chess

Fuck you

You don’t know me
You don’t even try to

Fuck you

I’ve sacrificed my soul
For a hand full of nothing

Temper my words

Choose my next move with caution

The clock ticks
As you wait

And plot your response

© jmr/2013

aftermath

It never ceases to make no sense;

Each time I write it down
Only adds to the current confusion

It never works itself out;

They’re lying when they say
Talking about it will ease the pain…

Because I’ve sobbed, screamed, tortured myself

And you

And I still feel the emptiness

Like a black hole burned by past fires
In my heart-

Leaving nothing but ashes in the aftermath

© jmr/2005

2004 – 09/08

I’m taking this class called “Creative Writing” good for credits
That I might use later on to transfer to a university

I thought, if I’m good at this, great at this, naturally

How much better I’d be if my eyes were opened

To new styles to try
Fresh points of view

How much more confident if, I realized the spoken word from someone else’s notebook written in someone else’s pen (good enough to make me cry)

Was similar to my own talent

Enough so that I could hold my own

I imagined how hearing a stranger attempt to bare their own soul, share personal shame, passion, fear anger and humor could enlighten me

Allow me to think through another’s mind
Feel how it is to live in side their skin for a moment

And so, with great anticipation I drove to school
A little nervous, a lot excited
To begin my journey

When class began I was told to write about
What I know and use the words I know
In my own voice
Write like I think write like I talk
Be real be me

My assignment before me, I labored over
How to start
Line by line –was I using proper grammar?
Was my spelling ok?

And punctuation; who can remember the correct placement of a semi-colon or a comma?

A million tries later I finally gave up and began to write this
My masks had been stripped away by now
I was tired and discouraged and feeling way out of my element

Write about what I know

I know the softness of baby skin on the underside of a newborn foot
And the warmth in my heart while touching my lips to that innocent skin to place a kiss there
I know about disappointment
I know the joy of a pat on the back for a job well done

The pain inside when my words hurt another person

I know regret –could have, should have, if only I would have

I know forgiveness enough to have felt light of heart before once or twice
But I also know stubbornness and vendetta

And maybe those last two better than the first
I know fear
Fear of new, fear of change, fear of not measuring up to someone
Prettier someone smarter
Someone more capable or stronger emotionally than I

First day of a new job fear
Running out of money fear

I know loathing; sour feeling in the pit of my stomach
Which just the thought or sight of another person can put into me

I know the protective instinct God gives to mothers
I know being sorry… and not
I know giving the benefit of the doubt when others have done wrong
But I also know about withholding a second chance

I know about trust enough to know that my ability to feel it is
Shallow and easy to destroy
I know about computers and bookkeeping and accounting for inventory discrepancies
Home decorating, drawing and cooking

And let me tell you, this girl can clean and fold a t shirt like you would not believe

I can do a lot of things
And talk about a lot of things enough to get people to believe I know a lot more than I do

And yet I cannot name all the countries or point them out on a map
I’ve not seen breakfast at tiffany’s or gone with the wind
Read war and peace

I’ve never known the thrill of mountain climbing or completely letting go
I’ve been a drunk
I’ve been an addict
I’ve spent too much money, neglected responsibilities

Lied, stolen and killed someone’s spirit

And once I made home made taffy

I know being abused

Yet I’ve also known happiness and seen perfection
Write about what I know

Who I am
Be real be me
Where do I begin???

©jmr/2004