A soapy finger

this soapy ring finger. it slips through

mud

it whirls around the muddy confines

searching for a lost stone. and

its bewildered wide eye clung to my forehead

dragging my gnarly brow over my eye.

but suddenly i feel.

i feel

i feel the roaring

the nashing

the horror

that breaks my blind bones

and for the insinkerator that bites my hand

it gnashes its teeth

and tears into my flesh

Photo Credit: live.staticflickr.com

The Breakfast Table

I got up early on Sunday, and went to the breakfast table.

We sing songs at the breakfast table: how your day has been, how my day has been, how everybody’s day has been… yes, even on a Sunday morning. 

It was one thing that I did, one tiny thing that I mentioned. But then it became all that defined me. I was no longer myself, but the ugly thing at the breakfast table. Imagine the horror of that—losing yourself at a breakfast table.

Jake, way to impress the breakfast table, I thought. Now I walk with a label. It’s going to expand with delicious rumors while my bones crumble and unravel.

In a way, it was a relief. The breakfast table only found out about this nasty side of me. Even when aristocrats at the table are disgusted by the sight of me, it’s ok. It’s alright because if my character is defined by a tiny mishap, they won’t discover the real fault of me. 

I left the breakfast table a long time ago, and aristocracy means nothing to me. But days like today I find my bright side wondering, did the breakfast kill me? My respect for the breakfast table has crumbled, but just like before, I’m still idle. Have you ever been to the breakfast table?

Picture Credit: GodUpdates.com

an ode to the ones i love.

Sometimes I feel really young when I look at the experiences I have compared to the experiences I have not been through. I might seem like I am naive by saying this but I love where I am at with my relationships currently. This is an evaluation of all my current relationships as a seventeen-year-old: 

When I am with you, 

You take me out of my fixed headspace 

That can sometimes be crippling

You talk with purpose, even if it is to yourself, it means something. 

You make me feel like Stevie Wonder when he talks about the people he loves,

unconditionally and without limitations. 

you give me relief and let me express myself without shame 

which is something that i have lacked in my past relationships

photo credit: pinterest.com

i look at the little things like your laugh 

and the way you smile at the things that make you happy,

i look at the things that make you mad or irritated

i look at the touch from your hands and your tenderness 

it’s weird that i feel this way cause i have lost so much in the last couple of months. But, i can always control how i feel. that’s something that my mother taught me. 

To conclude: You make me happy, in a giddy, platonic way.