Monday, March 29, 2010


I plan on being that voice that haunts you

Making it hard for you to sleep peacefully

That weeping face that you see

Every time you decide to rest your eyes

I want to be what hurts you

The thought that makes you mad

The wilted heartbeat

The sight that makes you sad

I want to be your bad dream

And your regret

That anxious feeling in the pit of your stomach

I want to be that sour taste in the back of your throat

Want to be your demise

Your eerie full moon

Let me be your torment

Waking up from a nightmare

Suppressing a scream

You jolt awake just in time to witness my silhouette

As I exit wistfully

You can search and sift and seek

But I can never be found

Because I’m just that voice that haunts you

That face that taunts you

I am those crying eyes that make it hard for you to see


The she that makes you afraid of the dark

I’m dying to be your frightening mystery

Your nightmare

Your terror

I want to be

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

Pussycat Secrets (unfinished. indefinitely.)

Black cat say perched upon my window sill
Blew the smoke in his face, yet he remained still
Stared deep into my thoughts with those haunting green eyes
I heard him whisper in my mind, the tale of my demise
Like the raven at the door chanting nevermore
Black cat echoes the pains of a hustler's former whore
The life lived before enlightenment continues to peer through my window
Skeleton bones will always clatter in the closet wherever I go
The horse of a different color is still the ass that hauls the load
Even though her mane has changed from Satan's red to halo gold
And the black cat will know my secrets even when back to hell it's sent
Never silenced even when it's buried with the sins in the basement...

Thursday, March 11, 2010

wanton embrace (snippet)

His eyes are so inviting
Like the call of black satin sheets
A body virile and arrogant
In a humble man's mind
Tonight I'll be his Cleopatra
Queen of his untamed river
Guardian of his shameless desert
His gilded seductress
If only for one night
That's my nectar on his lips
My enigma on his mind
His attention is mine
And I hold it between my thighs
Using my tongue in expert calligraphy
To scribble poems across his chest
Then further to where I'll leave
A verse never ending
A rhyme that will stay on his mind
For days

Sunday, March 7, 2010


They couldn't see the walls because they were staring through the windows. But oh, my angels, one cannot mistake the cold slap of concrete when veracity suddenly reveals herself.

The high altitude of imagination always have her a nosebleed. She continued to climb in hopes that one day she could touch a star. I suppose no one ever told her that stars are far too hot to grasp.

Seemingly content on slumming, he relishes in the uncertainty that the gutter held. Like a cracker jack box, he never knew what prize was waiting...and once he got it he realized he didn't even want it. Ain't that the way it always goes.

Fragments of forever reveal themselves into dreams deferred. Listen close when I sing, my loves: life cannot be planned just because you have a ledger. If time has taught you anything, it is that our feeble little schemes have not a place in the greater tapestry. Don't dare tug a single thread or else your diluted illusions of existence will unravel right before those somnolent eyes.

They found that they knew nothing. They realized that they believed everything. That happy medium is only achieved at death. Damn, whoever said ignorance is bliss must have been breathing outside himself.

Chaos, my children. Chaos.

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

Can I clarify something? I am a firm believer in doing what you love. I love to write. I get this feeling in the pit of my stomach like i'm anticipating the drop on a roller coaster everytime I get inspired to scribble something. Getting tingly just thinking about it! I also belive in sharing your gift, your passion. That's what i'm doing with this project. And I am not a modest one so yes, I think i'm kind of decent with the pen. :)

Dork moment? 4th grade I got Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein. At that moment, 9 years old, I knew poetry was my thing! It was fun, it was sad, it was silly. It did something to my little psyche. By the time I hit 7th grade I'd grown an affinity for the great Maya Angelou, Langston Hughes, Nikki Giovanni. When I found out there was poetry in the bible...Jesus! Song of beautiful. How could I not fall in love with expressing myself this way? Poetry keeps me from crying, fighting, destroying property. Lol. It makes me smile, makes me hot. I think you get the idea. If not, scroll down and read 'like this'!

Excerpts tomorrow. Eyes and minds open.

♡: Jai-Marie

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

The day she died (snippet)

She died that day.
The day ridicule say next to her in a filthy bus station marked 'crossroads'
She and chastity went their separate ways
And she was abandoned by self worth
Her reflection laughed in her face and refused to look her in the eyes
She was bound to herself by cuffs of shame
Feathers of desire weighed heavily on her being
And eroded away all resources of opposition
Yet she could have turned around
Armorless but not quite defeated
Instead she surrendered
Cowardice ate at her gut
Ate a whole through what was left of her sustenance
And still she hid her impurities

like this (snippet)

...words can't capture the image of how high I get
Every time we groove like this
We sway so smooth and it comes so easy
I want to do it again
And again
Until i'm no longer breathing
Until my hands are blistered and my soul is seething
Until the acid rains
And the dead feel pain
And the living learn what compassion is
Until my enemies drown in my tears
Until she gets hard
And he gets wet
Can't you see how high I get?
It's the allure of the blue-black ink
The opportunity to share profound thoughts that I think
Or the dumb shit the nonsense
The sad stuff the happiness
The orgasms the soul spasms
The random words
The cries unheard
The mushy shit the hissy fits
Can't you see how high I get
Every time my pen and paper fuck like this?