Jessica Perez
Jessica, 21 I’m really trying to get back into my childhood passion of writing again !
Jessica Perez
Jessica, 21 I’m really trying to get back into my childhood passion of writing again !
Jessica, 21 I’m really trying to get back into my childhood passion of writing again !
Jessica, 21 I’m really trying to get back into my childhood passion of writing again !
I’ve been lost in your eyes A hundred times before I’ve sworn fealty to them Now and forever true Azure like a blue jay’s cries. They have brought about in me A love so intense. If only I could keep this gaze When my lover dies. I give you to God to paint the horizon And the sky had never looked so blue
When Do Artist Die? It is not the moment Our heart stop beating in our chests. When we draw our last breath No. It is when the candlelight we followed In this hazy twilight flickers And leaves us blind to wander this wretched wood I am a dead man I spend my evenings among those lucky enough To never lived at all We watch the living There are living on the stage tonight Were I still a poet I’d appreciate the horizon curve in their spines in sonnets Would if I could describe the siren call Of the synchronized steps of their pointe shoes along the polished wood floors of the stage Turns and turns make tornadoes that shake this theater A storm we all weather with gratitude These young dancers are alive for now And the echo of envy sits in my soul Still my old knees creak with the speed at which I stand for my ovation My palms string from the force of their clapping I wander the land of the dead and watch the living I long for a resurrection
There was a relief of feeling in the storm’s approach In the trepidation and fear In knowing the he foundations would tear away The knowing and the lack of fearing The anticipation gone The game is won I’ve waited it out I’ve won this bout If this can be called winning In the storm’s eye I stare
“What is it called? I like it.” Lake half whispered.
“It’s Orange Sandlewood, smells great right? In a minute you’ll hear some Ludovico Einaudi, I got sick of the rainforest after my first year in practice.”
Lake breathed deeply, letting air travel into his nose down to his chest and out his mouth. Just like he was supposed to.
“I never got the whole listening to the ocean and rainforest, those places can’t be calming, filled with wild animals that want to eat you.”
“I wouldn’t hold it against them. We’re unwelcome people invading their homes. Tearing down trees to make ugly chairs.” The good doctor smiled at Lake, in the way that let him know small talk was over “Speaking of unwelcome people, last time we talked, you said your father had mentioned coming to visit.”
Lake let himself breathe again. Closing his eyes focusing on sandlewood and Einaudi.
“He had mentioned it yeah. “
“And?”
“I said no.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Do you want to elaborate on why? Or maybe how you felt after, how you feel now?”
Lake breathed again, his lungs always felt so clear after his appointments. All of this damn breathing. The Orange Sandlewood must have seeped into his lungs by now.
“I said no. He emails me for the first time in three years, who emails anymore anyway, calls me a name that isn’t mine and says he’s coming down for business. ‘Might as well stay at my place’. “ Lake only hears the scratching of The Good Doctor’s fancy pen in response.
“I’d pictured seeing him before this, yknow, I pictured how angry I’d be, how I’d give him the biggest talking down in history. Show him how good I have it without him.” , Lake paused and swallows the lump in his throat. “My dog would hate him.”
This makes The Good Doctor pause and look up from her fancy pen and stationary.
“ Benji?” Benji has been a highlight in many of their sessions.
“Yeah. The shelter has said from the beginning that he’s jumpy, my dad would scare him shitless. Benji doesn’t deserve that.”
“I see.”
“I don’t need him to see I have it good. I know I do. I have a dog who’s tail wags because I make him happy. I have people who support me and who I support. I have a life. I have a life that I don’t need him to approve of. And I don’t need to rub it in his face either. I don’t need anything from him.
Just Jessica Jessica’s Jelousy Jessica’s no love letters Jessica’s unimaginative poem she wrote herself Just one love letter Just one sonnet Just a reason to say I’ve got something of my own Just write something like this, “Jessica’s hand curled around mine Just so, Jessica’s lovely laugh and horrid hair in the morning Just for me only mine Journeying far for a glimpse of her” Just like that, yeah Just one love letter God, just one.
When your childhood isn’t normal the people you look up to aren’t either. For Pluto Chambers it was Lovely Moore; despite the commonality of strange, uncommon names like Pluto and Lovely in The Garden, Pluto couldn’t help but feel Lovely’s name was particularly fitting for her.
Long ginger hair, and a face splattered with orange-brown freckles and angry brown eyes. Always so angry. Justifiably, of course. Adam said she needed to be taught to let go of all that anger inside her if she wanted to ever be as lovely as her name. Her hands always bruised from penance, a stark contrast to their white gowns.
Lovely had not adjusted well to The Garden, perhaps she had a small part in the recesses of her mind which remembered a better world, not for her necessarily, but just the existence of one. Lovely’s father had ventured out to bring back new blood for a bride and found one in her mother, a frail weak willed widower.
Pluto still remembered his mother and father being so pleased that a girl only a few years older would be joining The Garden and would help “even out the numbers” there had been some worries some new babies eyes or such. He tried not to think to hard about it.
“Did you want that iced?”
Pluto was snapped back to the teenager in front of him with the bored expression on her face confirming that he did, in fact want his vanilla latte iced. Throughout the transaction his eyes couldn’t help but wander over to her coworker, a tall young woman with short ginger hair and a bevy of doves tattooed down her arms, designed in a way that it looked like they were going to all take a great leap from her hands. But he couldn’t forget Lovely’s eyes. They were void of that anger that was so iconic to her, but they were the same shape and same pretty brown.
Normally Pluto would take the time to sit in the corner and people watch. Study their mannerisms and critique his own. Compare. See what cracks he could fill, make sure no one can see the strange background in his movements . But today he cannot help but watch the fun house mirror image of Lovely .
“For Pluto.” the teenager with the bored expression at the front counter, showed only the slightest change in emotion, perhaps mocking, at his strange name when he had given it; but Lovely ,or, the young woman he was very nearly sure was her , reacted immediately. Turning to him fully there was no mistaking her now.
“Lovely Moore…”
The same placement of the freckles he had mesmerized and traced on warm summer days. The same slight overbite and charming smile. Looking down Pluto hadn’t realized one change in first glance.
Following his gaze to her chest the ginger haired girl let out a loud laugh, sounding almost embarrassed. She put out her had almost as if to introduce herself,
“It’s Jupiter now, actually.”
Pluto shook her hand, charmed.
Never did I think dear that I would not feel you next to me Neither of us began these lives of ours with one another but it is not much of one with out you dear No words of comfort No promises of a better place No people who cannot comprehend this empty pain Not a one of them can soothe the wound of your knife Never does a man think the only comfort he has is the down payment on the space in the ground next to you dear No dear, I know first hand it is a strange feeling to not feel me next to you, but you need not wait very long No, not a very long wait Not a young man, I am Never did I think dear, in my youth, that I would be glad to to not be a young man Never worry my dear Never worry my dear
Don’t let them judge you. They don’t see the necessity. The patterns smooth the ache. The lack of them infuriate. The tap tap tap tap….. ……………………………….. ………………………………..
Don’t let them judge you. They don’t see the necessity. The patterns smooth the ache. The lack of them infuriate. Tap tap tap tap tap