Archive for poems

Risks.

Posted in Jencerpts.. with tags , , on December 27, 2016 by JenJuice

Putting my hand under the warm faucet
In place of you…
I’m lost and helpless…..
But I’m not.
And where I am.
Is so fucking scary.
The stakes just keep getting higher.

Be-Title-(wo)men(t).

Posted in Jencerpts.. with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on December 12, 2016 by JenJuice

Shadow

Shadow


In a segregated moment of where I am and where I want to be…I find floating movements.
Reveal the floetry of where we be…it is and it’s not me..but it is..only me.
In the mind’s eye of how I see.
Dream foundations and lost time found somewhere between you and me.

My place…..

Posted in Jencerpts.. with tags , , , , , , , on October 23, 2016 by JenJuice

I want to sleep just to wake up in your arms.

Wet Spots Matter….

Posted in Jencerpts.. with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 6, 2016 by JenJuice

Finding myself in an institutionalized frat party…not the role of successful backpacking. But, it’s like being held captive to a heart-stained perfume you can’t quite wash off. I’ve bathed and cut the glitter off but the fuck boys still seem to be following me with blazin’ swords out and ready for the war zone. Who you fuckin’ with, boys? Let’s talk. Let’s see what you got with your ego busted up. Losing your hair mid-twenties and yes, fuck as many girls as you can cuz that’s what “experience” is about, right? Sticking your inexperienced dick into as many wet places as possible. What do you think you got fuckin’ with all these girls – who are you, really? Have you seen you before? If not, just a little tip…..wet spots matter.

A town..not so far from the world….you count the currency blown.

Posted in Jencerpts.. with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 4, 2016 by JenJuice

I’ve never quite understood showing tits for beads….I mean, it’s your luscious breasts – your beautiful body. Beads and tits..they just don’t even (com)pair. It’s like these people that take photos of them drinking anything possible – playing drinking games, but who really wins?

Traveling….romanticizing how your self is another self in another country means what? Are you authentic self in or out or out or in or swirling like a spawn. Run, don’t walk, fuck, drink, don’t drive, be, live, spread yourself thin and wildly…another Girl or Boy Gone Wild story…because, what is it about to you? Observing the minds of others or is it just to fuck as many people that you can in as many different countries as possible? We all have a story – what is yours? What makes you special (or not)?

In a sentimental fashion there used to be sentiment. Some place in between the digging our way out of our own way we lost the place we are destined…or have we chosen this speed? Do you not even recognize your way of being? The unaware doll… the unaware being. The choice to be in the darkness of speed. Where do you look for (mind) food when you need to eat? The lurker hiding in the black worlds of the black beaches, dark as midnight without a stun gun. Watch out for those synthetic drugs…some stories are true whether you believe them or not.

What is that we are stressing over? The context of how the train won’t speed up, the way the car in front of you didn’t signal? I didn’t pronounce the word the way you think it should be heard through your ears. The reaction on my face didn’t go to par as to what you think it should, so now you feel rejected? So, what did you eat today? Where is the time you forgot to understand where it is to be present?

The dichotomy of sensationalism and broken down ledges…we try to climb down from our own levies we built for our own protection, but it’s just a crack away from a torrential downpour.

If the only word you have to describe a town was “date-rapey” – I wonder if people would still visit. The backpacker’s guide to life is the lie they all tell themselves – that everything and everyday is absolutely the most “awesome” experience ever. If that is the case….it’s all downhill from there I would surmise…the “Rockstar” lifestyle plays a reel of a story that perhaps isn’t so lustrous after all.