Bombastic Bliss

Still Writing….

I wake in a lethargic fog-like daze and slowly open my eyes to allow them to adjust properly to the harsh morning sunlight bouncing off of the white walls of the guest bedroom I’ve been frequenting more often than I had ever imagined I would. It is 8:42am and I feel content with the amount of sleep I have gotten and fight the little voice in my head that tells me “It is too early to be awake on a Saturday!” I  slowly roll over and extend my right arm, searching for the warmth of your body with my hand but am met instead by the cool touch of sheets that have been empty long enough for the heat of your body to fade and the air conditioner to make them seem as if you had never been there at all. The air feels somewhat heavy from the heat and there is the faint and familiar smell of the Mississippi River mixed with the aroma of a delicious breakfast waiting downstairs that has probably been picked over by the few people in the house who are awake this early.

I roll out of bed slowly and stretch my arm across to the knob of the closet door where my sundress is hanging and step into it, zipping the back closed and catching a glimpse of myself in the full length mirror. I notice that my bed head is not as bad as it usually is and decide that I am able to brush through my hair with just my fingers and pull it back into a low, neat bun. I am thankful for the sun I got on the boat yesterday because my skin looks glowing and light brown this morning and I don’t feel the need to use any makeup. When I make my way downstairs, I identify the delicious smells that I awoke to as bacon, scrambled eggs and coffee neatly set out on the kitchen island for anyone to help themselves to. From the looks of the nearly untouched food, I am probably only the second or third person awake in the house. I decided on a quick piece of bacon and take a bite as I head for the front door, knowing exactly where I would find you.

I step onto the wooden front porch and am comforted by the morning chill that still remains, thankful that it is not overwhelmingly sweltering yet as it is known to be on the Mississippi in July. I notice that there is still dew left on the grass that reflects and magnifies the radiant shade of kelly green and pairs perfectly with the magnificent bright blue sky that I cannot seem to find a cloud in this morning. I walk unnoticed down the stairs and feel the sharp gravel under my bare feet as I head toward you in the garage, watching you concentrate on polishing the gleaming metal of your bike and never once lifting your head at the loud rustle of my feet coming toward you. I admire your concentration and the way the sweat on your forehead gleams as you focus on making sure your bike looks exactly like you want it to. Knowing you must have a ride planned for us I feel excitement well up inside of me and skip the last few steps into the garage, wrapping my arms around your neck and whispering “good morning” into your ear, kissing you quickly on the cheek and feeling you smile as I do.

(To be continued)

Silent Hostage

Long before I was ever in that house and you were no one but a stranger, I was brave
But in some sad, twisted attempt to find myself I stumbled upon you instead, waiting for me, preying on me like I was the first meal you’ve had in months although you had been eating off of other plates for days
I cowered under your words and violent fists, frozen in place, my body and soul made of ice waiting for you to chisel into me and break me down to a shape that may actually appease you
I could not keep warm at night because although there are four seasons, you stole the sunshine and somehow created an eternal winter
No blankets, pillows or warm embrace could ever heat the frigid chill that runs through my veins as if it were part of my original anatomy, delivering daily doses of ice to my heart that are disguised as tormenting memories of you
My body is a house that I no longer want to live in
I can still feel the imprint from your hand on my back, blazing crimson red as I involuntarily plummet down the flight of stairs that I climbed to apologize for something I was unsure that I did.
I can still remember the look of indignation on your face as I wept and realized that my heart had taken a tumble down that flight of stairs long before I ever did
You board up the windows to my soul like you would an old abandoned house, leaving it to deteriorate in it’s lonely solitude
My bravery escaping with the sun


It’s been months since I’ve brought any work to life on a computer screen and it almost feels better that way. I enjoy the simplicity of stumbling upon a thought and being able to sit down wherever I am, pull out my notebook and jot down whatever I feel is relevant at the time. Sitting down at a computer is too distracting-there are so many things to look at and do besides reflect and write from the soul. However, I made myself two New Years Resolutions this year and I vow to stick by them, not only to improve my writing but to be able to enjoy it a bit more and get to know myself through my work.

My first resolution is to journal at least two pages a day- it doesn’t matter what the writing is about. It can be about anything. For instance, this post is completely irrelevant but at least I am writing. If I am taking the proper time to reflect on my day, what was important, what bothered me, what I saw etc. then my work will slowly but surely become more and more meaningful. My second resolution is to read 50 books in the year 2015. Ambitious, I know, but I would like to explore all different types of literature and open up my mind to different styles of writing. I am hoping that by next year, I will be ready to start bringing my own novel to life. I have been brainstorming on it for almost a year now and feel I am ready but am having a hard time where to begin. The plan is to introduce myself to several different styles of writing in order to understand my own style a bit more.

The theme and subject matter of my novel is difficult and I am truly afraid of all of the work that I know will go into it and I am unsure if the final product will go anywhere. Sigh. Here’s to a year full of meaningful journals that will hopefully turn into something great! Cheers!


It is an unusually cool, crisp July morning and the frigid air that lingers seems unwelcome. The birds unknowingly compose a song, chirping loudly as the sun begins to warm the world and the moisture on the flowers and grass shine like tiny light bulbs as the yellow sun radiates off of them. The world looks vibrant around me, painting an intricate picture of pastel blues and greens and time stands still in that moment. I am still in yesterdays clothes as if I were trying to hold onto the high I experienced in them, knowing it was just as disposable as the imaginary pictures I paint in my mind. The neighbor dog barks occasionally and loudly  but not at anything in particular that I can notice. Perhaps he is more like me than physical appearance leads on and is fighting something unnoticeable, his intermittent barks being the only cry for help he lets through in desperation hoping that someone will notice or console him.

The old swing-set in the backyard goes untouched by adults who forgot what it is like to play and by children who were never taught how, buried in technology. I come to the conclusion that maybe the swing-set is as lonely and untouched as I am this morning, so I approach it with apprehension. It has been a while and I find myself trying to remember the last time I had actually let go of everything, forgot myself and played. I flashback to a memory of myself in the fourth grade, waiting impatiently for the recess bell to ring. When the loud clang of the bell radiated over the speakers, I remember running as fast as I could, not daring to look behind me fearing that I would lose speed, my only focus being the best swings on the playground. The best swings? Aren’t all swings the same? No. These swings were the mecca of the schoolyard. They went so high that most of the kids felt afraid enough to drag their feet and slow themselves down, which is pretty lame as far as swinging etiquette goes, so of course I never let my feet touch the ground. I remember finally reaching the swing, out of breath and jumping on, teasing my friends that I had made it first and initiating a race to see who could go the highest the fastest without getting scared.

I snap back into reality and wipe the cold dew off of the bright yellow plastic seat of the swing-set that stands before me now and sit down, already feeling a little like my childhood self. I grab onto the chilly metal chains tightly and kick both legs into the air, letting my upper body fall back, propelling myself forward and backward again until the wind is in my face and my hair blows around with each repetition. When I finally lose momentum and slow down, I begin to remember that little girl racing to the highest and fastest swings on the playground, fearless, never stopping to look behind her and wonder to myself “When did I stop running?” and “When did I begin to drag my feet out of fear?”

Like Iron

My fatigued thoughts have me wishing that I could travel back in time. I am longing for a moment before your existence suffocated my own. You see, before, I could rest easily. Falling asleep was peaceful, tranquil almost. Before, I stood like iron, strong and lustrous. I was something I had come to love and in loving myself, I came to love you. I loved you when you praised me and I found myself coming alive a little more each time you shot a compliment in my direction or told me I looked nice. I loved you when you lied to me for the first time, telling myself that people make mistakes. I am not perfect, how could I expect you to be? I loved you when you slept with another woman for the first time, telling me she meant nothing and that it was “only sex”. I find myself wondering if you consider me “only Jess” while you are out on your conquests to dominate any attractive woman who shakes her hips and catches your eye in a dark bar. Why do you not see me? Am I invisible? I loved you when your fists clenched up like iron and made contact with my fragile bones for the first time, telling myself that perhaps I was out of line for requesting your respect. Requesting, as if it were something as simple as a song I wanted to hear when I am out dancing with friends.
“Could you please play this song for me, DJ?” is as casual as  “Could you please stop hitting me, baby?” in my household.
I loved you when I swallowed a handful of  pain killers because the name of them sounded so enticing. All I wanted besides to kill the Devil inside of you was to kill the pain inside of me. If killing the pain meant killing myself, I loved you enough to do that. Maybe then you would finally accept my love as good enough.
I loved you when I left you, knowing that only love could save you. I loved you when I stood tall, strong and lustrous again because I would have never known what it was like to be thrown into the fire without you. I loved you when I fell asleep soundly again, because it felt like a pre-you era with a touch of post-war peace. Like iron, I was strong but easily manipulated. I was twisted and bent into shapes that were unlike my own. While I momentarily lost my luster under your iron fist, understand that iron can be stretched but it will never break.


It is 4:49am and I find myself wide awake, my lethargic eyes demanding rest but refusing it with every sluggish blink. I am aware that the sun will begin it’s slow ascent into the sky in a few short minutes, radiating marvelous shades of orange, deep and light purples, pinks, reds and blues until it finds it’s place in the sky and goes mostly unnoticed for the remainder of the day. It is truly astonishing that we are so unknowingly passive of something that is such a tremendous force such as the sun. We only stop to take notice when it shines the way we want it to or when it disappears and we are left hidden under clouds of darkness and rain. We are often so consumed with our own desires that it takes something 864,938 miles in diameter to either arrive or depart for us to take any notice of it’s presence. Who stops to look up and say give thanks? Who has the time? Who notices?

If it is so easy to overlook something as vast as the sun, how will we notice something as small as another person? We walk among one another, each hidden under our own cloud. We hold onto our clouds, carry our clouds with us wherever we go, and do not stop to take notice of the constant stream of sunshine that surrounds us. We shadow our souls and do not let the light penetrate them, for we are afraid of what we will find. We miss out on opportunities for meaningful and spontaneous conversation, laughter and love, and we shadow our ability to grow as intellectuals for all growth requires sunlight. Without sunlight, what are we? Each person radiates their own light and demands presence, whether they are the deep magnificent colors of the suns’ rising and setting or as dull as light pink chalk. Step out from under your cloud and let the light in.

Here’s to Finding

I find myself in love. It becomes more and more clear as the weekends pass that we have something special, you and I. It is something so special in fact that I sometimes find my brain searching for words I am not even sure exist to describe the nearly indescribable feelings that you give to me. I have spent countless hours watching films and reading stories centered around great love and romance and thought to myself “what a fantasy”, never fully realizing that I would come to know you and you, my dear, are beyond a fantasy. You are more than I could have ever dreamed up in my head and while you are away, I am finding ways to dream about you and bring you to life in my mind as perfectly as you come to life the second I see you in person.

I find myself in lust. It is perplexing to try and formulate a clear thought about how much I desire you while you are in front of me and while you are away from me. The very definition of lust is “a passionate desire for something” and even that does not give justice to how much I crave you. While you are away, I close my eyes and dream of the way that you stare into my eyes in the seconds leading up to kisses that have me seeing stars. I lust after you under the stars when you take me outside to just gaze. You want me to notice how bright they are but I don’t think you understand that you shine brighter than any star in the sky and you are all that I see. I am convinced that like a star, your light will shine bright for millions of years. You will never fade, at least not to me.

I find myself in fear. Fear is a funny thing. It is so threatening and so powerful that if you are not careful, it can dominate every other emotion. I try my very hardest to shove my fear down because I know it is such a silly emotion to feel when I am with you. I find it troubling, however, that while I feel the most safe I am still in fear. I think that fear accompanies each emotion, always. We are afraid we will never feel a certain way again, afraid we will continue to feel a certain way or afraid we will never feel at all. In this particular case, I find myself in fear of losing this feeling.

I find myself in euphoria. Neither drug nor alcohol induced, this euphoria is different. It is a high unlike any other. We are born addicts, craving the most addicting drug there is which is love. From the second we are brought into this world, we yearn for the tender touch of another human being. The trick is to find a touch that makes you feel safe, loved and understood. A touch that takes you to a different place where you feel warm, comfortable and at home. You are free to explore, dance and laugh with ease and without apprehension. Your ability to take me there is truly fascinating.

I find myself continuing to find. Each time I gaze at you, I find something new to admire about you. Whether it is a freckle on your arm or an expression on your face, I find wonder and beauty in it. I find myself lucky enough to hold you in my arms at night and I often wonder if it is just luck or something bigger than that.

Here’s to finding.

Blue, Much Like My Room

I sit calmly, bewildered and drowsy in my cobalt blue bedroom while the summer air cools outside and my fan radiates an almost tranquil hum. There is a hint of humidity that lingers from earlier in the day that makes the air slightly heavy and I find myself wishing the sticky summer heat away, longing for a winter that I know will dissatisfy me just as much. I’m somewhere in the middle. Somewhere lost, somewhere desolate, somewhere that loneliness grows and I, I am the harvester. This summer in particular has been unquestionably melancholy for me and I find myself in a constant pursuit to erase this despondence that continues to grow inside of my unpredictable heart.

There is no precise logic as to why I feel so unaccompanied. I find myself surrounded by people more hours than I usually spend in solitude. I revel in rich experiences with colorful people but everyone has seemed a bit dull lately, as if God has dimmed the lights and in doing so, dimmed the unique colors that define the personalities of those I hold dear. Perhaps God has dimmed the lights on only me upon the realization that I had done the same to myself.


I was full of anticipation, as if I were stuck in a left hand turning lane waiting for a green arrow on a day where I’m feeling mostly impatient. I wanted to see you as badly as I often times find myself wanting to break the law and run a red light. The immediacy of my want takes over and it consumes most, if not all, of my thoughts. It is hard to wait so patiently for something you want so badly. When I finally know you are on your way, I feel a rush of comfort and happiness and I know in that moment that I would not be that excited to see you if the feelings I had for you were not as real as I know them to be.

When I finally catch your gaze again, you are outside of my door. You are just as perfect as I remembered you to be, except for maybe even a little more perfect. I am unsure of how you do it, but seeing you both speeds and slows my heart at the same time and when I finally touch you, I come alive again. It seems as though I have been dull all week and within an instant, you light me up. I have never been one for terms of endearment, but when you wrapped your arms around me and called me “baby”, I knew I had found another version of home; that perhaps I had accidentally stumbled upon the best version there is. I was always told to hold out for the man who made me see stars when he kissed me, but what about a man who makes you see more than stars? What about a man who shows you the universe? What about a man who is able to take you to an unimaginable place with something as simple as a kiss? I would take that over the stars any day and that is what you do to me.

The ride to your house was mostly hazy and not because I had too much weed or wine, but because I was so lost in you it was hard to focus on much else. I sat in the passenger seat watching your face glow in what little, dim lighting the car provided but it was more than enough to notice even the smallest details about you that I might not have noticed in even the best of lighting; like the way you lick your lips right before you are about to tell a story or the look of true wonder in your eyes as you glance at me during my stories. I wonder if you wonder about me the way that I wonder about you. I mostly wonder if you are an angel sent here just for me but I’m not sure why God would ever be so generous.

I find myself feeling thankful. I am thankful that I have found someone who considers me worthy enough to introduce me into the finer details of their life. As I was whisked around and introduced to all of the people you had met throughout the years, I found my gratitude continue to grow. I realized that you are making me a part of your story and I am unable to find the appropriate words to articulate the feeling that accompanies your actions. While my part in your story is still undetermined, I find comfort knowing that you have weaved me into your life in even the smallest way.


Such a peaceful night to get lost in what you love
Don’t you think?
I imagine that I am falling slow but we both know I am plummeting to the bottom
You grab onto me like you would grab an edge, clinging.
Your grip is tight and your gaze is my bliss
White knuckles and red imprints
When all at once, you let go. We let go.
Lost? Irrecoverable.