Author: Jess

as i walk alone again,
the yellow-headed-child goddess walks before me
and the babbling of the brook calms my thoughts.

finally,
i can see
something real
just beyond the horizon
and

i am adam
i am eve
i am,
examinging a future and a past
seeing that despite my mistakes
its all just okay
no matter how many rocks
ebb the river
the water still runs through them
(except of course in the case of a dam
and who wants to be damned)

i digress,
i transgress
i get there.
i’m getting there.

i just need to be alone sometimes
to look at the truth
to find myself alone again
but while the water runs
so does the goddess

and i am not alone,
nor will i ever be.

as the story goes
our eyes fell upon each others
one dark night
when the world was quiet
and we were alone
but it was from far away
and we looked like blurred transparencies of each other
still, we loved like we hadn’t before
in such a way that i feel like maybe i hadn’t
and then the story changed
when other people got involved
and distorted it
with words spelled incorrectly
(your leading them on)
until finally we were in focus
and you were saying nothing at all

her: but i’d do anything i could to stay with you

read this book, she said
but i discovered my favorite author
in the unmetered lines of your poetry
and the rattling, flowng phrase of your prose

despite their urgings
i found love inside of your arms
and beneath your gaze
which sometimes fell to the floor
as i let you down,
again
again
agan
only for your hands to pick me up again
and i knew i loved you
i know i love you
but i get scared
and you’re understanding

no matter what you say
i want to keep us this way
where you are so close to me
and i’m not far from you
and while we grow closer to each other
we find ourselves growing closer to ourselves

i pay no attention
to any warning signs
just drive fast
like the speed limit is a speed suggestion
you could be beautiful
you could be disgusting
but so could i.

and maybe you’re disgustingly beautiful
or beautifully disgusting
maybe we’re on oxymoron
but that’s all in the language.

there are no words to describe you
:you contrast with the ugliness of the world.

i could live forever
on one drink from the pools in your eyes
and i could breathe forever
if your lungs would give me life
your lips that curl around mine
remind me what it feels like to be kissed for the first time
these same lips that made me feel kissed
for the first time
and when i sighed for the first time
it was your heart, mind
that i loved for the first time
and if i could curl up with you
i would curl up with you and rub your hands
and my feet could nuzzle yours
while our heads fit in together
and we could lie there undefined
until there was a new eternity
and then i hope that i would rediscover you
because i know you from somewhere
and i loved you
and i love you

i am here,
and i’m alone
and i’m waiting for a phone call
and no one will ever call today
because the vintage strip malls
of the city to my east
keep you from the town to my west
and your phone line
is just as good as dead.

i’m here,
and i’m alone
and i’m waiting for a return
and no one’s coming home today
because i’m a slob-fucking-lesbian
and those types are just so hard to love
keep on forgetting
all the love i’ve gave to you
and all that you’ve tought me
you’re just as good as dead.

i’m here,
and i’m alone
and i’m waiting

she just keeps saying things will get better
but i can’t be alone
because if there’s one thing you never taught me,
it’s how to deal.

i’m here,and i’m bleeding
so i must be real.

(you know, the ones you say you love)

i knew that you were like me
i just didn’t know how much
speaking hollow words and drawn out phrases
hoping for so much, you say i’m just a girl
and then you tell me i’m the girl
you want her to think one thing
and for me to believe another.
i don’t believe you but i want to.

are you telling her things you’ve never told me
and are you expecting me not to care
are you justifying it by things i’ve done before and without you
or can we really work it out?
will you tell her that i’m real, i am a person, that i love you
or will you run away

il fait important que nous mouris les koalas parce que les australiens, et les koalas sont mechant!

so now i’ve warned you and i’ve told you how it feels
my words are not beautiful
and maybe you’re just pissed off at me
and you don’t really care for her
but what a beautiful way to rip out my heart.
(that’s how this feels)

i never told you about the time that i was in 6th grade
and at the spelling me,
listening to british chick pop
and thinking about dying, i wanted to die
i want to die
and then i went inside and took thirteenth in a spelling bee

is she trying to take you away from me?
but i can still spell
words like adiction
i spell it m-a-d-e-l-i-n-e
and i want to die again
maybe you could send her my obituary
and proudly say: “hey, she’s out of the way”

they’re all just angry, empty words
and i just want to know you love me

what a beautiful way to break ones heart
letting go into a love so strong
one so strong it will crack your ribs
and hurt your heart directly
if this love bite scars, and you never say i love you again
i’ll call it a battle wound
because i’m willing to fight so hard
but i don’t know the words to write
or i feel like now i can never be good enough.

and it hurts so bad to have it be in question:
am i the best girl?

(you know, the ones you say you love)

i knew that you were like me
i just didn’t know how much
speaking hollow words and drawn out phrases
hoping for so much, you say i’m just a girl
and then you tell me i’m the girl
you want her to think one thing
and for me to believe another.
i don’t believe you but i want to.

are you telling her things you’ve never told me
and are you expecting me not to care
are you justifying it by things i’ve done before and without you
or can we really work it out?
will you tell her that i’m real, i am a person, that i love you
or will you run away

il fait important que nous mouris les koalas parce que les australiens, et les koalas sont mechant!

so now i’ve warned you and i’ve told you how it feels
my words are not beautiful
and maybe you’re just pissed off at me
and you don’t really care for her
but what a beautiful way to rip out my heart.
(that’s how this feels)

i never told you about the time that i was in 6th grade
and at the spelling me,
listening to british chick pop
and thinking about dying, i wanted to die
i want to die
and then i went inside and took thirteenth in a spelling bee

is she trying to take you away from me?
but i can still spell
words like adiction
i spell it m-a-d-e-l-i-n-e
and i want to die again
maybe you could send her my obituary
and proudly say: “hey, she’s out of the way”

they’re all just angry, empty words
and i just want to know you love me

the absence of your last name
makes it easier to hate you in your absence
and love you in your presence

i like not knowing who you are
because i despise the idea of you

because our whole fucking lives,
we’ve been spending all this time
finding religion in a book of words
and abiding closely to the tale
of a white man, of a patriarch, bringing us down
we’re so determined to not fit in with their society
yes we can yes we can just tell me we can!
but we can not single-handedly build a matriarch