have left is this silence.

People keep asking me
Jessica, why did you cut your hair?
My immidiate response is
I just needed a change and 11 inches
Seemed like a wise one to go about.
Some look at me sideways
Others accept it and move on
A few whisper about my ****** orientation
Behind my back even when I know
That they are right.
Their whispers do not matter
And they never will to me.
But I just keep lying.

I cut my hair because I am sad.
Those 11 inches were lost because
I couldn't let myself lose my life.
It is so short because she has never
Seen it brown or short and I need
To pretend I never knew her.
That is how I'm dealing with her
Not being around anymore.
I cut my hair because I kept feeling
Her hands in it from that Monday.
I cut my hair because I can't let people
Call me Jess when she isn't around.
I cut my hair so not one would recognize me.
So she won't recognize me next time.
And she will make the decision
To leave me when she finds what
Happened when I cut my hair
To get rid of her fingers
Only to replace them with foreign limbs.
I cut my hair for a change, yes.
But that change did not come.
Not the one I was looking for.

My hair is short because I am sad.
And I still can't bear to lose my life.
But I need another impulse
To keep my heart beating at a normal pace.
Too slow if I'm sad.
Too fast if I'm panicked.
Short hair was my middle ground.
My plan didn't work.

Silky white and unstained
Patches of life and death
Quilted together to create
What you hide under
In fear and hatred and love
The fabric you've torn
In anger and lust and shame
All the same it is stitched
To pieces and broken
To a whole while you
Continuously struggle
With who you have become

Your nails claw and curl
Around its base and you
Crinkle it down until it
Resembles your thoughts
And you crush it down
Like everyone does to
The hearts of innocent
Girls and boys just like you

Silky red and purely stained
Patches of life and death
Etched together to ******
What you hid under
In fear and hatred and love
The fabric they tore
In anger and lust and shame
All the same it is weaved
To pieces and broken
To a whole while they
Continuously struggle
With what you have done to yourself.

Can we just sleep together?
I don't mean sexually.
I mean can I lay next to you
And feel you next to me
While we talk until one
Of us cannot keep our eyes open
And we fall asleep to
The sound of one another
Breatgung?
Can we just sleep together?
It doesn't have to be ******.
I mean, it doesn't have to be ******.
I just want to close my eyes
At night knowing I will
Wake up next to you.
I haven't slept well in months
And, if you, or my heart, would
Have let me,
I would have slept on your
Bed instead of kissing you
On it.
There is a certain amount
Of rest that I get with you
That I can't find in my own sheets.
I'm just begging for
A little bit of sleep
Just as long as you sleep with me.

Who is to say that music doesn't have power
Because I just went through
Every.
Single.
Song.
On this list and I'm somewhere between
Happy,
Confused,
Concerned,
And
Triggered.

Let me just say
That sometimes
The words I
Have to say
Are best put
In the words
That other people
Have written
As songs.
And I am
Not ashamed
To say that
I could not
Word my thoughts
Any better.

"You've got a tendency in taking all your clothes off."
"I believe in a thing called love."
"I wish my heart was always on her mind, cause she's on mine like all day all the time."
"I do not love you for the way you dress, but you do look so lovely tonight."
"I don't wanna be in love I don't wanna be in love."
"Sitting here alone, I can't help but to think, looking back on the people we used to be, why does being so free mean so far away from me?"
"I can hear them playing, I can hear the ringing of a beat up old guitar, oh ohhh, I can hear them singing, 'keep on dreaming even if it breaks your heart.'"
"Crazy girl, don't you know that I love you. And I wouldn't dream of going no where."
"I can stand here strong, cold as stone, seems so wrong, I can't explain it. Maybe it's just I've cried so much, I'm tired and I'm numb, baby I hate it."
"Hey, you're a crazy *****, but you **** so good I'm on top of it."
"Gave you a minute, when you needed an hour"
"The whole **** world is just as obsessed with who's the best dressed and who's having ***."

Maybe I should move on with my life.
I just spent 2 and a half hours
With people who I truly do love.
And I really did feel at home.
I only feel that way with certain people.
And the people I tend to surround
Myself with do not seem to
Bring that feeling of belonging to me.
So maybe this is a good thing.
No, I know it is.
It is a wonderful thing.
Instead of dwelling on the hate
And the pain and the past
I can focus on these people
That make me feel like I belong
In a way that is not just listening
To everyone else's problems.
And I think it's time
That everyone I've been taking care of,
Learn how to fend for themselves.

I'm alright with stepping stones
Water is my second best friend
Next to match boxes and lighters.
The moss that grows is deathly
Afraid of my feet
I make it a habit to giggle
When they run from my soles
So they know I'm coming
When and if I reach the riverbank,
A boy in my left hand and
Pens tucked behind my ears,
Paper and ink running through
My veins.
The fish will hear my foot steps
A mile out for their lack of sound
Clay crowds in on itself as I
Approach again
The water, always flowing
Stops mid-current for fear
I will find my pale blue eyes
Similar to its outer layer.
Some best friend.
But I'll return with a boy
In my left hand, pens falling
From my hair and no paper or
Ink in my idiotic blood
Ridden veins.
I'll come back to the
Fleeing fish,
Crowding clay,
Wary water,
And those ******
Stepping stones.
I've run all out of
Match boxes and lighters.