"You're good for him.
Stay."

I wish I knew the difference between
holding hands and holding on,
before I was hanging over the cliff
of stability and emotion.

The spaces between your fingers
were my safety; they fit so perfectly;
but your fingers fell away like rocks
tumbling quickly into the roaring waters
of someone else’s passion.

My grip so tight on something unstable;
I once compared the feeling of being in your arms
to the wonders of the Earth around me,
but now you’re like gravity,
pulling me down into crashing waves.


My heart breaking apart like eroded rocks
on the surface of the beach;
admiration burning hot like the sun
and breezing over as it sets.

I’m shivering in the arms of the wind,
and holding on to the hands of crumbling rocks;
I wish I knew the difference between holding on and holding hands.

(NJ2014) All Rights Reserved.

His eyes were like windows,
opened to the darkness of the night;
his arms a door once opened,
but I've locked the key inside.
I'm pounding on walls trying to get through,
but with a body like a brick wall, it's no use.

There's a fire burning but it's spilling out of the chimney,
and as the snow falls around me I can feel my heart freeze;
it's starting to stab and wound me.
I'm painting pictures on foggy windows
of memories not yet made,
but even so, they fade.

I'm knocking on the door,
I'm ringing the bell,
but this home seems to have become
a place I'm not welcome anymore.

(NJ2014) All Rights Reserved.

Your arms are columns, structure,
with hands like carpeting that runs along the surface,
your breath lingers like smoke of the fireplace
after it was put out at the end of a holiday.
Your voice is rain hitting the window,
falling softly and condensing into nothing but fog,
fingers tracing quiet promises and desires in the form of pictures
that will only fade away with the hands of time.
Your eyes are an autumn scenery wall art,
your lips a single rose in a glass vase.

It's moving in day and the house is empty,
with nothing but a piano and your structure;
singing and spinning around in classical tune,
it feels like home, you feel like home.

My voice echos off the walls,
solo piano swimming through the halls,
my dancing feet patter on the hardwood floor;
beautiful, but when the hands of time strike night

I find,
this house is not yet a home.

(NJ2014) ©‎All Rights Reserved

there's evidence swimming through my veins
signals sent from the brain -he said he loves you
my heart is saying let go, it's just a game
but my brain is saying, then, just play.

words spilled from the mouth like dominoes
knocking down every wall I've built up;
my pores absorbing every silent message
from your touch -silent, but loud.

your eyes screamed with desire
and my lifeless body lusted for care,
your welcoming smile
was just a silent laugh.

if you never said a word,
I wouldn't be the pawn of a losing game,
I wouldn't be filled with empty words.

if you never said a word.

(NJ2014) © All Rights Reserved.

Words have been thrown like vases of flowers,
and the surface has been cracked,
and there are pieces of glass scattered on the floor, I know.
But there are also flowers among them.
The vase was only temporary,
I was hoping to get a new one anyway,
I just didn't want it to have to break in order to get a new one.

I pick off each flower petal and scream in the air
I should've done this, I should've said this
why did I expect you to be the stem,
hold all my unspoken words,
and still be strong and beautiful?
I'm so sorry.

I'll find a new vase,
and I'll water the flowers everyday;
I promise. I promise.
We can turn add new colours,
and place it in the sunlight
-we can plant seeds,
and let it grow in the yard
and never, ever, experience a glass breaking again.

Don't wilt on me now.

(NJ2014) (All Rights Reserved.)

life's a mess, and I'm a wreck.
it's great when you're by my side,
but it get's lonely at night.
I'm having conversations in my head
and they never spill from my mouth,
and I wish I could just tell you them all,
but I'm a wreck and my life's a mess,
and I still want to keep you around.

but when the moon is out,
my mood is down,
and I really wish you were here right now.

quiet my head, quiet my head,
when I'm with you there's no sounds.

(NJ2015) (All Rights Reserved)

I remember the honeymoon stage,
it wasn't as elaborate as many,
but I was enjoying it just as much.

I remember making plans,
asking you to come and hang out with friends,
and you said the weekends were for partying;
I remember our first argument.

"When the liquor calls, I follow."

You answer to the inaudible calling of liquor,
but barely respond to my texts,

and then you tell me I'm crazy
for saying you could never love me
the way you love the single life.

(NJ2015) All Rights Reserved.

his best friend asked me if i loved him,
and i've never been more positive with an answer,
than when i answered with, 'no,'
and that's what scares me.
(NJ2015) (All Rights Reserved)

i forgot what it feels like
to look at your face and feel something.

(NJ2015) All Rights Reserved

Daydreaming always satisfied me more than real life;

the pictures in my head were always more beautiful
when they were simply figments of my imagination.
I feel I have lived many lives within my head,
and not even merely one during this lifetime.

I have climbed up mountains and dived off of them,
I have sailed across the ocean, and swum across the sea;
I have fallen in love, and believed they too had fallen in love with me.

I've jumped from cloud to cloud, and crossed the sky from day to night,
I've ran a full circle around the world before seasons could change;
I've held his hand and kissed his lips, and I've lost myself in his eyes.

I've skated on broken ice, and ran across water,
I've discovered the meaning of life,
but decided the list should be longer.

I've lived a million lives within my head,
but left very little footprints in the dirt;

I wish he was all in my head,
so what we had would be beautiful,
and would never hurt.

(NJ2014) All Rights Reserved.

every boy that has ever ran his fingers on my skin
crawled up from under my bed and invaded the darkness;
he pulled the blanket up over my shaking body,
and brushed his fingers through my tangled hair.

a creature of the night providing me comfort;
he laid his head on the empty side of my pillow
whispering into my hollow head,
signals which would flow through my dry veins
and start the pumping of a disintegrating heart.

his demons kept him awake at night
just as the monsters of my past have me;
his eyes were like a flashlight in the dark room,
this creature was my savior.

but morning comes and he is gone,
my troubles glisten in the sun -everyone runs.
you can't fix by morning what haunts you;
I only date monsters -they keep me company at night;
when my flaws come spilling out but not in bright light.

(NJ2014) All Rights Reserved.

If it wasn't raining, were we really together?
I remember sitting in the backseat of your dads car with you for hours because I was allergic to cats, and your house was the safe haven for two of them. We drew pictures on the condensed windows and watched them slowly fade, we teased your friends through text messages, you let me into your world, and I was intrigued. It was the first time you ever held me in your arms, and I never wanted to move.

The next time I saw you we walked around town and found ourselves following a little path by the water. Our rumbling stomachs spoke more than we did, and when we decided to get food, the sky decided that we were probably thirsty half-way there. It poured. We ran all the way to the Muscle Maker Grill in a storm only to find that it was closed. I remember laughing, I remember the, 'you've got to be kidding's' I remember settling for the little corner store all the way by your house. You bought me my favourite Italian Cookies, you got yourself a sandwich.. I remember you complaining about having to pick out the bread and give it to them because it was their job. I remember sitting on your front steps eating our "lunch." We talked about the squirrels, and how they do things they don't want to do. How though the squirrel wants the nut, he can't reach it, and he must leave it. We spoke about us in metaphors. You told me you wanted me back, you told me you could never do that. I told you I'd never stop trying.

I also remember the night you walked with me to my aunts house because I was too scared to walk alone. You told me that nothing would happen to me, and if anything were, we would go down together. You never made me feel wrong for being so nervous -you didn't understand, but you never made me feel bad. It rained on my way home that night.

The next time I saw you was a year later. Your house was knocked down and remodeled. Your cat had decided to make a home within your neighbors house during that period. I saw you dad outside, you saw me through the window - I was nervous. Sitting on your couch, I watched you connect the wireless music for your guardians -your aunt kept complimenting you, trying to get any sight reaction out of me to see what we actually were. I've never known what we were.

I remember the first time I went to dinner with you, your father, and your aunt at Green Dragon. I enjoyed it although they found my diet and my lack of appetite a little odd. And they asked me questions about college that I was a little nervous to answer. I remember the bought us gum, and then departed to the 99 cent store. They expected us to kiss. We didn't. I wanted to. I think. By the time they came back, the windows were drenched in raindrops.

Anyway, the day I went over your house was the day you let me leave carelessly. We spent hours together -talking at Strawberry Fields, walking down the little path, watching the ocean, making sandwiches in your kitchen, showing me around your house -visiting your bedroom. I will never forget how we hugged when saying goodbye and I said, "don't be a stranger," and you said "bye."

You told me you were indifferent about me -couldn't care whether or not we kept in touch. So I said goodbye. But I still think about you sometimes. You were the first boy I swore I loved, and maybe I have a different definition now, but by god, I loved you with my whole heart, even though through the years all you did was break it apart. It didn't rain that day.

I still miss you sometimes. Still wonder about you. And wonder if you wonder about me too. How is it that you held my heart and crushed it without even straining a muscle?

It doesn't rain much anymore in the dingy old town.
[NJ2015] All Rights Reserved.

I was always the girl saying,
"love is nothing but a game,
boys will break your heart,
and teenage relationships
only result in pain."

I was so smart back then.

Here I am now drowning in the rubble of myself,
a boy with a fast car sped through the paths of me;
I thought he was free-riding down my highway,
enjoying the sights of me,
but he ended up destroying scenery
and damaging my roads;
where do I go?

I was so smart back then.

I'm lost in the house of my structure,
feeling like a stranger within my own column bones.
I'm stuck with a lack of trust, and a craving of lust;
if his arms aren't around me,
where is home?

I was so smart back then.

My words used to penetrate successfully;
now they fall short to his sweet nothings.
My eyes used to be so full of passion,
now they're filled with nothing but fear.

I was so smart back then.
Why didn't I listen.

(NJ2014) © All Rights Reserved.

Perhaps it isn't love,
they don't laugh anymore.

NJ2016

My heart is heavy and all I can think about is dying.
I feel my arms shaking, my heart pounding, my head exploding,
but it's all in my mind

Nobody can tell that I'm experiencing a massacre inside.
Everyday another part of me dies. unnaturally
I can feel the gun being put to my chest,
it's threatening to tear me apart.

I'm in agonizing pain,
and people don't understand.
First-aid kits and words can't fix these wounds.

'I love you' is not a bandaid and I can't keep from bleeding out.

NR2016

back in school, my geometry teacher told me that lines are infinite;
that though it may stop on paper, it truly continues on.
he taught me that a circle has no end, but it has no start;
it's not infinite, but confined to the infinitcy of it's own space.

it was only a few months, but it felt like years
they way he and I continued straight down the path;
it felt as if we were walking in circles;
kissing, hugging, fighting, teasing
month after month after month
but we were truly walking on the line
endlessly, straight into nothing.

how can we be both the endless line and the confining circle?
I never wanted to become a geometric equation;
but I'm doing the math, and quite frankly,
he and I are just a miscalculation; a mistake.

All Rights Reserved.
[Copyright NJ2015]

I'M TRYING TO BE ART
BUT MY CANVAS IS WHITE
AND THIS PAINT IS WHITE
AND I KEEP PAINTING
BUT EACH STROKE
LEAVES ME FEELING
MORE B L A N K.

(NJ2014) (All Rights Reserved)

he puts on slow music and leads me off the bed,
spinning me into his arms and dancing into a waltz;
we're wandering around the whole room;
my head on his shoulder, his hands on my waist;
and we're dancing the night away.

if it's not like the movies,
they say to let a love go;
but with choreography like us,
that film would surely fall apart;

but it felt like a movie;
the way he held me,
the way he looked at me,
the way he
                   cut scene.

All Rights Reserved. [NJ2015]

i hate to make a metaphor out of everything,
but we're celestial bodies orbiting out of control.

each day the sun rises with it's own strength
to clear paths and make visible the roads
that she can't even walk on.

the moon rises every night off of the sun's glow,
and not once does he return the favor;
he takes just enough so that gleaming eyes can adore;
the sun is so bright he doesn't even look at her.

when i was younger i read somewhere that
if you're going to do something, give it your all,
or don't do it at all.
and i have religiously lived up to that reading
until i met you.

you attend school just enough so you won't fail - just making it.
you work just enough so you won't get fired -just making it.

and this relationship,
is just making it.

to the boy who currently holds my heart,

your past lover;
she will always love you in a way that i can't.
and for that, i envy her.

NJ2015 All Rights Reserved.

Have you ever wanted something so much,
you had no choice but to let it go?
The bird clings to the sky
and the sky provides the wind,
the flowers grow from the ground,
and the earth provides the soil;
I'm falling for you,
but your arms aren't outstretched.

I should straighten up before I scratch my knees
and bruise my heart.

(NJ2014) ©‎All Rights Reserved

How do you explain that your bones are the coal used as breeding ground for a fire? How do you explain that there's a fire raging inside of you, setting every inch of your body and thoughts ablaze? Like a wildfire destroys the forest, this pain is knocking me down and smoldering me.
But how can you say you're in ashes when your body is unbruised?

No collapsed limbs, no heaving lungs, no unconscious mind -only puffy eyes and a tired tongue?

How do you explain that the tightness one gets in their throat upon hearing unexpectedly terrible news is a common feeling of yours - a side effect of the blood that runs through all of your veins? That even though you know you can do something, the words 'you physically cannot' are flooding your brain like a drug and poisoning every choice you try to make?

How do you explain that every move you make feels like walking on a tightrope that seems to never end. How each step sends a shiver down your spine; trying not to fall, trying to finish the task, trying to stop the anxiety -but you can never reach the end because your destination keeps switching from left to right despite the progress you've made.

How do you explain that you're dying when everyone see's you as perfectly alive?

NJ2016

Please don't walk away.
Understand, I wasn't always this way.
I have a haunting past,
and I would tell you about it but you have never asked.

My past is something I'd rather not discuss.
If you did ask my hands would probably start shaking,
my eyes would go blank, and my mouth mute.
I'd break the silence with "I don't know where to start,"
and "it's a story so long, I wouldn't want to bore you."

But if you're leaving because of something I do,
please don't go without hearing me through.
I've got issues of trust and anxious habits,
lungs of rust, and a heart to match it.

A high-voltage heart with one too many sparks;
someone once set it on fire, I'm too scared to restart.
At first my hands shake, and my heart pounds,
my words dissipate, and my eyes lock to the ground.
I can't move my feet, scared to fly off the ground;
I once rose so high, and fell onto the floor,
scratches and bruises, a concussion, I'm sure;
can't risk hitting the ocean, don't want a parting spark no more.

So before you leave please understand,
I'm not just an attic light that wont burn bright;
it may take time, but it's just a little dust,
I don't mind if you try to clean me up.


The door is wide open, but so are your arms,
if you want to leave, do as you want,
the outlet is empty, and so are your palms;
plug me in before you throw away the key;

plug me in before you leave,
but before you do so, please,
dry your hands.

Give me a chance.

(NJ2014) All Rights Reserved.

The first time I lied to my parents
was the day I found myself at your doorstep.

The surroundings were, to myself, foreign,
just as you were to me; unfamiliar, but welcoming.
I found myself shifting my fear through my feet,
hoping you wouldn't notice how nervous I was.

I've always abided to rules and structure,
but my construction collapsed when you held me for the first time,
and I ripped up the sequenced map I created in my mind;
it was the first time I found comfort in uncharted territory,
I was ready to get lost.

You take my hand and lead me through paths,
your eyes, yet another place unknown, like a forest;
and I couldn't keep my legs from sprinting.
Your hair, sandy waves, I couldn't wait to run my fingers through;
your arms, a safe-haven, a boat, I didn't mind getting carried away in.

That day I walked through the door,
I never thought I would get lost at sea,
and have trouble finding my way back out.

(NJ2014) All Rights Reserved.

this heart of mine
has been thrown into the fires of hell
way too many ******* times

i'm getting ******* tired
of all the third degree burns.

it's you I want to tell everything to,
and it's you I want to spend my days with,
and its you who I have stuff in common with,
though we are complete opposites,
and it you I'll learn from,
and it's you I want to experience,
and it's you I think about all the time,

but it's he I want to hold me.

and that where this love story becomes a tragedy.

(NJ2015) (All Rights Reserved)

he told me I had pretty eyes
as his fingers crept under my shirt
and ran along my spine,

his palms ran across my lower back,
and forced my hips to the bed,
and he bit my neck and softly laughed,

and I laughed, and I smiled,
and I nuzzled my head in his neck
and I placed my fingers between his
and rubbed my thumb on the bone

and he stole glances at his phone,
making plans with his friends,
while I stole glances at our future
and ran a blank

but I dug my head into his neck and laughed
while he ran his fingers on my skin,

all I wanted was to fall asleep on his chest and hold his hand,
all he wanted was an adventure, and he was dragging me along
-and I willingly gave him the map.

(NJ2015) (All Rights Reserved)

I'm in love with him,
and everything hurts.

Sometimes love isn't enough,
and I don't know why.

Make my brain stop,
it keeps wishing to die.

My light is gone.

he only makes me feel worthy
when his hands are gripped around my waist,
and his tongue is falling to their place.

he doesn't mind my messy hair
or my running makeup;
he tells me I'm pretty
while he stares at my body
dressed in lace.

he loves me as an obligation;
I'm second to the lust he wants to instill on my body;

I gave him all of me,
but all he wanted was the parts of me clothes hide.

NJ2016.

porcelain skin chipping away,
thick and durable, but still decays;
eyes of class ricocheting, stars dying bright:
scratches seem to never fade,
the wound is deep,
but inner pattern stays.
lasts longer than the marble tile,
will ever a sock slip down these miles?

(NJ2014) all rights reserved.

Maybe that's my fault, maybe that's what I'm doing wrong.
I change people into words and metaphors;
each song I listen to screams his name, or his name, or his name,
and the music grabs me by the hand and spins me into the past;
the way he rarely smiled, but did at that moment,
and the way he kissed my forehead, I felt safe for the first time,
or the way he always made me feel like I was living life,
not just wandering around aimlessly.

I can't strum a chord without thinking about how my heart sung.
When the base drops, I can feel the moment my heart dropped
when he told me he never cared about me, that it was a facade,
or when he would rather lose himself in a different world
than hold my hand through the night,
or the way he left without a word.

Why does every song remind me of those who have wronged me?
Of all emotions from excitement to sorrow, pleasure to pain?
Why do they make me wish for one more moment with them?

Even if the only moment I can relive
is that of which he/he/he made me cry,

I want that moment again.

(NJ2014) ©All Rights Reserved.

I remember sitting on the swings at the park,
you rammed into me and carried me away,
and we fell to the grass.

Your hand found it's way to my throat,
and toyed around with the charm around my neck;
it was switching from purple to red without your touch,
and two different shades of blue within your grasp.

Still on the ground we learned the meaning:
purple means romantic, red means nervous;
dark blue meant lovable, light blue meant relaxed
- is it true, he asked? are you feeling romantic, he teased.

if there was a colour for 'yes, but I'm embarrassed to feel'
it would've changed right there.

I never wore that necklace around him again,
not for any reason, I just never thought anything of it
- strange how a moment is beautiful after it passes.

I wish there was a colour for 'I don't feel a thing for you anymore'
and I wish I had let him hold it each time we were together;
I wish I could see the dark blue fade.

-now I'm left with this solid hue,
this purple charm, and he's no longer around.

(NJ2014) (All Rights Reserved)

I'm scared of the morning because of it's honesty,
the way it can strip the night of it's pointe shoes
and reveal the wounds of a bare foundation.

bones shiver as the sun rises,
the ******* of the night revealed;
skin under covers in the early hours more adorned
than the bare flesh of the evening waltzing to anothers movement.

I'm scared of the morning because of it's urgency
the way the sun is already racing down towards the horizon,
just to stare the skyline in the face with it's eventual blushing.

the worst part of falling asleep next to you
is knowing that morning will come
and it will promise to come over and over again
but you will not.

nr 2023.

You could look through church windows and never find what you'd see through the stained glass of her eyes. she didn't believe in God, but she swears heaven was always, 'just one more step' away.

She spent her days trying to discover herself, and her nights trying to destroy all that she learned; the bible doesn't have a chapter about figuring out where you truly belong.

She could never understand the act of willingly falling to ones knees -to them it was a moment of respect and hope; for her it was nothing more than defeat. Clasped hands and bowed head; others wishing for good fortune, she, questioning her life.

Surrounded by people who don't say anything but what they have learned; her mind the child who hasn't learned church etiquette; screaming, crying, lost, but also, pure, accepted, and unrestrained.

She was never religious, but God, she was the kind of girl everyone prayed they'd never lose. And fell, unwillingly, to their knees for when she walked away.

NJ2016

winter has left and it took him with it,
along with my sanity and understanding.
and you would think spring would bloom flowers,
but i only see myself wilting and shaking.

winter may be gone, but the winds inside of me are still screaming;
more often than not i'm left clutching my heart in the middle of the night
crying because the rain of spring never really did make it's appearance,
and I'm lost.

There's something about the smell after the rain;
you know, the kind where all feels as if it's been washed away
and made new again? That's what I needed.

Droplets formed on the windows of the car,
as did they on my cheeks while his arms wrapped around me;
his head resting on mine like clouds during rain or shine.

Tonight, I was a thunderstorm.

He was always my rain;
sometimes he was a drought, sometimes he was a weekly storm;
but he was always my rain.

My sorrows were puddling into my hands,
my mind the heavy fog of a late March night,
and my heart a huge pothole in the middle of the road.

It's 12:45 and my clothes smell like him;
it's the smell after the rain;
didn't think I could drown in so many ways.

I'm stuck in the rain,
but i wish it was his cloud.

NJ2015

i took him to a rooftop NYC skyline dinner,
told him it was an all you can eat,
and he did.

and he took me to a fast food restaurant,
and said, "hey, you're a penny short."

NR2015

I identify you with the smell of cigarettes.
You've never been to my house,
but my father smokes too.

Father always said,
boys will break your heart,
take from you what they want and leave.
I'm sorry, dad.
Your little girl fell too hard
for a boy with a nicotine scent,
and deep forest eyes.
I should've listened.

You've tried to shelter me,
but I've always been someone
with a knack for adventure,
and an interest in mystery.

He rolled my poetry up,
took my match heart,
and set it on fire.

I knew I was lighting a flame,
but I didn't know it'd go out with the wind.

I don't think he cares,
I was set on fire,
and there's not even ashes there.
I went up in smoke,
and for all he knew,
I disappeared.

Daddy,
please stop smoking,
you smell like him.

(NJ2014) All Rights Reserved.

he was the boy your mother always told you to stay away from,
but ended up loving more than she ever loved you.

she would know he was at your house before you did,
because she could hear the R&B; music blasting from car;
but you never heard it because that's all he ever played;
you've become accustomed to the sound.

he always seems to call you at 4am to tell you he loves you,
when he's drunk -he was drunk the first time he told you.
sometimes you feel a little bubbly inside,
then you realize, that's just what he was drinking.
your mom rolled her eyes and smiled,
dismissed it with, oh, young love.

he was the kind of boy to take you everywhere with him,
to pick you up from work and spend the whole day with you,
but was always too busy at the exact moment you really needed him.


my mom warned me to stay away from boys like him,
said that they were only trouble,

but i don't think she ever considered the trouble to be
that he would love himself loving me too much to notice
that he doesn't really know me at all.

(NJ2015) All Rights Reserved

bruises like clouds after sunset,
heart like ice after it's been counter set,
fingers like branches in a hurricane,
eyes like condensing windows in the rain.

one beat, two beat, two beat, two beat,
can't count to three,
my mouth is weak.
can't stop shivering,
trying to speak.

my head is screaming,
and my arms are outreached,
but my voice has broken,
and their palms are in fists.

(NJ2014) All Rights Reserved.

You wore a wrinkled white shirt and distressed jeans,
your bed-head blonde hair and pink eyes screamed exhaustion;
your eyes as hazy from last nights liquor as the hanging morning dew.
but there I was stumbling over speed bumps
while you effortlessly lit a cigarette and walked on by without a problem.

Each time I stumbled, you laughed
- would you continue to if you knew it was because I was nervous?
Or did you find it humourous
that I was tripping over something stable
(you're not stable, but by god, you could fool anybody.)

There we were.
a slightly drunk, lazily dressed boy -looking gorgeous and collected
and a completely sober, lazily dressed girl -a mess on feet
walking together over speed bumps
- maybe I should run.

(NJ2014) (All Rights Reserved)

a work in progress.

A year ago, I could’ve sworn that I loved a boy so much I would do anything for him. Today, I’m not sure I have ever loved anyone at all, and if it’s any comfort, to you at all, you’ve helped me with that.

He was the kind of guy who would listen to me speak, or at least pretend to. He would find out what made my eyes brighten. He made me feel like the Northern Star, which was kind of a big deal considering my body was the endless night that I seemed to get lost in time and time again. Today, I realize the problem is that he never knew what stars looked like, sure, he had an idea, but he had never seen one, and to be quite honest, neither had I, or have I for that matter. Living in the city has its perks, but being able to see the stars isn’t one of them. They say the city never sleeps, neither did he, and neither did the polluting lights of the 24 hours casinos and clubs. I may have felt like a star, but looking back, I was only the reflecting glass of a strobe light.

I never thought I’d be strong enough to let him go, but after five years, I did. I have you to thank for that. There’s only so many times you can look at an airplane and convince yourself that it’s a shooting star. Like the Big Apple, I can say I’ve moved on.

You’re the first boy I’ve ever touched, kissed, embraced. You’re the sun that rose after a long night of me screaming into my pillow that it was the end, and that I would never wake up from a certain reoccurring nightmare. I never thought I would see light sprinkle through my curtains, never thought I would emotionally attach myself to another airplane embodiment again.

People are inconsistent; nothing ever remains the same, nor does it ever stay in one place, and I had sworn the moment I left the city that I would never again settle. I guess I didn’t realize that boarding endless airplanes had strapped me to the sky. I was still tied down, just differently.

The moment I met you, I had a feeling it wouldn’t be the last time. The way your blonde hair fell over half of your forehead, how you walked into the gymnasium with a sort of ‘i can care less’ attitude. I don’t know what it was, but I knew you were an adventure I just had to attempt.

Each adventure is different; you’re far different from the amateur astrologer I had left in the next state. He spent time making maps; trying to figure out my thought process; how to understand my constellations, and how to tear them apart. You were a painter; an artist; more interested in the curves and lines of my body, the hue of my eyes, the colour of my laughter amongst the rest of the crowd. You taught me how to use my tongue as a paintbrush, and my hands as blending tools; you placed your hand in mine and make me think that you and I were a blank canvas that we would construct together.

Months have taught me that art is never really finished. Our canvas is a mess of us; my distinctive colour against yours. I was always carving straight lines, while you were painting crooked lines. You and I are following different strokes, but your edges and my surface seem to create a picture unlike any other. They say art is something that can not be defined, and I am torn between trying to decide whether we’ve built a masterpiece or something that will end up hung on a parents refrigerator. But then again, what’s wrong with that?

He was an astronomer, you’re a painter, and I’m unsure. I’m not quite sure who I am; sometimes I feel like laying in the grass and taking a ride on Camelopardalis or sitting in the hammock of the Great Dipper; other days I feel like painting pink on lover’s cheeks, and digging my nails in the bare canvas. And some days, I want to do nothing but lay in my room and dream of a future that nobody seems to understand; what am I supposed to do when I see myself sitting under a countryside sky on a wooden porch holding the stained hands of a boy who I swore could never love me.

Maybe I’m not really the Northern Star. Maybe I’m not the Mona Lisa. But more than often it’s blind leading the blind, and I’m sorry. I’m not sure where my mind is anymore. I’m not sure of anything, except that my eyes are painted with your reflection. Maybe that’s art. Maybe, it’s not.

© NJ  2015, all rights reserved

You must forgive me for avoiding eye contact,
it's hard to stare into the eyes of a world I want to experience,
it's hard to be so close, yet so far.

You must forgive me for avoiding you,
it's difficult to pretend I feel nothing
especially when your hand brushes against my skin;
if I'm not near you, that can't happen.

You must forgive me,
I want so badly to find a way into your heart,
but you're just planting more roses around the door
and the thorns are ripping way too deep.

Pardon me if I walk away.

(NJ2014) (All Rights Reserved)

My eyes are nothing but foggy windows,
my body a door creaking beneath each strangers palm.
With honest hands, steady my shaking limbs before
emotions fall out of my eyes like autumn leaves.
Voice strong like an owl's call, but crisp air chokes,
leaving cries soft like a crickets song.

Tongue like a ballet dancer behind my lips,
searching for the right words to say.
Grab my waist and let's pirouette into words fallen.
Spin into worlds unknown,
Peter Pan promised I'd never grow old.

My eyes are foggy windows,
and you think you have,
but darling, you have seen nothing.

(NJ2014) All Rights Reserved.

lately my life seems to be a picasso painting,
everything blue, but everything's beautiful,
my mind is a jumble of geometric shapes
that nobody seems to want to take the time to rearrange.
I'm playing a song on my acoustic guitar,
but nobody wants to hear me sing.

you're picture perfect,
and I'm working with negatives.

(NJ2015) (All Rights Reserved)

i want a love like the movies,
or at least a love that i can feel.

pixels shouldn't make me feel more
than you do.

NJ2015 [all rights reserved]

Sometimes your eyes were leaves of ivy;
they poisoned my brain,
but not my heart.

Other times they were skies of blue,
and I was an airplane looking for a cloud to pass through.

I could've loved you given the chance,
but seasons keep changing and we don't.

It's autumn and my arms can no longer be the branches
that keep you from falling -I'm getting tired.
And the cloudless sky has turned grey,
and everything is foggy.

Like the ground that holds on to fallen leaves,
letting you go will be difficult,
but like poison ivy,
I'll soon heal.

(NJ2015) (All Rights Reserved)

I’m not crazy, I’m scared.

how can I apologize for the marks I’m leaving on your skin?
the way my fingertips are digging trenches into the same arms
that wrap around and comfort me?

how can I explain that though I’m planted on solid ground
I feel as if my ankles are being grabbed by unforgiving hands
and trying to pull me far far away.

as I’m dragged away I’m desperately trying to hold on,
but the tighter I grab your hand
the harder my nails dig into your palms
and pieces of you become pixelations
that disappear into the nothingness
leaving me with less and less to hold.

why do I push away all that I wish to hold close
why do I hurt everything that I want to keep safe
and why does love scare me so much that it makes me crazy
and turn me into everything I never wanted to be.

how can I explain that I’m trying not to be this way,
how can I apologize to myself when I feel defenseless.

I’m not crazy, I’m scared,
of getting everything I’ve ever wanted,
just to watch it slip right through my fingers.

{Nicole Joanne - 2022}

lately i've been falling asleep with the tv on, when about a month ago even the slightest bit of light kept me awake. days spent with you have molded me into something i haven't quite figured out yet.

like sedimentary, maybe this confusion will just erode away. or maybe i've permanently metamorphasized into something new.

all i know for sure is that i'm feeling a way i have never felt before. i can't determine whether the feeling is good or not. and i can't promise that it's not dangerous or fatal. i can't promise you that the thought of 'us' is stable. but i try not to think about it. please don't think about it.

i fall asleep now to the chatter of the television. it quiets my mind. i used to find comfort in silence, but now it just screams at me. ironic isn't it? how i turn the sound up to find quiet.

i don't stay awake with my thoughts anymore. they wake me up in the form of nightmares from time to time. i could never escape anything. not even my mind. i won't escape you. tell me that's fine.

no, don't talk. please, change the channel.

[NJ2015] All Rights Reserved.