I see girls, I see her
I hear them, I’m not listening
I’m just here, where’s my soul
I’m driving, oh careful man
I have a dictionary, it doesn’t have FORGET
I sit beside her, cannot control the heartbeat
But
It is only her, not you
Cause I am coward

YOU are the reason I CRY
YOU are the reason I want to DIE
YOU are the reason I cannot TRY anymore.

you
           Y
                 O
                        U
YOU

YOU ARE MY WORST FLAW
YOU only ever liked me RAW
YOU scratched my back with your ratchet CLAW
YOU only ever liked me in my BRA, exposed.

Why did I ever fall for YOU?

YOU are one of the many millions of fish.
YOU were one of my favorites meal dish.
YOU were the only one who ever received my wish.

YEAH! YOU!
YOU don't even CARE.
Without YOU, I might not BARE.
I am so lonely, too many to count, a BLANK STARE.
It's like you never even wanted to SHARE either.

GOD! I GAVE YOU EVERYTHING! AM I NOT GOOD ENOUGH?
I must never be good enough.

Who are you? …by Jessie 4/05


I met a man this morning I didn’t really like

I looked into his eyes and saw the darkness of night

The feeling I got was empty, I’m doubt we even spoke

The staring just continued, connection never broke

Some how he looked familiar, his face I could not place

The way he continued looking at me, the scowl upon his face

Then it’s as if a fog rolled in, the image began to fade

So I wiped the mirror one more time, exposing the reflection of my face

I am a pariah. Some see me as a joke, some see me as a mystery, some see me as a hot mess. But they all see me and refuse to stop seeing me. They unforgivingly gape and gawk at me.

Everyone has their own version of the story, and I cannot tell you how many times I have been told that my version is wrong. They seem to forget that after all, it is my story, but then they remember, and then they stare.

The few people that I have left continue to attempt to explain that this will all blow over with time. It has been three months since the incident occurred. Three months of staring, stories, and acting as if I’m not hearing their versions. As if I’m not hearing them call me a ****. As if I’m not hearing them say that I liked what he did to me. As if I’m supposed to sit there and act like their condolences are genuine and fake a smile, just for them.

At this point, I am unsure if they are even staring anymore. I am uncertain if it is all in my head, or if this is what my life will be now. I am unsure if I will ever be able to be just looked over again. I am unsure of myself and my choices and my thoughts. I don’t even know if they are mine anymore.  

Sometimes I wish that I could implode and make a colossal scene, but then I remember that it would just make the stares last longer. So I sit there, stuck, having to take the stares and hear their stories and listen to my uncertainty. Because after all I am just another one of their stories, and subsequently I will eventually disappear again.

Take my fetus and go
Through and through the mighty seas,
Cleft of stubborn knocks and the bayonets
Rocking through and through the eves. Whose pirouettes and epilepsy crooked, Asunder, blessing the attenuated biology of Say, a field mouse or the hummingbird. What nuisance it transcends itself into. How It has marred even the plight to lock oneself In that windowless box of time. The Atemporal box featuring those curious amaranthine engravings about its sides, upon its top. Though the blood may not spill from side to side, and while the nellypot may collywaddle, there is an immense sincerity akin, fused afore to the intimacy of an authenticated orphic boketto.

she admires him from afar

sneaking glances every now
and then hoping he doesn’t
catch her staring at the boy
she’s in love with