Help…by Jessie

Have you seen the battered face, of a child, that has been beat?

Lying in a pool of blood, at their attackers feet

Or the empty stare within their eyes, from nothing left to lose

Beaten by their father, who drank his weight in *****

Have you seen the trembling fear, which takes them from within?

And have you seen their broken hearts, brought about by others sins

Have you seen the broken arms, and bodies, which have been burnt?

The cycle as continued, the battered children learnt

The pain…it hurts but at its worst, despairs what kills the soul

And knowing that a loved on beat you, also takes its toll

Have you seen the caskets, laying quietly at you feet?

And the head stones of the children, in rows so nice and neat

So why are you still watching, when you hear the children cry?

Do them all a favor, and open up your eyes

It feels impossible to explain what I feel when I am near you.
So many emotions flash through my heart and soul.
I beg my mind to just put into words what I am feeling.
But as I stare at the blank screen, only silence resonates.
How can I explain the sheer magnitude of safety I feel when I simply stand next to you?
What words could be used to describe the beats my heart skips when you smile?
How many pages would it take to recount the exhilarating tenderness of your touch?
If I could paint, no canvas would be enough.
If I could sing, no set of lyrics could encompass my joy.
I have been told that I talk so much, yet when I am asked to describe you I fall silent.
How can I put into words the feeling of my heart, trembling in my chest as you sit next to me?
It may be a futile gesture to attempt these explanations.
But I will never stop trying.

Steadfast…by Jessie


Ride the horse into the ground, beat it with your crop.

Drive him deep into the sand, until he finely drops.

The massive beast lye panting; all lathered and nostrils flared.

His heavy chest expanding then collapsed from lack of air.

But you poked and kick the gentle beast, just wanting one last ride.

As he stood, you jumped his back; he tried to take a stride.

His eyes rolled back, his legs gave way, he had no more to give.

He fell again and that was it, the beast no longer lived.

Not content with what you got, still you wanted more.

You poked and beat him with your crop until his flesh was tore.

Day’s went by and time had passed, the corps lay in the sun.

You never left, you were determined, to beat him tell he’d run.

Riders pass the solemn sight and swear that they can see;

You standing there, still beating, a lifeless ****** steed.

On the riverbanks I toasted the moon
between smooth pebbles and weeds
the silent silver bells tolling out
in tandem with your cries. Daddy
don’t you want more, more, more—
         Promethazine Queen and ****** King
your beloved subjects, beatnik
so low compared to New Critics
the antithesis to the highs neither
He, She, nor I have reached yet!
Religious visions in the soup kitchen!
          Finding God in the backs of cars
while racing to the back doors
of the hospital her cream colored wings,
found new heights when you OD’d
the backseat confessional as we raced
along toll roads, laughing, out the window towards sea
God you cried out, won’t you dance with me?
Hell right at your feet, yeah sure, I heard
and then out we rolled, down the hills,
into the fishy sewers, their haven
and I wondered is heaven fish chomping
at the bit, and at our toes?
            I’ll never know, but on these riverbanks
I start to. On our private shores
transferring from one bank to
another, promising, ***
that our memories are safe
locked inside metal storage lockers,
with police men wearing collars
and every single American dancing
the electric slide to get in with a four
digit pin, they want priceless for the night
for the price of a hundred year of their lives!
They beg for skin to bone loans,
millions of them, something to eat,
chicken—cowards, liars, and thieves
we run on getting drunk with the government
coerced each other, just stick in it, just
stick in, I am wet for the American
dream, and Trump’s toupee, his orange
lips salivating after me, grab me by the *****!
         Or at the very least release me, us,
the collective minds of our future gen
little boys and girls that will always
have to wonder, why? Did no one like them
and what kind of sins have their
fathers committed towards their mothers,
allegations, perpetuations, I just want
out of my own ******* skin!!!
So every night, before dying
I sleep with chocolate girls melting
into their Hershey *******
their chocolate kisses
or find guys whose vision is
both of us strapped up from the ceiling
Mary and Magdalene, save your children.

A writer in love....
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Note: for the poem above, ask the lover