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Jonesy Mar 3
How am i?
You want the truth?
I'm broken
Not the type you get when you didn't get your way so you're slightly disappointed. I'm heart broken. My heart is aching deep inside my chest, it trembles because it's now coming to terms with what my brain already knows.
How am i?
I am in pain ...
I have alot of physical ailments but nothing, nothing at all compares to crying yourself to sleep, waking up from sleeping crying, going through your day crying. I've cried for 3 days now.
How am i?
I'm trying to be strong.
Why?  I know if you knew how I really feel you'll be devastated so I lie, I tell you I'm doing okay, I'm great, fantastic...while  having..tears on my cheeks....so you can focus on you. I went to school trying to hide my tears but then I saw my friend and I broke down. I actually gripped at my heart and I told her it hurts soooo bad. My heart was beating like normal but yet it hurt so bad. I cried so much that I accepted it, class mates passed me and asked "Are you ok?" I said "I'm great, ignore the tears I have allergies".
How am i?
I'm hurt.
So so so so so so hurt. You wanted to stop hurting me so much that you decided to break my heart instead. I hate you for that.  You promised me you wouldn't break my heart. Then why am I crying everyday, why does my heart ache, why am I not eating....why am I in such pain.....why do I feel so.... empty.
How am I?
I don't know.
I'm so many things yet nothing all at once.
I wouldn't wish heart break on an enemy if I had any.
It's painful...no one deserves to feel like they're nothing,...
No one deserves to feel broken.




                                                     ­               Jonesy 2020 (c)
This poem is in the form of a journal entry. A story of a girl who is coming to grips with being broken.
Hereshecomes Sep 2019
I hide my lacerating dreams
maps form then fall.
Little fingers tangle neurons
tugging at timid gazes and lore.

I plant thorns on your mouth
pretend it to be a rose .
Your shadow passes
a neophyte’s ashes blowing in the wind.

I build a pyre for each encounter
stripping my body fictitious sins.
I turn my back to the heat
a stranger devouring her soul.

Invisible now, I step out
consecrated tombs stand where I once stood.
I stare at prophetic torture fields
and listen to the howling of memory.

I scatter words to thaw out the void
love letters inscribed in blood.
They settle on a crater or two
A still born silence and frozen sap.

But cascading noise drown these verses
made from doubt in silk threads.
Lean sentences gone terribly wrong
On the beaten road to hell.
imposter artist Jun 2019
She asks,
      how can you be happy
      living in this
      no bedroom *******
      that somehow gets smaller
      with every sigh?
      We weren’t supposed
      to be these people,
      happily moving hot air
      from one place to the next.

We are like mannequins now
      every aching minute together
same faces and no new words.
let's just stare
Jonesy Apr 2019
I don't usually grow under harsh conditions,
It takes a while for my seed to sprout.
But he was a gentleman
And he watered me everyday.
He believed in my growth
Although he himself did not know how to grow.

I don't usually grow under harsh conditions,
But in this cruel world I'm beginning to sprout,
Gentle this creature was
He made sure he  gave me sun every day
For he wanted me to grow.

I don't usually grow under harsh conditions,
But today I finally sprout.
I'm glad I can now sustain him
Now it is my turn to believe in him
He can finally enjoy my fragrance and the beauty in my petals.
I can now help you to grow too
Just like you have shown me.

We don't usually grow under harsh conditions,
But I'm here now
Bobbing my head, dancing to the wind.
Showing you that with patience anything is possible.
Let me show you how to grow under these harsh conditions.
©jonesy2019
Jonesy Mar 2019
To whom it may concern,

You seem to be having a blast with my voodoo doll, just making out these terrible situations for me; sitting there and plotting the best way to f me over. I think to myself there's no way I'll let you get to me not today, but you always have the last say.

So I decided today was the day I wrote a letter to my Saboteur.

Hopefully now you'll stop getting in my head telling me I ain't worth it,
That boy will never love you don't you ever understand it.
I try and try to ignore you
Tell me about all my flaws
How I never do anything right
"How do you keep looking at yourself, you're such an eye sore"

Today I decided to write a letter to my Saboteur.

These letters seem to be working, you haven't sabotage me recently.
No more shady moments
No more feeling bad.
Its been a few days now since I last heard from my saboteur but that's only because I stopped listening to myself.

©Jonesy2019
Sometimes you are your worse enemy
Jonesy Feb 2019
We all have our ups and down;
Some things are better left unspoken.
My mouth is a stranger to smiles and tends to easily welcome frowns;
I'm not broken.

Emotions I hold so dear.
To my friends i offer you all a token,
But my anxiety won't let you guys come that  near;
Maybe I am broken.

Fear,  I'll never let you win,
But my depression you just awoken;
"To cause harm to yourself is a sin! "
What if I am broken?

It hurts sitting here feeling so conflicted,
Wish I could say something but I'm too soft spoken,
But that's okay cause here is a fact,
I'll get over it as previously predicted,
So what I'm broken
Theres nothing wrong with that.

Jonesy 2019©
Jonesy Feb 2019
As I sat there contemplating...
I realized I was not as important to him as he was to me.
            
Jonesy 2019©
Jonesy Feb 2019
No I'm not appointing blame,
My origins will never change,
But what was there for an eight year old to do.
I never felt wanted again after I was born,
There was a huge void in my spirit
My dad married and it seemed like he forgot about me,
I felt like I was scorn.
I was never helped with homework;
I became a novice
Never understood Maths, English or any prerequisites.

A mistake.
Yeah I get it.
But at least don't treat me like it.... Please.
My teacher (God rest her soul) took me under her wing,
Helped me with maths,religious education and English.
I slowly understood what I was missing:
Love, joy, sympathy and a family.
This quickly ended when she died though,
And that void came back.

I never saw my dad.
I might have slowly forgotten his features.
But that didn't bother me I was only ten by then,
And I was coming into myself:
I suffered depression and insecurities.
Many a day I would bury my head in a book
Not because I wanted to,
But because I wanted to make myself scarce so I could escape the hardships of my dysfunctional family.

Maybe reading was a good thing,
I reassured myself as I read through the encyclopedias in my small library;
Deciding that I'll read my problems away.
Mom was never around,
And daddy had a new family.
I'll just read the problems away.

I felt unwanted.
Mummy started going out every night,
At this time I had a five year old sister;
Of course mom hardly spent time with her.
I babysat her while missing homework assignments I never got helped with.
Because mummy went out every night.
Sometimes she came home
Sometimes she didnt
A fire kindled in my spirit made of anger
How could a mother do this to her young daughters.

Jonesy 2019 ©
As promised part 2 to my origins
Marii Dec 2018
And then she realised that
All stories die with the people who made them...

What a devastating truth to know that so many wonderful stories lie between the dust of had-been peoples.
Jonesy Jun 2018
I'm writing from a state of creative deprivation,
And I don't know why
Life is driving on and it somewhat forgot me at the bus stop.

I'm writing from a state of creative deprivation.
Everything around me lacks inspiration,
Everything around me is now monotonous,
And I don't know why.

I'm writing from a state of creative deprivation.
It's ironic that when I started learning from school,
"How to be creative and how to make it better"
I lost my creativity.
And I don't know why.


I'm writing from a state of creative deprivation.
I no longer know how to express myself,
My creativity drives everything that I am;
I lost it.
And I don't know why.

I'm writing from a state of creative deprivation.
To me this world held so much inspiration.
Now,
The world holds the paint brushes;
Creative thinkers are the paint,
And this world lacks color.
And I don't know why.

Jonesy 2018 ©
Guys lately I've been uninspired to write literary pieces
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