Jesse Jane

Life.
Is not about worrying
over the small details.
it's about living them,
joyously and happily.
It's about tossing out 
the bad, to make more room
for the fantastic.


Because I can honestly say
(at this very moment)
I am really, really
content.
Because, well,
fuck chemistry.
So I failed a test.
It's one.
In the grand scope of my life,
it does not matter.


I can revel in the fact that
I am.
We are.
That I have had a damn good week.
Not because my school life is going
well, not because being home is good.
But because I have friends and I love them
and they are rad human beings.


Because this week has been
steeped in poetry.
Because I got over needing my sad playlist,
because part of me has taken on this 
mentality I think I have momentarily
gained from my dear friend Marie:
"I'm awesome!"
(It really should be in all caps...)


Who actually cares
about failures?
Right now, 
I don't.


I care that I went dancing in the rain
with one of my best friends,
and two other really nice human beings.
We had fun.
And jumped in puddles
and danced and sang, and got
soaked.


It was the perfect rain for dancing.


And I'm happy for Marie's current happiness.
And I'm happy for the sake of being happy.


It's so much better than 
any other feeling.


And I'm getting past that trench
I fell into earlier this week.
The trench being the fact that he's got a
girlfriend. (which, still, he should)
I decided it's not worth being so down about.
Because that's now,
the future could possibly be different.


It may even swing in my favor.
I'm feeling rather optimistic today,
and a big part of me says
"Anything's possible".


Because damn straight.
It totally is.


And maybe someday he will love me,
because I already love him.
And maybe someday we could like,
be.
The thought makes me happy.


As far-fetched and preposterous as it is,
I like to imagine it could happen.


He's a sweet guy.
He's also entirely ridiculous,
really intelligent,
and way too hard on himself.
But he's funny, and silly,
and I'm not really sure
what my life would be like
without him.


So, today,
I am optimistic.
I shouldn't be,
but I am.


And I will boldly proclaim my love
for dancing in the rain, 
for poetry,
for life being lived,
and for this boy.


I love all these things
withe the entire extent of my
heart.

Blazing Dynamite

I'm excited.


Attending poetry-oriented things
always gets me especially jazzed 
about this thing I am most 
passionate about.


And this reading,
it was small and quiet
and good. 
And while I was 
nearly the youngest one there,
it was not weird.
It wasn't strange,
and I did not feel out of place.


The poets,
these humble little beings,
who publish in humble ways,
their anthologies, and books,
and essays and stories.
Who get their poems read 
on the radio.
Who are generous enough
to read their poems to people
like me.
(I found it funny, they say they still 
get nervous about reading to an audience,
even after years and years)


And it's always so grand to 
hear poetry.
Hear it read by the person who 
knows it best. 
To be able to distinguish the 
sounds, how it blends together
and makes sense with the actual words,
the formatting of the whole piece.


I love listening to poetry
nearly as much as I love reading it.


And so they read, and it was great.
Six poets, this little group called
"House of Toast", working out of Columbus.
(They're lovely, check them out!)
And then they sold their books
and talked with everyone.


And so I chatted with this poet,
and they were all such genuinely nice people.
And I was awkward and cliche and asked him
"Do you have any advice for an aspiring poet?"


And he did, and then another poet came and we 
all had a lovely little conversation on poetry,
and advice, and things.


I really love that they were nice
and not at all strange or distant,
they were so relatable.
So helpful.
And I am so very happy that I went
to this little reading.


And I'm very excited to give it another go
on Thursday,
reading my own work.


Sometimes I find it an accurate statement to
say:


"Poetry defines me"

Shanghied

I feel a little like this.

In one way.

I wish I felt the other way,

like this.

Because I adore the trees

in a snowstorm.

I like the cutting cold

and winds,

it makes you feel

alive.

But I feel a little

hazy,

a little bit solitary,

in a way I wish I didn't.

It's silly,

I think.

But once the thoughts catch

up to me,

once my head has

cleared a little,

I feel 

bad.

I'm sorry my recent posts have been

so narcissistic.

Have a little poem,

I hope you like it.

20,000 Leagues

Like the flow of green tidal

sea.

There is someplace deep,

wading in the caverns of

mermaids, abandonded

ancient shipyards.

Fingers to trace the long-lost

rot of salty masts underneath

a vindictive swirling spray

of seafoam, the flying spittle

of Neptune.

Baptismal.

Fairytale Lullaby

It's funny,
that when you're a teenager
literally every moment you live
you at some point look back and go
"That was really stupid".
(Not every single one, but
the vast majority)


It's always 
"No regrets",
but I think society
likes to take an uppercut
and say "That was dumb!
Why'd you do that?"
Pressures mount everyday,
I think.
And what we say is never right.
There's always a better way.


Everything we do is wrong.
We can't go a day without 
feeling idiotic.
People belittle our feelings.
Adults laugh at our dreams.
Our peers do dumb things,
and then we do them too.
People don't cut us any slack.


We aren't perfect.
That's alright,
I promise.


But it sucks to get
tagged with so much regret.
So many times we think
"why am I so stupid?"


You aren't.


None of us are as stupid as we're made to feel.


It's ok to be a teenager.
We're smart sometimes.
We're capable.
Let us have that.
let us feel like we should.

You Made Me Forget My Dreams

It's hard

when you're stuck.

When you feel

very quiet.

When you don't know what you could

ever say.

Because nobody wants

to hear words.

It's hard to 

come to those 

bright, harsh realizations.

Because you don't want 

to own up to the truth,

to these facts that may have

slightly shattered you,

tainted something.

Because that 

Space Between...

it shifted a lot,

and now it's in a very

strange place,

because I don't think

anything's changed for 

you.

Darling, stupid, sweet, ridiculous 

boy, whatever 

will I do with you?

And it's as pathetic as

I can bear to admit.

I can admit to 

loving you.

I can admit to knowing

all my endeavors,

past, present, or future,

are futile.

I can admit that

every new piece of

knowledge

creates a bigger hole

in my heart.

We were never meant

to pine after unattainable things.

But we do, because we're so 

fallible. 

Because we're human.

And since I'm human,

I've fallen into this.

I've become too much involved

in what will never be.

I feel bad.

But whatever.

Rinse Me Down

Well.
We have fun.


We stagger through the sucky, sloshy mud.


We ride horribly rickety, really awful,
definitely fun, fair rides. 


We get attacked by mud-slinging tires
(from people in a huge truck, talk about 
over-compensating!!)
And have our fun,
and discover...


oh.


Only a mid-size sedan plastered in
mud. 
It was as though a blizzard had come through.
Without the snow,
with lots of gross mud
that looked much too like poop.


In the dark and ick you all have a cow
and then go and wash the car barefoot
in a lonely carwash across the street from a
cemetery. It's great fun and a lovely time
and everyone laughs because the situation is
highly ridiculous. 


We make memories,
via photobooths; bumper cars
with silly, hilarious, dorky boys;
mudding; and through this tightly-woven
net of camaraderie that catches us whenever
we slip. Our faltering is always corrected,
our hearts always sewn back together,
our hands always held, our giggles always 
accompanied.


I wish that everyone could understand
this type of thing, this feeling.
I don't think everyone gets it, though.
I don't think everyone has such great friends.
I wish everyone did,
for without mine, I would be so horribly lost.
I love them with the entirety of my soul.


And so for one, my dear Jacket,
with whom I rode the ferris wheel last night,
and clutched hands with,
and pointed out the lovely night with;
who is one of the best people I know,
a poem:


Carnival

Like flying, 

stuck in this wavering purgatory

of neon lights,

we stood like giants

about the prettily-placed 

redbluegreen,

streaked with singsong

flashy yellow.

With the soundtrack of 

merry-go-round melodies,

and distantly twanging guitars.

 -

As the stars branched

in constellations next to us,

as the distance unfolded itself

unto us, this darkened landscape

of soft contours, which we could 

easily sink into,

and vanish.

If not for the greatly lit starry points;

if not for the million illuminating bulbs.

 -

And we clutched hands and 

became part of the night,

became the glittering lights,

melted ourselves to lie against the 

stars, so high up, past the trees.

 -

The winds swayed themselves

with our small tremblings,

of becoming cosmic,

losing ourselves against the 

shimmering, twitching fabric

of the land. The grid work

of rainbow fluorescence that

ebbed and flowed, blinked itself

in a frenzy to make the night 

dance.

 -

Up, up, in this technicolor connection,

we swung free, let our feet dip into the stars,

let the night claim us, and lift us, 

as we, with the pulsating throb of 

carnival lighting, became constellations

in the black landscape.

Flaws

I don't think I understand.
At this point I don't even know.


That goes for everything.
That goes for nothing.


Sometimes
I don't think I 
know anything at all.


Alas,
if we knew what was going on,
would there even be a purpose?


It feels like the resources
have been exhausted for today.

Ivy and Gold

"Jealousy is invariably a symptom

of neurotic insecurity."

-Robert A. Heinlein

Yep.

Swansea

The Project.

It's totally done.

It's huge weight off the shoulders

of four people who spazzed about it.

I feel anxious because I'm not doing anything.

My hands need to make things.

----

Boy Time...

There's a good chance he's got a 

girlfriend.

There's a good chance I spent a lot

of time with/near/in the presence of him

this week.

And it was good.

Because I really like him.

(Like we didn't know that already)

But being the horrible, paranoia-driven 

individual I am, this new discovery

is a hindrance. And a cause of my

ill-founded anxiety.

Why shouldn't he have a girlfriend?

I mean really, it makes sense.

Because he's a swell guy,

and usually those kinds have girlfriends.

But I guess

in the way of loving him,

my ability to feel jealousy 

and insecurity sky-rocketed.

And yet, in loving him,

I want him to be happy,

and if he is, by way of some

nameless, faceless girlfriend,

so be it.

Regardless of how this bothers one part of me,

the other says it is ok, it is good.

Because he deserves as much.

He really does.

It has just left me feeling

(as I sometimes do)

horribly confused,

and undeniably angsty and anxious.

I admit,

I am so teen-age,

but this boy.

I am wondering if he does 

have a girlfriend.

I am wondering what she is like.

I am wondering why I bother

with the fickle small things that

cause me to feel so 

awash in a sea too big for me.

His hands,

his laugh,

his quiet voice,

his loud voice,

his silliness.

Who he is has become 

something I like too much.