The Morning After

It's midnight
and I'm remembering what it felt like
to lie next to your warmth
how we slept but were still awake
and we tasted love for the first time 
losing sobriety with each intake
and when morning comes I'm writing this moment into my skin
but you go home and wash it away like it was a sin--
I thought it was sincere. 
It's been almost two years and all I hear is that
like Peter Pan you aren't ready to grow up
so I step aside and let you hide me behind
closed doors and bed sheets
becoming your best kept secret.
Why are you so ashamed of me?
I let you crawl up into my darkest crevice
I bet that's what scared you the most
that underneath this beautiful smile lies a broken soul
but I didn't need you to fix me.
I just needed you to love me unconditionally.
You are the most dominant piece of poetry
that lives on my blank sheets
but I'm starting to realize that my perfume is not the only one
lingering on your bed sheets.
You tell me it's none of my business
that when you're fucking me it's all about me
and no one else in that moment
but I don't want to sleep next to you
when your body is reeking of other women
I don't want to be another one of your patients that your blessin
because I don't deserve it
but my cries have fallen on deaf ears.
Could you see your reflection in my fallen tears,
how you once stood erect in my mind
but the only erection I could now get
is the one that just adds me to your list.
I don't want it.
I don't want it because there is no respect.
How could you disrespect me and expect me to
lie with you in yall's ecstasy
where ours used to lie too.
Although I love you you've made the butterflies in my stomach 
that used to flutter at your touch poisonous
and I'm throwing up all of the memories of us
and burying them in poems like this one.
The next time morning comes and you finally wake up,
I'll be gone.

Late Night Phone Call

It's 3am
and the birds are crooning outside of our windows
even though we are nowhere close to one another
our hearts are so intertwined
We are the manifestation of a poem
our hearts left too open for anyone to fill the now empty verses
We are loving in vain
disrespecting its name
and dishonoring its sanctity
I'm only losing my sanity.

My black angel
I feel you slipping away from me
and I thought keeping your wings would make you stay with me
The dim light reflects the shadow of you lying next to me
and I'm starting to miss you
but we are lying in our sin
and I'm getting high off of everything you're saying
but you're whispering sweet nothings
What ever happened to love?
Why can't we fix our broken melody?
You stopped singing to me.

I don't want to have just one more night
but if that's all there is to offer
I won't take it
I'll leave like a thief in the night
leaving nothing behind but the imprint of a kiss on your cheek
that whispers I love you.

It's 3am
and we're listening to the birds crooning outside of our windows
I'm afraid I'll never again get to use your chiseled chest as a pillow
This may be our last phone call
Your voice is plucking at my broken heart strings
I don't know what you're trying to say to me
In this moment all I want is you
But if we hang up now
it'll be over forever.

You were the sweetest thing I had ever known.

Asylum of the Mind

They found her in a dark alley covered all over in dirt
Screaming and crying
Pulling on her hair
Saying over and over again
Please make them stop!
Make them stop talking to me!
They went to grab her
Take her somewhere safe
But she kicked and punched and yelled
And they wrestled her into the ground
Tying her arms and legs together
And threw her in the back of a van
Her screams echoing in the night

They told her they could help her get better
Help stop the voices in her head
But all she did was fight them
The screams from the other patients only heightened her anxiety
All she did was cry,
They're everywhere!
Go away!
Wouldn't let anyone touch her
All she did was try to harm herself
To make the voices go away
And they forced her into a strait jacket to make her cooperate
But there was nothing they could do to make the voices stop

So she sat in the corner
Hair in disarray 
Eyes darkened from lack of sleep and puffed from crying
Rocking back and forth
Laughing

Cliches

Let go
As if I can wake up tomorrow and not feel a thing

Move on
As if I have a choice to stop, pause, rewind, and fast-forward through it

Life is too short
As if I have control over how this makes me feel

I refuse to live by these cliches
that were made to "help" and "encourage" people to enjoy life
while ignoring the reality that we as humans face on a daily basis
It is hard to not care about something that meant so much to you
Hard to force yourself to simply move on and let go
because life is too short
because there is nothing simple about moving on and letting go

Life is too short for people to count their misfortunes
instead of their blessings
Too short to be looking for more
when your plate is already full
Too short to be serving apologies on broken dishes
and expecting people to devour it
Too short to say I love you
but not show it

An Introduction

I never got a chance to write a small introduction for my blog; I was too excited and anxious to get started and figured I'd wait. Now that I have enough material and a large enough audience, I'd like to welcome you to my blog, Not A Wasted Word!

First of all, kudos to my friend Bryanna for this title! I couldn't think of one at all, and she helped me (thanks so much!) I heard this one and thought it was absolutely perfect!

I've been writing for about four years now but it wasn't until a project in my sophomore year that I discovered that this is what I really loved. I use writing mainly as an outlet. A lot of the things that you read are simply manifested thoughts and feelings that I have on a daily basis and many of it pertains to significant moments in my life, so you will definitely find a common theme as I move through these stages of my life. I've always tried to find a metaphor to connect things to and write my poems in that way, mainly because they are, in a way, letters to different people I've come into contact with and I try not to make it so specific so that people can relate as well. 

So essentially my poems are very very emotional. I am, however, working on expanding the topics and avoiding these sad poems, but writing first and foremost is my outlet. I can write better than I can verbally express myself, so I always turn to writing.

I am very grateful for all of the love and support I've received so far! Tomorrow marks two weeks since the birth of Not A Wasted Word, and I have over 600 hits already! And not to mention the many people who have told me how much my writing has touched and inspired them, which brought me to tears! I was not expecting it all, and now I'm not writing just for me, I'm writing for all of you. So thank you, much love, and I hope you enjoy this journey along with me!

XOXO,
Jay 

Untitled

I can't get rid of these images in my head
Just continuously playing over and over again
Reminding me of the pain I felt in those moments
I just want to forget everything
I want to forget you
I want to forget your face that I tried so hard to memorize
Forget the way your eyes smiled when you looked at me
And the taste that lingered on my lips after a kiss
I want to forget what touching your face felt like
and how my heart skipped beats at the sound of your voice
it was like music to my soul
I want to forget what it felt like to lie next to you and fall asleep
and the lounges in the grass
and never wanting either of them to end
Forget the sleepiness in your voice as we talked into the wee hours of the morning
and the bass of your laugh
and the squint of your eyes
and how it made me love you even more
I want to forget the last time you looked at me
and told me I was beautiful
and how I felt like the luckiest girl in the world
I want to forget your last words
and the coldness of your voice
and the sting of my tears as I tried to swallow them
and the way you looked at me
and the faint feeling I got as I tried to make sense of what was happening
I wanted to tell myself I was dreaming
That this wasn't real
That I was just imagining things
I just want to wake up tomorrow morning
And not remember any of it.

To My Daughter

I don't know what you will look like
but I know you will be beautiful
I don't know your name yet
but I know it will fit your personality
I will hold you in my arms when I first see you
and tell you how much I love you
and tell you I will try to protect you as much as I can
but I know I won't be able to
When you start crawling and then walking
I'm going to baby proof every single thing in sight
and follow you around everywhere because
I can't see you hurt
but I know you'll have to fall sometimes
and all I can do is comfort you
When I teach you how to ride a bike
you will wear a helmet, elbow pads, and knee pads
and you will not convince me otherwise because
I can't see you hurt
but a scraped knee only hurts for a little while
When I drop you off on your first day of school
I will worry about how the other kids will treat you
and if you come home crying about someone
teasing you or calling you names,
best believe it will take everything in me to remain calm
because you are my baby
and I can't see you hurt
When you're old enough to like boys
I will tell you that they're stupid
and crushes only hurt for a little while
so don't get too caught up
But then when you're 17 and you've fallen in love
and he tells you he doesn't love you anymore
or that there is someone else
I won't know what to do
because that kind of pain is deep
and when I'm holding you in my arms
and you're crying into my chest
asking how could this have happened
don't be upset with me when I say nothing
because I'll be crying too
That pain is all too familiar to me
and for you to experience it too will break me
and I can't fix it for you this time
and that hurts me to watch you in that much pain
and I know the pain won't go away over night
I'm not ready 
I'm not ready to see you experience that pain
but I will hold you and tell you
you are smart
you are beautiful
And trust me, I know it won't make you feel better
and that kills me
but you will get through it
and you won't be alone
I know you'll be strong
Just like the generations of women before you
Just like me.

Late Night Thoughts

Facing the night sky I closed my eyes
and wished to not be tempted
but to be given wisdom 
and not waste it
on hopeless aspirations that are just raisins
dried up in the sun.
Oh how my heart cried out for your touch
even if that wasn't much to ask for
but I swore I wanted nothing more.
Even just a taste of you would suffice
but that means I would have to sacrifice
my peace of mind
and it is already fucked up.
And I don't even know if it's you that I want
because anyone can feel this void
deep in my soul.
I was told I was needy and that that's not so bad.
So then tell me why am I still alone?
If a God does exist
please help me to calm my spirit
because it has become restless
and I can't take any more sleepless nights.
Oh how I wish for people to say I love you
and mean it
and never leave you alone.

Poker Face

Smile, girl
Not too wide, make it genuine
Show some teeth, not too much 
Smile with your eyes too
Don't look sad
Don't let them know that you cried last night
Fool them
Let them be convinced that you're a happy girl
Hide the dark circles with foundation
Make your eyes glitter with gold
Add some flare with your eyeliner
Smile...
Smile...

Laugh, girl
Not too loud, don't seem obnoxious
Make a joke
Let them know you're funny too
Laugh along with them
Don't let them know that you're a Debbie Downer
Convince them that you're enjoying yourself
Even though you're really trying to avoiding thinking too much
About your broken heart
Laugh...
Laugh...

At the end of the night
When everyone is asleep
Let down your hair
Wipe away the gold and foundation and liner
Crawl into bed
Cry, girl
Not too loud
But just let it all out
A broken heart is too much of a burden to bear
You've been strong all day
Now is the time to let it go
Cry...
Cry...

4/16

April 16, 2012

Two years ago I didn't know
I was basically selling my soul to the devil
marking this day in my diary so I'd never forget 
but now I wish I did
but what did I know?
I thought no harm could be done.

Maybe if I had kept my mouth shut
we would've never even crossed paths,
just two ships in the night passing.

730 days ago I didn't know that
I'd be drowning in such disappointment and regret
asking myself, Jada why did you even say anything at all?
but I had no idea that for 17,520 hours
you'd be the main character in my stories
Now I get five days of silence.
You act as if I've never seen parts of you
that aren't visible to the naked eye
so now I have to tell myself that it never happened
because I figured if I don't talk about it
it'll just go away
you would just evaporate
and our memories would be dreams that I won't remember in the morning.

1,051,200...
Minutes...

of you existing, in me.

The butterflies inside my stomach now make me sick.
I didn't have my heart set on forever
but my grandmother said that love is eternal
And you made me believe it.

April 16, 2014.
I play dress up and paint my face 
to hide the tracks of my tears
and the evidence of sleepless nights under my eyes
and pretend that you never existed.

This day was supposed to be important.
Now I'm just hoping that like you,
I could forget too.

Drug Addict

I didn't think I’d ever try you

I was way too much of a good girl to even consider it.

But I got a taste,

one Thursday afternoon, in the spring

The air was warm, smelled of fresh grass.

I was hooked; I had to have you

even though I knew you were no good

but I kept taking more and more.

You gave me such a high nothing else ever could

and before I knew it I needed you.

Day.

And night.

I felt like I’d lose my mind if I didn’t have you.

They told me you were no good

but the way you made me feel convinced me that

I couldn’t live without you.

And then everything started to change.

I was jittery and paranoid,

I tried so hard to get that high again

But you were no longer good.

Only now you made me sicker and sicker.

Even now in my withdrawal I get the urge

to want a taste of you

again.

Just a taste.

But all you’ve done is deteriorate my body

my mind

and my spirit.

Bad Religion

Now I lay me down to sleep
I prayed to you my heart to keep
and to love me assiduously
in the way that required no boundaries.

Bounded heart and soul to your every word
I thought you granted peace and serenity in my world
but only really left it in turmoil
plagued by false hope and no promise land.

That which we swaddled in cherry blossoms in our hands
is now crucified against a wooded stand.
And your refusal to resurrect it
only makes me question your purpose and existence.
You told me you were God
and I almost believed it.

How could you be so deceiving?
I bit into the apple you handed to me
and was instantly infatuated by your being.
As much as I questioned it,
you convinced me that this was what I needed.
I ended up drowning in a sea of sorrow 
wondering if tomorrow you will finally be true
to what you originally set out to do.

I've simply lost my faith in you.

Now I lay me down to sleep
I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
If I should die before I wake,
I wish it weren't you that became my fate.

Love Is Poetry

A poetic melody has manifested itself into what exists today.

We have swaddled it in cherry blossoms

and laid it to rest on the rich green grass of our idyllic scenery.

Our hearts have crooned this melody for months

Now a lullaby that I fall to sleep with at night.

Endless writing on thousands of paper cranes

Our words are nightingales in the spring evenings.

A fallen star our eyes have witnessed

and colored lights prancing in the cloudless night sky--

A flower breaking through two plates of concrete--

May the ink that flows from our fingertips nourish this unexpected miracle.

Oh what rare beauties we have been able to see

when love is nothing but an ideal of poetry.

Dissonace

Part I

You are empty promises
Served on broken china and half-empty crystals
Of red, red wine,
And your service slices through my delicate hands easily,
Creating wounds too wide to close.

This blood, like honey, drips slow and stains
This white blouse--
I think it looks pretty.
I sip the liquidity of your entity,
Losing sobriety with each drop.

Part II

You are half notes with cacophonic tunes
And I prance across your bare floors with such elegance
Only to find bits of glass kissing my skin--
But I do not stop.
I can't.
Blood spills from the ghosts of their lips
and auburn streams streak over the sheened wood. 

Your music
                    And my movement
Are    
          never
In sync.
Alwaysclashing,
Never agreeing on that perfect rhythm and harmony that,
Once upon a time,
the two had created.

The Lost Ones

They are the girls who are quiet and mild at first glance

but after peeling away their many layers can find they too just want to have fun.

They are the girls who don’t obsess over their figures,

knowing that someone will love them in all of their glory.

They are the fine line between eloquence and plainness

who wear just enough makeup to enhance their natural beauty

and don’t spend their time and money on something that will last until midnight.

They are the girls who would rather wear sweats and tees

than strut in a cropped top and skin-tight pants

but when they do go out, they go out in style:

classy, but never trashy.

They are the wallflowers at parties who dance with their friends

because grinding on drunk guys who just want to hit it and quit
because they're afraid of commitment

is just not appealing to them.

They are the hopeless romantics who wait for someone to admire their smile

than be in awe of their thick waists

because they know they have so much more to bring to the table.

But they go unnoticed because of those girls,

the ones who easily lie down with no questions or expectations

because guys love girls with no strings attached.

They are the lost ones

and some day hope to be found.

Writing Challenge (2013)

I have come to know the vastness of paper

How its surface bursts with such blankness

It’s calling my name

Its transient emptiness transforms into characters

that I myself have never even imagined could happen

This scene they act out is the perfect picture

of what my story is

It has all been done before of course

but not like this

No one has been able to perform my story

with such accuracy and passion

The only imperfection is that none of my misunderstandings are resolved

These characters falter over these misunderstandings

It was wrong of me to assume that

they were capable of accomplishing such an impossible task

If one cannot understand oneself

how can one expect others to understand too?

I have come to know that paper and pen just sometimes aren’t enough

Morning Breeze

The morning breeze pushes past my bohemian-esque draps

and creeps silently upon

my naked skin, caressing my shoulders, neck, and face.

I turn to welcome it,

rising and pushing away the sins

of the night before. The perfume of

clean air and fresh cut grass

fill my lungs as I partake

this breeze.

It dances around me,

carrying me to a tub

filled with pink tulip petals and a sweet aroma.

It lowers me into its altar,

washing away the

dirt and grime

of imprints left upon my skin

that were trapping me. The breeze carries me

back to where it found me this morning,

leaving me limp against a new skin

and escaping back behind

the bohemian-esque drapes.

Beastly

I met a boy once

who had thick lines of scars

etched across his face,

each one telling its own story to me

as I stared into them.

At first my weak eyes could not see,

but as I went deeper into those lines,

I could see that the reason for their thickness

lay behind short personal narratives

of indiscretions and consequences;

lies and betrayals;

regrets and mistakes.

And as I stared deeper

into these lines that bled such tales,

Fear slithered across my neck

and whispered into my ears,

Stay away from broken people.

But I couldn’t,

because looking at them

was like staring into my own face.

And so my eyes ran over his face,

tearing these lines apart

so that I could find him.

I suddenly could feel his soft flesh

as if my fingertips were

lying against it.

Then I found his eyes,

feathered and what seemed to be half-closed

and smiling

and I could really see him.

My vision faded out

and the scars

along with their stories

took their positions on his face again.

But I was blinded forever.

I met a man once

who had thick lines of scars

etched across his face,

each one telling its own story to me

as I stared into them.

And he was the

most beautiful person

I had ever seen.