Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
La Jongleuse Jul 2013
I dreamt it was one o’clock,
and  that you loved me.
I dreamt there were people
in empty streets, then sheets,
tasting one another as if
the twirling world
had come to a halt.
La Jongleuse Mar 2013
There has always been twisted little

Things we never spoke of

Until I uttered the words…

“They’re beautiful, why hide away?”


& when we lost our senses,

We articulated the abstract,

& for the hours that followed,

I was caught up in the rapture

Of subliminal hope &

You stood by my side


When the time came to part,

I saw the tiny fragments

Give way to our largest mistakes,

& we were lost in loneliness again,

We pretended not to search, there,

Blinded by the pride we boxed,


& I knew, all too well,

That we let our heads erase,

The path that made our way,

But still I can see a little,

Sparkle of the refuge light,

Tracing our entrapment,


& I look forward to chasing

It, with or without you…

Just know that, I would

Rather have you here
La Jongleuse Mar 2013
in the right corner of your room,
the white paint is peeling away,
to pick at it & watch the entire
thing collapse upon you.

much like the empty things i feel:
nothing but chipping little flakes;
fragile little waste that might
decorate the floor of your room,

naked walls enclose this empty space,
but confused excited atoms dance about ,
screaming at each other in a tongue
that I’ve never known nor care to.

cotton sheets, a sweet odor of skin,
***, oranges & things i can’t get across
cause the line is blocked, overloaded.
i want to; bring down the roof upon us

scratch, pick away, take parts from
the whole thing until it gives way
& submits to the overbearing weight
of unseen structural weaknesses

before being buried alive in this mess,
i’ll evacuate & leave behind this expanse
i’ve been squatting in since i first laid
my eyes upon your deceivingly lazy face.  

(i’m not in the business of maintenance)
La Jongleuse Nov 2013
I grew up,
upside down in a place
where numbers
reigned supreme.

Who are you?
I grabbled for words
and they responded
quantify little girl

Well okay : 16, 27 inches,
a 95 percent,
45 miles per hour,
in the 5 signs of a zip code

I never felt as if my sequence
meant anything really,
what about volume?
Measure up or move on they insisted

As the people paced
back & forth, palms open,
putting their digits on display,
I counted the number of empty faces.

Their pockets are blooming green,
Their houses, the envy of the Jones,
& yet they hide 10 something-odd pills
in the back of a medicine cabinet to hypnotize

Now, they don’t yet know there is no
divine ratio for satisfaction
and the number that matters most
is the one they’ll put on your grave
La Jongleuse Mar 2013
she, without teeth, only little remainders,

hard up against the Jacuzzi outside,

took what she wanted & danced before them all

before, she -mostly being repressed,

contained, if you will.

the memories, pure trash, summers’ parties

with the most beautiful carelessness,

submerged herself in a divine liquor,

a charming firefly floats about the room

spitting venom if you will.

that boy, the nameless older one,

of little importance, only a spongy vessel

to which she could transfer her overgrowth

under effects, she set herself free,

a glorious arson if you will

in the morning, amongst the laughter

& living a sobriety all too familiar,

she wondered who saw her core,

& if they wanted to see more?

curious, if you will
La Jongleuse Apr 2013
call him a southern charmer
or call him a handsome *******

I don’t care what he goes by
I don’t want his supposedly perfect body
haunting your own.

All that choking distance,
now his indifference
steals the greenery
that grows alongside
the trellis of your skinny ribs

all that putrid poison
i’d  honestly
enjoy (much too much)
ripping out his tongue
& feeding it to the crows

at least they would feel full

version française

*Qu’il se prénomme charmeur sudiste
ou qu’on le nomme bourreau des coeurs

le fantôme de son corps
Ne te fera pas passer
le Styx

Toute cette distance, etouffante
Et maintenant, l’indiférence
ont parasité la vigne-vierge
qui poussait, bruissante,
sur le trellis de tes frèles côtes

Tant de poison putride…
Je jouis déjà (puissament, bruyamment)
des lambeaux déchiquetés de sa langue,
en pâture, pour le plaisir des corbeaux.
Aux moins eux n’auraient plus faim.
french, français, gothic,
La Jongleuse Feb 2014
(you tell me that happiness exists
and I beg you to allow me
a few moments, to dissolve
those smiles plastered on that
family portrait you hang so proudly)

Exhibit A:
a medecine cabinet full of pills,
and a woman whose throat is a bit too loose,
whose head is a bit too woozy,
from trying to erase those 10 odd years,
when her uncle knew the insides,
her legs better than he knew his wife’s,

Have you seen
the man who prays too hard,
for redemption at some backwoods’ altar,
begging God and all those who witness
for forgiveness of sins he has yet to commit ?
He has forgotten how to sleep,
pacing and chasing far too many a dream over a hill.

Find next,
in a girl whose body feels like space,
forever bending over her knees,
to pull that monumental trigger
lying at the back of her empty throat.
that boom-boom, flash of violent thrashing
and a quiet flushing of the toilet
She never could quite remove what felt so heavy

Turn your eyes up the stairs,
to a nervous women who runs
a scalding bath, hoping that
maybe if her skins burns hot enough,
then she’ll be washed of all that
hellish responsiblity, submerging
the animal circus in her that’ll
paint her tombstone peasant anti-ghost

allow me a moment to clarify:
not all that lies at the surface
speaks to the distance
a soul can travel through time,
allow me a moment to make
an exhibition of struggle
and remind you that
nothing is ever quite what it seems
La Jongleuse Jul 2013
she spoke softly,
in a low growling whisper,
dripping with the twang
of a proper young lady,

her hands folded,
neatly in her lap,
clutching one another
with a white-knuckle grip...

She held her head heavily,
like that of a neglected orchid,
as she said, rather composedly,
"I'll hear nothing of that"
La Jongleuse Apr 2013
so shriveled, small at times,
yet large on the by & by,
a shiny laquer of a shell,
the center hollow
expands & invades neighboring

begin to
swallow people,
time & money in
ever increasingly big gulps
consumption without taste

never feeling quite full,
never feeling totally satisified
the boundaries expand
& the entrapment ever present
begins to instill itself inside
my mind & my being

the ever mutable sponge,
ideas & sentiments only
ever ephemeral
nothing remains,
nothing lasts forever
i have no memories

turn up the volume,
only to render myself deaf,
crave that intense color
when the world plays out
forever in black & white
is gray is the goal?

feel dead during the day
& molt every evening
the night & its shade
keep the beasts at bay
there is no color,
there is only an Itch
that I can’t seem to scratch

but i have no hands
& my body is not my own
La Jongleuse Nov 2013
You keep your feelings
locked away in closets
on the 2nd floor of
the house you were raised in.

You hang your anger
on brass doorknobs,
tossed on display

It’s been a decade since
a pair of lips graced your own
and now, you never feel
quite at ease.

The candles in your bones
are flickering.
Soon the windows on your face
will melt.

But you must see that these days
as there is dust collecting on the mirror
and all your razors have grown dull
You keep sweeping in circles

I asked you to love yourself
while waiting for the arrival
of those guests for whom
you left open the front door

But then again, you’ve haven’t
yet invited anyone in
and certainly, as you remind me,
nobody will ever come knocking

So who will be there to make you feel at home?
La Jongleuse Mar 2013
words spill out of your mouth
like bouquets of the most
wild flowers…

& yet you stand before me
with your hands stretched
reaching out…

you want me to be delighted
by this gift of  earthly

no, for flowers & anything
else you could find the
words for…

will one day perish
will one day wilt away
in quiet way…


despite, it all.
La Jongleuse Mar 2013
i eat
& dinner

& so,
every day
i purge
my belly

my knuckles

my teeth

my throat

my heart
in my chest

all i want
is to

all i want
is to

i am not

i am not

i am only
La Jongleuse Jul 2013
******* has no calories

yet it keeps you from dreams

& sometimes i feel that i may never fall asleep

& other times, I feel that I may never awake
La Jongleuse Mar 2013
& then we are cleansed of all.

there remains no sticky mess

of interwined reasonings,

tracing the sense of everything

we feel for once & conclude

this is the best way, to see

where were we headed before?

it had no truthful meaning.

what we pushed & tugged at,

for what vanity to claim purpose,

the understanding was opaque

at best, clarity poorly skewed

where would I turn to face

myself? flourscent knowledge

makes it much too sore

for my perceptive orbs.

who taxes & pays theirself?

coming full circle too little,

too often, to seek & find

the deepest of wells leaking

would you say the key                            

has amorphous qualities?

but usually illuminations where

the warmth is underlined.

& then all we are is cleansed,

existence becomes slick,

frictions ceases to irriate,

tracing the sense of everything
La Jongleuse Jul 2013
On a Sunday afternoon, in the city,
I sat on your porch watching,
a panicked papillon dance about
(that means butterfly in French, boo)

You were running back & forth
Smiling, slamming doors & saying
it’s hot, but I sweat through
& I said, good ‘cause I like *****

So you ride your bike & keep a garden
but you don’t put your money in the bank
& I think that’s quite foolish
what about inflation my dear?

so you love cheese but you don’t drink milk
& you won’t ever fall in love
because you reckon you’d get too fed-up
with their complexities & mazes

well me neither I said, but
you stole those words from my mouth
& I have a hard time believing you
when “baby" seems to be your favorite word

You’re always saying the things I expect
& it’s what I’ve always wanted to hear
yet the simplicity is suffocating
& I’m somehow just as easy as you

& last night, when we were lying
in your room, on a bare mattress
Under the heat, I wondered if the words
pathetic,easy & empty circled your mind too

I wondered if you wondered why
we were already using terms of endearment,
why they came without effort or care, or
why we laugh & lock eyes in a week’s time

And you said you never sang aloud,
but in a moment I heard your voice tracing lyrics
& I said that’s really quite sad
& you said it’s only emotions; count yourself among the few

What an honor, what a privilege

I thought maybe we’re both lying to ourselves
& maybe you feel kinda lonely too
only because I’ve said the same before

You said I noticed that you
don’t listen to me when I speak

but then again you’re always telling stories
and I am but a woman & you are but a man

I thought I’d want to touch your feet
You reached out to hold my hand
But there’ll be distance to maintain &
I know better than to get any closer

We split asleep, turning our backs
towards mirroring walls, space enough
I dreamt I lost a lung & when I awoke
we were tangled up like ivy on ruins

This paradox ****** my mind
& I’ve been silent ever since I left you,
standing on the sidewalk
with cold coffee in your hands

*When do you leave, again?
Soon, soon enough.
Good, good, get excited.
The city is melting but I’ll see you soon
La Jongleuse Mar 2013
you remain at all times,
in my mind, not so much
a whisper  but more of
a dull scream that i cannot
stiffle, even after years of
relentless practice

at times, in the night,
i awake frightened,
sweating, my mind
bloated with the fear
that maybe you ****** up

my eyes sore from
raining in my sleep

i reach out to touch
anything that might
assure me that it was
only a nightmare
& that you have
not just yet embarked
on yet
suicide mission

before, these dreams
were my  reality &
you never seemed to
be able to keep the
two apart for very

the sleep,
the bills,
the ***,
the drugs,
the drink,
the endless charade
of doctors, bottles,
& new clothing

i watched in awe,
petrified by terror

despite the promises,
despite the progress,
you are forever hell bent
on sinking & leaving
no captives alive

you remain in my mind
at all times, breeding
anxiety, like spores
spreading their cancer

they are going to
eat you alive &
you let them
how can i carry that in me too?

i fear, maybe
you have contaminated
me as well :
to have absorbed you,
repulses me & i'm forever
purging these feelings
******* full circle

my anger, my void, my mind
bloated with memories of your
half-shell & filmsy pharmaceutical courage
you were eventually swallowing
everything you could devour

your consumption : horrifying

at least, before you
pretended to be full
dollar, appointment =
attention, satisification
if only temporary

now, your eyes lie flat,
you have become absolutely
nothing & it's the something
that rots my joy & agitates the
the demons you've passed on

i ran away but you are never far,
the telephone brings your
contagion, manifest in words
i hear it in your voice
i cringe at the dial tone,
i tremble when you pick up
what bad news now?

at 15, she said she hoped
you would just die, i never
had the courage to agree:
preferring the slow boil;
the one that encourages
the fungal growth of your
disease. it takes root

you put me at dis-ease woman

die or don't.
antidote or arsenic?
La Jongleuse Nov 2013
These days, there’s a whole lot more than
a telephone wire separating us.
Blame yourself, you were beautiful.
I cannot handle such intensity in
small doses, like hard shots in tiny glasses.

That sort of proof just finds
me spilling my insides on the floor
of some rich fool’s apartment
in the lonely 7th district.

He came on too strong
I said ok, but no
Call me a cab
I’m no longer sad and he won’t make me happy.
So I’m leaving if it’s only his hands that are open.

I feel as if I left my old mind
backstage in the concert
of a spring that tried too hard
to be a winter.  

I didn’t say goodbye,
it just left.
& I don’t miss it,
that season where I played the pilot fish.

The endless rain and grey skies
kept us all trapped in boxes,
well above & well beneath
the sidewalks that almost
seemed to cry.
I drank my weight in liquid
to keep it from spilling out of my eyes.

From a bird’s eye,
I suppose the streets bled together
like last night’s make-up does
on a Puritanical ******’s face
when she swallows horror and shame
at 8 am, riding the train home.
Her throat burns and the line
just keeps on buzzing.

You can’t play with fire and not get burnt.
I thought myself the Phoenix,
but I was blind.
What you ingest, you expulse.
Indeed, in the end, it was me who retched all the ashes

I once said I was melancholic
and knew black was the best color
because I thought it held depth.
But there weren’t ever any holes, just shadows
dancing to a dreary song that
I never really even wanted to sing.
I let it sing me, nonetheless.

So life goes on.
I crawl forth.
You fold and move on.
The past falls asleep inside of our skulls.
I still see a thousand faces when I dream,
but now that’s enough for me.
La Jongleuse Mar 2013
when the battered angel

falls from a chemical paradise,

he lands at the foot of my bed

& *takes off his wings
La Jongleuse Aug 2013
Oh this felt-lined heart,
with all that cotton bloom filling
maybe I’ve grown some soft once again

In time, the mossy dank dark
shrunk as if the sun exploded
& chased down its rentless rays

Think of the hands of the clock
Thinking of his hands
& all that empty tenderness

The thing about exploding
is that no one puts you back together
& ragdoll courage will be all you’ve got
La Jongleuse May 2013
Don’t open your mouth to utter
“you’re growing further away”
Don’t remind me
that the Atlantic stretched 4 miles last night,
or that Louisiana is sinking at a rapid pace

I do not care
I can only think of myself

I can see that the sun doesn’t shine at home like it does here,
How come your skin doesn’t seem as thick as mine does now?

I’m sorry but
the only thing that calls my name at night is the smell,
of that sticky sweet heavy dew that clings to the morning,
on the nights I drove when I shouldn’t have
on those nights when I learnt what regret tasted like

I want to replace that thirst
Scratch that, I don’t want to be thirsty any more

Last night, I woke up to snakes in my bed
(there were never any snakes on that island)
but at 6 am they were plenty around me
& I slithered as well.

That child was a phantom, dead
& you’ll have to pay for this
one day or another
(all that white death spilling out of its tiny mouth)
I felt, not sad, only neglected

Alas, I’ll never be the Queen of Nihilism
& I’ll probably never cross the Mississippi
but last December, I dipped my foot in her current

the water was filthy,
factories polluted the sky

but I’m trying & still I’ll try

& I am not sorry
La Jongleuse May 2014
Open your brain my love,
have just one more to sip,
I like how you close your
eyes & tremble those lips

She murmured: mind yourself,
what matters always rots,
what they insist I need
can never hit the spot

Leaning against cold stone,
and licking backs of glass,
I’m hungry for love as
she splinters my fleshy mass

These things that they’re selling,
on big billboards, in glances,
only ever half as full,
as these drunken romances
La Jongleuse Mar 2013
just wait until the black night falls,
your sticky blood held in veins,
thins out into an alcoholic vapeur,
& your body starts burning to touch

screaming out the name of the ones
who’ll return your frenzied call,
just as soon as bodies bloat the street
like bruises on peachy virigin flesh

the feverish buzz infects your gut,
from torrid twilight until doeish dawn,
stupid, angry, hungry, *****, high,
the monstrous id claims your reigns

the cable connection,
the electric persuasion
the hellish hunger
& ****** stimulation

you’ll hop the wall, ride the wave,
& dance with Death, song for song
sell the Devil your youth for a taste
of ambrosia: someting better than life
La Jongleuse Mar 2013
i do not need a savior
nor do you

there is no sacrifice to make
there is no glory to aspire to

& there is nothing admirable
about the way Jesus died

the fool never needed to
play the martyr

his death: insignificant,
the consolation: void

there is no Sin
no price to pay
La Jongleuse Feb 2014
the rhythm
and teeth
I thought,
it pacifies,
so quickly.

see now
how tightly,
our arms
have been
tied behind
our backs
(and it was
us who
the cord)

and yet,
i flail my tongue
hoping to
trap a square
that could
all that
sad acid
rotting in
your gut

of the brain
and even
less of
the heart

but I feel
to reach out
La Jongleuse May 2013
something ever tender,
lies in your open palm,
& all that is only delicate
hums a distant love psalm,

i had hoped you would
have eyes that smile
& skin that gives back
(only just once in a while)

& what joy, they do !
So I exhale in quiet laughter
& understand what Spring is
in this lovely rapture
La Jongleuse May 2013
When night fell, I slept
& dreamt of spring,
flowers; daisies blooming
left & right … but
the colours were askew
& so I asked the moon
to trade places
with the sun.
& she obliged.

But still, in that new light
I felt guilty.
All those red petals
no longer belong to me.
A passerby came along
& I panicked
trying to find a name
for what was clearly a rose.
(there were thorns after all)

I remained speechless,
dug up the flowerbed,
& burnt the remains.
I was only trying to
keep up with appearances.
Those colours
have no place
growing here.

In the field of my mind,
posies of wild-flowers
mostly delicious little daisies,
sometimes those shameful red roses,
I wish the latter would just wilt.
La Jongleuse Feb 2014
We just swallow & stitch on
flimsy pharmaceutical feathers,
with gobs of spit and wax.

We circle the sun
hoping this simulacrum,
weighs more than a hedon

We practice ephemeral mechanics,
only with bridges on the river Styx,
then wonder why winter never seems to end.
La Jongleuse Mar 2013
In the morning, your hands always shake as you take the spoon to stir your instant coffee. You look down at the sink and I can see that you’re somewhere far away from me in this room.  It’s funny how close of an eye you keep on the clock, as if you’re waiting for a certain hour that’ll be the savior of you. That hour never strikes and you are always turning your watch incessantly.

In bed, when you roll over and face the wall, my own stomach fills up with a sort of self-disgust so repulsive that I’m really not sure how I managed to swallow it in the first place. You keep your distance and I’m forever trying to bridge the gap. I’ll never get there; I’ll never get to you because my glory is wasted on you.  And I only ever feel like a fool for contenting myself to feast on disappointment every time I see you.  

But I come back because I’ve got my issues too.  All the others, I can’t even give the time of day because I learned as a child, that love is conditional and that when it disappears, it always comes back stronger no matter how ephemeral. I’ve been addicted to these sparks my entire life.

Sure, I could say that there is something between us but your love (or whatever the hell it is that you’re feeling), dies the second your feet hit the floorboards at the foot of your bed.  You feed me scraps and I’m always starving for more.  

            You check the clock once again and then you look me in the eyes and tell me that it’s time to go. I gather my things, kiss you on the mouth and step out in to the world, carrying you and your disease in my rib cage like a contagious cancer.
short story, prose,
La Jongleuse Jul 2013
the hands of the clock
raced forward so quickly
& I, well
I only wanted them to stop.
To give your hands
the leisure of a slow expedition
(from the crown of my head
to the chasm)
I would have swallowed a rain cloud
Believe me, I would (have)
*et il y aurait toujours eu de la place pour toi *

Alas, in my time,
my mind, grew thorns
& when I found no way
to do away with doors,
I fixated upon those silver paths
to your hips
(which hung around like carcasses in a wallflowers’ Sahara)
I found a note out of tune,
and paint crumbling from the ceiling.

*puisque tu n’as jamais fermé la porte,
je me suis jetée par la fenêtre!
La Jongleuse Jul 2013
I ran away with my resentment
Hypocrisy bred under my skin
infecting my chest cavity
& weighing it down.

I suppose I smoke now
to try & aerate my ribcage.
I'm sorry that I took off
that day in February & never returned.
(even you didn't deserve that)

Somewhere between life & death,
Somewhere between hate & love,
Lie my thoughts
I see that vast abyss in your eyes.

I cannot swallow emptiness
& no longer will choke on your cancer
I'm sorry that I no longer look at you
& that I no longer reply.

I am only trying to cut the cord
lest it tightens & suffocates me
when the tension mounts
God forbid, if I were alreay kneeling.
(I think I would surely collapse)

See now, (or maybe you don't)
all this scar tissue from former battles ?
I have now abandoned the combat
& wait patiently for your last breath.
(a war of resistance not offence)

Do not despise me for giving up,
It was your example I followed
& I saw, even Christ, perished
for the sins of others
(I want to be alive)
La Jongleuse Apr 2013
As days roll forward,
you start to disappear, fade
or maybe, it’s just that
I’m only forgetting…

the occasional ***** brings you back,
but I cannot remember clearly,
time settles as a fog does on the sea,
you were an ocean & now, I don’t swim

do you still rush through winter streets
your thin arms bare, insisting
your fragile masculinity,
like it was a badge you’d won?

are you still always hungry?
do your ribs jut out, &
could I still count them one by one?
or now, does someone else do the counting?

did you learn how to put her first?
like you tried with me so long before?
does she wake up to your tongue
& your boyish body like I once did?

do you still hate what you see
when you glance in the mirror?
are you still so **** arrogant?
Have you swallowed your pride yet?

can you remember any of it?
I’m starting to lose it all
My life is expanding &
you are growing smaller

When I left, I didn’t want
to lose the good but then,
everything dies in abandon
doesn’t it, after all?
La Jongleuse Nov 2013
I chose, well before the poison set in.
No, not this time. Shut that door.
In the darkness, I chewed my thoughts,
Palpable question, **** those old ideas.
They burnt out fast but I did much quicker.

Told myself to take warmth
beneath some other shelter,
because I ached down to the bone.
Yet I was too busy stifling the moan
Radiating from my gut.
Swallow, stare, shall I part my hair?

Fiddling with my fingers-
a child’s pantomime
At least I dare to speak
but I’m no longer at home
and not a soul
my language.

I bent my head on the ride back.
Dragging my neck, crooked in delusional defeat,
my glances traced trash the metro floor
afraid the people were staring daggers at the surface.
Indeed, somewhere a light bulb did burst
but I was already making my way up the stairs
so the shards were at a distance
I escaped unscathed

I chose well, before the poison set in,
No not this time, I shut that door
In the darkness, I slept alone
Pas de question, **** that history
I give heed to dosing & remain alight
La Jongleuse Mar 2013
father ****** your sister,
as it goes, as it always goes
and mom is out running errands,
spending that hard earned dollar
on white bread & fruit juice
that’ll just go bad in the cupboard

yellow tv static fills the room
& you’ve always hated those
glasses of milk, half-empty
lying about the house
like they were occupying
a foreign country at war

jack is in the shower,
touching himself, crying
‘cause no one ever holds him
or told him it was okay to do that
this **** will stick with him
for decades, at the least

tuesday night, mid-summer
your best friend is on line,
******* about that new pair
of jeans, the ones that ripped
right open, just yesterday
when she tripped & fell

the neighbor is whining to his mistress
something about his lonely wife
meanwhile she’s somewhere else,
cashing his checks,going to
buy herself something pretty
just to make herself feel right

*& you, glued to the couch
watching the wall, praying
for telekinesis, hoping that
if you stare long enough,
it might give way & let
you out of this box
La Jongleuse Jan 2014
I thought you a foreign king
as your body spoke
some awfully powerful
dead language

Now, you are far, far away
like the ocean
to be conquered
in a landlocked town

To be fair,
I once built a boat,
but desire no more,
to go out to sea.

They told me
to trust time,
so I courted the clock
waiting for the hour

what has been
between you & me,
was just incidental, ephemeral

From bruises to burgundy,
Amongst the letters and the lies,
I feel you shrink
How did I ever afford you so much space?
La Jongleuse Jan 2014
I sat beneath you,
when your colors were fading,
in the dusty autumn
of thoughts and songs
you burried in the sand.

Furry, amber tracks of absent vines,
outlining the spine I had only dreamt of
Cowardice and missing chlorophyl,
I hoped to dizzy myself,
chasing the rings of your voice

I friviouslessly kissed the wrinkles
that gathered around your eyes
like ridges do that of a tree's bark.
I caught falling leaves
and told myself the spring
would soon return
whilst you rotted from the inside-out.
La Jongleuse Feb 2014
your disorder and depression aren’t ****,
and I do not admire the way your nails
have disappeared, nor the way your
hand pratically clutches that half-empty mug of beer.

know that i find you pretty ugly
with that inebriated smile
slurring about your cowardly mouth,
swerving along the tight lanes of your lips.

nobody can stand to believe anymore
that there is depth inside your eyes.
You cry trenches, insisting like a hungry fool,
Abyss, I retort, empty, shaking black hole

gobble, gobble, chug, chug
you listen to the same sad songs on repeat
proud, like they were your signature fragrance
just know that you reek of desperation

There is absolutely nothing courageous
about your endless consumption,
yet you somehow continue
to bite the hand that feeds

i imagine you should wish
to starve to death, so go on.
but stop ******* other skeletons dry
and quit hanging around until last call

(unless it really is that you are simply
trying to douse that flame that makes you
a firefly in august, in which case i say
burn yourself to the ******* ground)
La Jongleuse Jan 2014
I’ve been lying awake,
suffocated in plastic,
in the wooden vessel,
the people from town,
have left for the dead.

In my sunlit sleep,
I allow my eyes to roll
into the back of my head.
I spend the time dreaming
and poisoning what Tender
remains inside of my heart.

When I was younger,
it was never a duel.
My mind was home to singular thoughts
I was never playing ping-pong
with the mirror.
But now, I suppose it’s all I do.

You could say that I once knew thirsty color
but I’ll admit I’ve grown to forget
It was dragged out of me.
I once was pretty.
I no longer am.
But this is how they want me to be.

So I, myself became a
lazy Snow White,
paralyzed and possessed by
the emotional Fascists
and their ardent marching
which has made a doormat
of the monumental feelings
I once sheltered.
La Jongleuse Mar 2013
There’s a new sort of current that runs through his body,
an electric sort of freedom freshly granted, just weeks ago.

Once, he wrapped up the neurosis, folding with great care.
Firmly closed the heavy parcel & then bidding farewell,

he exhaled the parasitic cancers that only ever sought
to eat him alive & made such honest efforts to survive.

quite ironic: that necrosis dying upon a funeral pyre
& then he cut his hair & never felt lighter

Like he could fly
& he did.

*(high above the ceremonial smoke)
La Jongleuse Oct 2013
Excuse me,
but sometimes my teeth feel tight
as if the space between weren’t space enough
It’s not,
It never is at night.
Excuse me for speaking freely
but I think I’ve earned the right.
I think
I’ve earned the right

Let’s just be honest here.
Let me just tell the truth for once
More often than not, I feel confused.

I grow impatient,
when my phone doesn’t ring,
when your name begins to sound far away,
but I won’t ever call you
and even speaking about you makes me feel *****,
like my tongue just finished tracing the some rotten peach fuzz.

(I’m allergic to pit-fruits but I love the taste,
I love
when the juice falls from my lips
then my skin turns red and I itch.
It makes me feel special
but then again I’m stupid)

Don’t spit in the left-over soup.
Oh but I do
Don’t bite the hand that feeds.
Oh but I do

I’ve got two plants in my room
but I can’t bring myself to
water them.
I just leave them under the sun,
hoping they’ll stay green
and grow.
It wasn’t me who put them there to begin with
so don’t act as if it’s my fault when they die.

I ask myself, aloud,
then silently
over and over
why can I not walk down the stairs,
why can I not check the mailbox,
why is that bottle of milk you bought
still rotting alone in my fridge?

I’m not responsible if I didn’t act
but nothing occurs if I don’t.

Christ, I curse myself.
Be a woman,
not a girl,
Go, go out in the world
and stop living in your head.
La Jongleuse Feb 2014
Il y a moi
et puis, il y a toi
et encore,
il y a cette pièce
qui fond
il me semble,
sous la pression
de toutes ces
années pondérées
et pesantes.

il y a tes mots
et puis,
il y a mon silence,
et encore, il y a
plus de 365 jours
dormants entre nous.
j’avale toute,
cette histoire que je n’ai pas su ranger

je connais la déception
et je sais à quoi ressemble
un présent enceint du passé
et comment il ne cesse à
rendre amères les jours à venir.

il y a moi,
et puis il y a toi,
et encore,
il y a une passivité
encaissée au fond
de ma gorge.
il me semble
que tu m’as
arraché la langue

et personne ne sait
à quel point
ma voix me manque
français, french,
La Jongleuse Jun 2014
On the last day,
in nervous & incoherent scribbles,
clinging to the lines of a
crumpled & stolen piece
of office memo pad paper,
I confessed:

I can no longer tell whether
people have distinct faces.
Focus escapes me.
How, despite looking,
seeing has become impossible.
Their eyes all melt in the dark,
into a blurry array of blue & violet,
(the way fresh oil paint smears under thumbs,
as if the painter himself felt betrayed
& then submitted the canvas to some frantic violence).
The same panic consumes me,
now that the others all begin to appear the same.

I was perhaps,
born with too thin of a shell.
Sometimes, I feel
like one of those dolls from the old country,
You know, the ones that sleep inside one another,
with their faces painted
(mechanically these days.
all the authenticity has been stripped away
just for the sake of appealing to the masses).
Maybe I too crack easily,
(I shatter at the slightest touch.)
I thought once that there was beauty in fragility
but I alone held such a belief.

Just as those figurines,
I too reduce continually in size,
Always shrinking by half,
In the hope that if I am just small enough,
No one will see my emptiness.
In the end, I think I hardly even exist:
I hardly even bother the dust settling around me
& if anything,
that internal void takes up more space
than I have ever wished.

I’m disenchanted by those idiot boxes
& their flavors of the month.
Whether it costs you a penny or a fortune,
I’ve somehow always felt Truth
had to be more than whatever they are selling,
Good God, something in this life must have value.
I need to know this.
So I’ve been out looking for it,
But we are at war,
The people are always at war,
because peace is for the birds,
(or so they say)
Yet I always step on land mines,
By now, they’ve blown off my hands
& also my feet.
So, I can no longer touch,
& I, sure as hell,
cannot run.

You know, my lungs just may burst.
Patience tastes like a barb-wire
in the back of my mouth.

No matter those sprawling views,
& the ever static landscapes,
I am starting to forget what
it feels like to have a home,
(as if before, I truly knew that,
I don’t think I did
but you know,
the mind has ways
of making things feel
softer in retrospect.)

In this way,
I miss what I’ve never had.
I am still so eager to taste
the fruit of a tree,
I’m coming to understand,
grows nowhere.
& so I’m going to rest my bones
Along with the other dead idealists:
somewhere between complacency &
blood that runs ice-cold.

(Do you think that dreams can rot ?
Or do they only ever petrify?)
La Jongleuse Mar 2013
so yeah,*
i threw up thrice yesterday
let my fingers tip the trigger
& stroke my neuroticism
i just wanted to cheat:
synchronize my gut & brain
remove the abandon that
i fear with my entire being
lest it spread like a virus

yes, i’m ashamed of
that violent emptying,
of the maniac Itch that
takes ahold of me when
i feel i have no control
over the territory between
hope & disappointment
& these dramatic emotions
that render me so **** happy

but now,
i’ve begun to realize
that i can’t erase the past
& perhaps, it’s better to just
swallow my pride & place
my worth outside of what power
i may or may not yield, for
perfection is poison & i have
no right to demand it of you
nor myself

& no, i am not fragile,
although i may  tremble...
i am strong now,
in part, having carried
all these heavy things
i've fed myself on for years
forgive you, forgive myself
& finally purge for once & all
of these habitual burdens

**for i am full without them.
La Jongleuse Jan 2014
I kissed a boy out of sheer timidness.
He tasted like salt and bad decisions.
I held her hand tightly when she said
she was going to terminate the pregnancy.
I’ve got 25 years beneath my belt
and I still have yet to tell you how I feel,
every time your eyes grace my field of vision,
rather, I mean, everytime your name
graces my ears, I gulp deep breaths of
I hope he hasn’t forgotten me

But that is what you said,
It was goodbye, if my memory
doesn’t fail me,
oh yet, it fails me
for I’ve swallowed everything
this earth has to offer
and I still cannot erase your new wave voice
and I’m no sponge,
but you, I’ve soaked to the bone.
There is no fancy wine to erase,
there is no jazz band,
to take me back a few years,
rewind and forget,
the way you made me feel
like I had been some sort of mute
audience, clinging to the end of
a long-dead television show.
Indeed, I felt you more of a
leading man, than some shiny fool
with bright teeth in some 1960’s commerical.

I refuse to utter the 2 syllables
that call you forth, a spell.
I’ve forgotten how to swallow
and you’ve forgotten how to spell.
We are lost in paradise and
I am not sure I wish to leave.

I repeat, it takes 3 years
It really does, but I haven’t the patience
nor the mind to wait.
I swim in shallow depths,
but you’re no savoir and I’m sure
you’d let me drown

This face is too pretty
to be spent be scraped off
of some cement ground
in the middle of a dog-day summer
when I’ve still got a skeleton of calcium
and a chest full of oxytocin
to spread amongst another
like rancid butter
on old bread.

They say  *I love you
Where are you beautiful? *
I am lost in the cosmos,
calling your name,
to a dead audience of
long deceased stars.

I will come back for seconds,
Feed on these remainders,
for my mind is among the heavens
and my heart is beating inside of
La Jongleuse Mar 2013
I have to say I like these hours of morning best,

When the sunlight pours in the cracks of

the open window beside your open bed,

When you’re still lost in the lands of dreams…

There’s a faint happiness in your face,

Eyes closed, you have escaped awareness,

Which I consider your biggest burden,

& I’m happy to see you relieved of this


Sure enough, given enough dawn light

you’ll return to your familiar scenes,

Wake up to put on the clothes you wear,

like armor, like a shield to make you stable


You don’t have to be like that with me,

I’ll take you the way you are, preferring

the vulnerability & hope in your nakedness,

In my own dreams, I hope to see yours


I have to say I like these hours of morning best,

When you slip in & out of the here & now

I’ll rub the sleep from your sullen eyes,

I’ll put my kisses & hands on your body


Hoping to keep you in only the places,

Just the spaces, where you can be free.
La Jongleuse Mar 2013
à 3h du matin, en double milieu,
mi-chemin entre le jour & la nuit

mais tes mains sont déjà sur moi
& nous ne sommes qu’au vestiaire
qu’est-ce que t’es chaude ce soir

descendons au tréfonds du terrier
allez, on va prendre un verre,
allez, on va s’égarer un peu,

dans le flou, parmi toutes ces créatures,
qui n’ont jamais connu ce soif inassouvi
celui qui brûle & pousse & crie à haute voix

ça me plait comment tu danses,
comment tu te relâches & comment
tu laisses la musique t’avaler entière

un peu comme ces mains cherchent
à me faire là, pressées à trouver
des miettes de sentiments bien faux

allez, on va aller aux toilettes,
pour discuter tout ce que tu veux,
& rejoindre la fameuse Dame Blanche

puis, on va aller danser sur la piste
où je te montrerai ce corps fragile
& tout dont il est capable à détruire

ce morceau est hypnotique, autant qu’un poème,
mes hanches te crachent le message,

celui que tu n’entends pas de toute façon

allez, viens on va fumer à l’étage mais
tu parles trop vite cherchant à fouiller ta chair,
un vide-grenier nocturne de ton esprit

les trémoussements de tes mains solides,
font une résistance contre l’aube, disant
genre, je m’en fou, c’est juste que…

je te veux

english translation

3 am, in double milieu,
halfway between day & night

but your hands are already on me
& we’re only just now checking our coats
you’re clearly feeling hot tonight

reaching the depths of the rabbit’s hole
“come, let’s go get a drink”
“come, let’s go lose ourselves a bit”

in the crowd, amongst all these creatures
who’ve never known this never-ending thirst
the one that burns, pushes & cries aloud

i like it how you dance
how you release yourself & how
you let the music swallow you whole

a bit like those hands are looking
to do to me, hurried to find
crumbles of terribly false feelings

"come, let’s go to the bathroom”
& talk about anything you’d like
& meet up with Snow white

then, let’s go dance on the floor
where I’ll show you this delicate body
& everything it’s capable of destroying

this song is hypnotic, as much as a poem,
my hips spit to you the message
the one you don’t hear anyways

“come, let’s go smoke upstairs” but
you’re talking too fast, trying to dig up your skin
a nocturnal emptying out of your spirit

the fidgeting of your strong hands
creates a resistance against dawn, saying,
something like, *“I don’t give a ****, it’s just that..”

“I want you”
French, en français
La Jongleuse Apr 2013
salle de concert,
salle des corps transpirants & glissants
salle de semi à poil
comment tu t’appelles ?

champ de Mars,
champ des conneries & des concessions
champ de refus
tu m’avais manqué

coin de la rue,
coin de sms à la con
coin d’attente
ne m’appelle plus jamais

taxi de Paris
taxi de vulgarité
taxi de fatigue
je vous vire à cause de ces mots

taxi de St. Germain
taxi de Charonne
vous êtes lesbiennes?
taxi du vieux pervert
embrasse-moi juste une fois

nuit de jeudi
nuit de j’ai trop bu
nuit quotidienne
*j’attends demain
french, français,
La Jongleuse Mar 2013
were you born
without a back bone
or did they remove it at birth?

do you feel the sting too
upon contact when you
reach out to touch things ?
La Jongleuse Jul 2013
Tel qu’une toile d’araignée
La grande ville fond sous la chaleur,
punie par un hiver trop absurde
Tes pieds collent au trottoir et
tes mains sont paralysées
par les fils fins de cette vaste piège

La nuit, quand la température baisse,
quand, enfin, la toile te lâche,
tu cours vers Alice, en avalent des capsules
du bonheur suprême,
une gorgée après une autre
tout dans l’espoir de regagner
son pays de merveilles

Hélas, elle est morte,
tu te trompes, en vain
T’en rappelles-tu ?
Tu l’as enterrée mille fois
& elle n’aurait jamais reconnu,
de toute façon,
ton visage usé par tes voyages,
sans sens, au sud, au nord
Elle n’aurait jamais aimé
ta poitrine remplie de poussières

Depuis que Perséphone a pris le relais
ce n’est plus pareil
La Jongleuse Apr 2013
lâche, lâche mes poignets
qui sont terriblement lourds
je l'ai laissé découvrir ce champ
& il a mis son cœur dans son cul
il s'est endormi sur la plage &
les vagues grises approchent
comme un enfant au berceau
ou plutôt, un vieil homme
crevé dans son tombeau?

laisse, laisse les heures fondent
enchaînées, l'une après l'autre
les temps que son corps
ne laisse aucun empreint,
qu'il soit pris par la mer,
j'aurais bu l'ensemble des océanes,
volontairement, les mains attachées
mais l'eau salée brûle mes lèvres
autant que ma parole morde

recule, recule, c'est le moment
je l'abandonne sur les rochiers
pour aller coucher avec le soleil
l'aube, je reviendrai manger,
engloutir ses côtes pétrifiés,
enterrer ses os sous les châteaux
de sable qui peignent et tapissent
l'horizon de ce festin cannibale
La Jongleuse Mar 2013
tu es ravissant
merveilleux même
quand tu ris,
j'ai entendu des fleurs
en pleine floraison
dans ma tête

j'espère que tu
n’arrêtes jamais
de rire comme ça

ce jour-ci,
aux pays de la
Belle aux bois dormant,
je me sentais vivante,
électrique même

l'énergie que tu
dégages: énorme
je veux te rendre
la même chose,
me brancher
à ta prise

j'ai pas osé
regarder ta bouche
ta parole a été
vraiment trop belle

cette voix grave
et tes yeux clairs
ta joie de vivre

j'ai même pas pensé au sexe

l'autoroute de ton cerveau,
cet esprit affamé,

ne change absolument rien!
Next page