oneword.com

strong my hair is strong it’s long i keep it that way because it’s the strongest part I have. People do running and lifting and they are strong but I don’t know if we should call it that. Maybe they are built. I like to think that I am strong but sometimes we aren’t always sure. My dad builds things that are strong and I live inside one of them. I have to keep my hair long, I have to let it grow.

Posted By Jenna On 02.27.2011 @ 11:11 am

People who are strong about the hardest things are my heroes. They can deal with all the shit they have to go through and still have a smile on their faces. They go through life dealing with all the whiny bitches on how Dave dumped their sorry ass while they might have to go home to a drunk dad and abusive mom or something. Strong people need to be rewarded.

Posted By Jenna On 02.26.2011 @ 7:55 pm

Sitting at the table i am overwhelmed but the amounts of stress that happened this very moment. I sit here with a blabbing monster talking about how i need to get my life in order. I like to think that I am a motivated person, and organized as a matter of fact, but with people in my ear 24/7 i feel like I may be heading down a road to nowhere.

Posted By Jenna On 02.25.2011 @ 12:28 pm

Red white blue swirls. swiveling chairs and shaving cream. the cool sliding scissors that slice your split ends. The barber with the cunning grin and the gelled hair. the pavement of dusty hair and broken cement

Posted By jenna On 02.24.2011 @ 8:57 pm

We sat on the stairs near my favorite bench. Silhouettes of skinny legs and thumping hearts. I beat into you and you beat into me. Hearts pouring into energy and into mazes of sky and cold air. My legs were numb. I didn’t feel much except cold air and trumpets in a far away dot across the sea. Our own sea was in my hands.

Posted By jenna On 02.23.2011 @ 7:09 pm

mango; a mango shaped space. the librarians always thought i should read that, that i would be able to identify with it. um, no? they always thought that there was something wrong with me, so i should read books about people with things wrong with them. i never understood why the always thought that. especially mrs. ramsey, she gave me odd looks whenever i tried to do anything in library class. like seeing things, while i had no previous records of doing anything like that. this isn’t house, sorry.

Posted By Jenna On 02.22.2011 @ 3:13 pm

An outlet – a way to get emotion out. Writing is an outlet for my emotions and thoughts that I don’t express to other people. Exercise can be an outlet for anger. Shopping outlets can be an outlet for a lot of things (haha!) Writing is an outlet for me that I don’t use as often as I should.

Posted By Jenna On 02.21.2011 @ 11:00 pm

sage- my sixth grade vocab word, the word i never could memorize. i always sat there and thought SAGE. what is it?

now i know it is a spice of some sort and a wise man, a sage-like being, you see. that is what i have learned about sage. it’s actually quite unimportant, i think. when am i going to use the word sage in real life? seriously, i dont think i’ll go chatting up some random about sages.

Posted By Jenna On 02.21.2011 @ 8:52 am

Cards? Of course cards, why anything else? I love cards, you see. I love to use them to play, I love to make them for people when they are having a bad day. More than that, though, they are memories.

I designed a playing card for my friend once- a little thing, I had the queen of hearts so of course I drew a crown with some hearts around it and in a desperate effort to be witty wrote “I could make some Alice in Wonderland reference but I won’t, because I am much cooler than that.” You see, it makes sense, why I love cards.

Posted By Jenna On 02.20.2011 @ 10:26 am

Playing cards were her life, the Kings and the Queens and the Jokers all something she could- as lame as it sounds- relate to. She loved her playing cards, until the moment they failed her. Until the moment that they they gave up on her.

Posted By Jenna On 02.19.2011 @ 2:19 pm

The tangle inside is of strong stringy wire. It is metal and mean and monstrous. It is the bobbling bursting bit of terror inside of me. The cage to my greatest butterflies of doubt.

Posted By jenna On 02.17.2011 @ 7:14 pm

the chocolate underneath my tongue that sticks and settles. the slurp of a milkshake in a diner I long to be sitting in now. I don’t understand how my tiny fingers and toes ended up this way but somehow I do understand. Somehow under the yards and yards of nonsense we always know the answer. We don’t always love it but it sits there deep in the caverns of our caves waiting for its turn to enter.

Posted By jenna On 02.15.2011 @ 7:30 pm

i used to not like chocolate very much, but now i do. i am always craving chocolate these days… what an appropriate word, chocolate. how weird. i have been talking about chocolate all day every day for the past, like, week or so. so that is super strange that this came up.

Posted By jenna On 02.15.2011 @ 12:22 pm

sweet brown candy hershey m and m’s walnuts

Posted By Jenna On 02.14.2011 @ 9:48 pm

I didn’t look at the microphone as it held me, cradled me, and surrounded me in its metal glory. The brush of my own breath against this tiny head singing back to me. The EXIT sign was all I could see those globby red letters staring me straight. The microphone was what my fingers held and what my mind held on to as a security blanket as I let my wires free and soared.

Posted By jenna On 02.13.2011 @ 7:29 pm

No feeling is final. No needle can thread every hole. No thread can hold every stitch together. No one can be truly together with someone else. It is through the space, the wide gaps, where we lose one another and seep in to our own skin.

Posted By jenna On 02.11.2011 @ 9:20 pm

One last time she said, this would be it, she would stop using, and create a whole new life for herself. There she goes again. Lieing to herself, breaking promises that she knew she could never keep. She misses the way things were, the way people used to look at her and the way she used to look at herself.

Posted By Jenna On 02.11.2011 @ 12:55 pm

Revolt-revolution-standing up for belief-boldness-attention-cheating the system or bettering the system? how? risky. fear of death, capture. strength. courage. power. inspiration. revolve!

Posted By Jenna On 02.11.2011 @ 10:04 am

I am beside the lush curtains. The thick lint is swarming the stage light. I hear songs of rich sorrow and revolt. I am but a simple worker. It is more than I can bare. It is the very whole of me.

Posted By jenna On 02.10.2011 @ 6:19 pm

I will revolt against all that you have instilled in me and taught me to believe. I will fight my demons, just as you should fight yours. Do you know what it takes to fight back against your own father? No…no, you don’t. But I am so much stronger than you think I am, and I will start my own revolution…I will be so much stronger after I take on my demons-don’t you wish you could revolt like me?

Posted By Jenna On 02.10.2011 @ 5:45 pm

I suppose this word is a gift. it is so obvious to me. You are a coward. Isn’t it obvious to you? you are the lion with the swinging tail and the beating ribs. you have the heart, let it speak.

Posted By jenna On 02.09.2011 @ 8:58 pm

I wake up to my alarm every morning. It’s really loud, like a siren. I once bought a iHome and returned it within a week because the music playing was too soft for me. I’ve had the same alarm clock since I was in elementary school, it’s a really inexpensive model but the alarm is just what I need to get up in the mornings!

Posted By Jenna On 02.07.2011 @ 11:51 pm

The whirring in my ears. The calming alluring sense of sleep suddenly disabled by the static convulsion of my cell phone. Suddenly it is morning. I am flowing out of forests of fake life into the meaty hands of the morning. Everything swarms in. The thoughts cascading over each other piling and piling until I shoot myself up out of the covers and place my toes on the cool wood. It is no longer the dream.

Posted By jenna On 02.07.2011 @ 6:29 pm

the pills that you sip causually. just another crushing difference between you and i. the smell of pot and winter air. the heart of a matter I know all too well. the pressure i put on you to react. the pressure i put on myself to overcome. i can’t take it anymore.

Posted By jenna On 02.06.2011 @ 7:34 pm

You threw a wrench into my plans. Every thing that happened before and everything that is currently happening, is drenched in you. In the way you tilt your head and tell me I smell amazing or the way you giggle when I make fun of you. I wish that I could live the way I did before you. It was silly and flavored. I felt the serenity of no mess. Now I have openings and frequent floods. I have hammers knacking away at fences that will never be secure, at nails that are slimy and rusty, at buttons that are broken beyond repair. You threw a wrench, the most metallic cold biting wrench you could find. You lifted your leather palms and weaved the metal all over my tininess, the copper still salting my tongue.

Posted By jenna On 02.03.2011 @ 6:26 pm

this dark room smelled like whiskey and old musk. where was i? it was raining out and the room had been very damp. i was waiting for my friend, she was late. as i inhaled my camel cigarette, i looked down at my wet chuck taylors, cut off jeans and flannel shirt. was this even real? what had happened? my hair was down, blonde and messy. mascara had been all over my face,

Posted By jenna On 02.02.2011 @ 1:54 pm

You always say that I was going places. But I have all of this film. Wet and murky. All signs point to the darkroom.

Posted By jenna On 02.01.2011 @ 4:51 pm

I am the jelly sitting in the jar. So cool and slippery. I sit untouched as the grimy paws go for the peanut butter.

Posted By jenna On 01.31.2011 @ 7:49 pm

I am here dying to lean on you. To put all of my 125 pounds on your mighty shoulders. But you apparently don’t have shoulders or the capability to hold. You are happy that we can be such good friends. But I hold you. I let you lean. But I am alone. Can’t you see? I give with my palms to the sky begging for someone to park their luggage and baggage of all kinds. You won’t even let me rest a finger.

Posted By jenna On 01.29.2011 @ 10:21 pm

Dropped from classes, sucks to drop something on the floor. If you drop an egg, it will break. That will be a bummer if you don’t have any more. How will you make cookies? Dropped is not the word I expected from this site; I thought I would get something with more meaning, with more deep thoughts. Dropped. Huh. I am dropping this word and getting a new. Dropped 60 seconds on this.

Posted By Jenna On 01.28.2011 @ 10:33 pm