cough

cough. cough. cough.
cough cough-- hack! cough cough.
hack hack gag cough cough.
mucus.  mucus.  cough gag mucus.
eww.

-lj
29 december 2017

I Cry Too Much

A small list of things I cry at
because they're just so full of
emotions I sometimes forget
I am capable of feeling:
             I am allowed to feel these emotions. I am allowed
             to be overwhelmed by great happiness and heavy sadness.

A small list of things I cry at
because they're just so full of
adventures I sometimes forget
I haven't been on:
              I am allowed to explore these new places
              without limit, without regulations, without worry.

A small list of things I cry at
because they're just so full of
wonder I sometimes forget
I hold on to:
               I am allowed to wonder, wander, and be amazed
               at the little things, the big things, and the gifts of the world.

A small list of things I cry at
because they're just so full of
kindness I sometimes forget
I have inside me:
              I am allowed to give to others, and to myself, because
              even though I am kind to others, I am not kind to myself.

A small list of things I cry at
because they're just so full of
expressions I sometimes forget
I can convey here:
               I am allowed to write about everything that ails me,
               that blesses me, that bothers me, that makes me...

A list of things I can feel,
because I am just so full of
emotion, adventure, wonder,
kindness, and expression,
that I sometimes forget
I have within me:
                I am allowed the experience of life, with its many splendors.
                It makes me who I am.

-LJ

17 December 2017

An Update Is Available

An update is available,

and is ready to be installed!

This update comes with new features,

such as the ability to cope in a healthy way,

fight off negative thoughts, and

help you to get motivated for your day.

Press "install now" to install,

or, if you're busy, 

you can reschedule your update

for a later time.

However, we do not recommend

that you wait, for you will risk

being attacked by viruses

that will irreversibly and ultimately

 harm your system.

Update installing.

Please wait...

Update installed.

Please restart your system.

-lj

08 December 2017

I sing at 1am

I have to be at work 

at 9:30 in the morning.

 

I retire at midnight,

to prepare for the anxieties,

to come into the head-space,

to become the other person

that I can safely be

for myself, by myself,

to myself, so I can sleep.

I sing at 1am

to fill the silent air,

to calm my anxiety,

to become another person,

so I don't have to wonder

if something will catch fire,

if someone's about to die.

I play at 2am,

to fill the silent air,

to calm my anxiety,

to forget for a while,

of the person I have to be,

and become the person,

the part of me,

that has to always hide.

I turn at 3am,

to try and fall asleep,

but there's always anxieties,

and always who I have to be,

I could be, I should be,

what I could have said, 

would have said, should have said,

what I have done,

what I haven't done, what could be, would be,

should be done.

Things I can not change nor control,

things that are inevitable and set,

things that cause an very irrational

amount of fret.

Before I know it,

my thoughts are of simpler things,

my body becomes heavy,

and I imagine arms around me

as I finally am ready to lull myself to sleep.

 

I'm asleep at 4am.

Finally.

Alarm set for quarter 'til 9.

I'm awake at 7am,

unable to return to sleep.

 -LJ

27 November 2017

Sonnet 8

To awaken my love, or let him sleep?

The dreams he could be dreaming might be grand,

but what if nightmares plague and pain and creep?

What does he dream of as I hold his hand

here in the comfort of our little home?

 Does he receive word from angels above?

Do mem'ries flash and play and sing and roam,

to give to him a sense of being loved?

 

The sun rises high, and Sleep has him tight

in his embrace to give him sweetest night.

-LJ

27 November 2017

Change & End

For seasons change,

and flowers live in fear

of bitter cold,

and wilt with colored tears.

For lives will change,

and eyes become more clear

to all the sights

and keep them close and dear.

For times will change,

and memories are here

to teach once more

to cherish what is near.

For all these common things--

seasons, lives, times,

--will always change and end,

I remember that despite the end,

they'll be anew and start again.

-LJ

27 November 2017

The Thanks (3 "Cold " Poems, #3)

For saving what was left of me,

for bringing back my creativity,

for setting what was trapped inside me free...

for always being here to cheer me on,

for supporting me when I thought I was gone,

for being the sunlight to all my dawns...

for letting me see the world through freshest eyes,

for allowing me to cry my many cries,

for all the many pretty butterflies...

for prying me from the hands of bitter cold,

for telling me the things that you have told,

for being so amazing, so brave, so bold...

for the way your heart is so kind,

for the opportunity to freely speak my mind,

for the times you've made me laugh with things you find...

the cold is gone,

and I may live freely 

once again.

Thank you.

-LJ

3 November 2017

The Cold (3 "Cold" Poems, #2)

I will dance

in the light of the sun,

to the songs of the clouds and the wind.

I will wonder

in the heat of the moment,

if the cold is soon to come again.

I will experience

the shift of the ground beneath me,

as the songs are silenced and the world gets dark.

His ears will find me,

his arms will bind me,

his hands will feel me,

his soul will keel me.

I will collapse in his presence,

and I will awake not remembering

how I got here, and how so lifeless I've become.

-LJ

poem written 22 October 2017

poem posted to blog 3 November 2017

The Peace (3 "Cold" Poems, #1)

What gentle breezes push forward
the clouds today!
What warmth I embrace in
the sun's great rays!

In splendor, I became myself again,
rejoicing - dancing - singing!
Praising He, who gave me joy-
until the bells were ringing--

and all was dark. 

I was afraid.
I, frozen, 

and whole world, staid.

But, who has this peace, but I?

And Sweet, within my eyes,
a beautiful tomorrow awakens
within!
Do you hear the song in my heart,
giving me the strength
to win?

For I have this peace,
and with this peace,
I became my own.

-LJ
4 September 2017

I was once

I was once the music
that filled the air with song,
but now I am the void
of the song that I now long.

I was once the poem
that filled a heart with grace,
but now I am the emptiness
of the missing poem's space.

I was once the picture
that filled a mind with awe,
but now I am the blank canvas
of what they could have saw.

I was once a person
happy, kind, full of glee-
but now I am the gloomy soul
who wants to be set free.

-lj
3 September 2017

(fingertips)

one night, i wondered,
(what was wrong with me?)
one night, i wondered,

(why shouldn't i?)
what this sensation was,
and how to cope with its rage.

so that night, i laid quietly
(what is stopping me?)
while the cars passed,

and the windows covered,
and the world asleep...
(how do I--?)

my hands, cradling my frame
as heartless as the void before it,
becoming cold
(what are they talking about?)

as i contorted in thought,
and in body and mind
(why can't i feel what they felt?)

my
(fingertips,)
cold and tired body

longing for answers.

-lj
3 September 2017

Sounds

For the first time, I heard everything all at once,

and felt the world around me taking my breath away.

Stumbling after such a shock, the sensory input

at that moment almost also stole my day.

At the lowest I thought I could get,

the sounds of beeps and voice and ice

became just a bit too much

for the anticipated price.

For the first time, 

I thought I'd escape the scene.

But I had a job to do,

that no one could intervene.

The shorter breaths,

choked tears,

silent screams,

anxious fears,

sound,

sound,

all the sound,

sound

sound---

Snap.

Back to work.

-LJ

21 July 2017

Do Not Wonder/Do Not Worry

Do not wonder,
for he will swallow his screams so deep in his subconscious
that he will look at the face of every significant other,
and he will not see what he saw in the one who mattered most.
He will spend the remainder of his existence,
wondering what these feelings are, why they are there,
and wondering if he will ever come to know her again.

Do not worry,
for she will blindly follow him into the depths below,
and she will look into the eyes of what was once, and she will wonder
if these eyes, these hands, these words, belong to the one
who so much mattered above all else.
She will spend the remainder of her time,
never knowing what was truth, what was lies,
and wondering if she will ever come to know him again.

-LJ
6 July 2017

Snowfall

In the silence of evening,

my gaze appeared captured by 

the whirlwind of snow,

a breezing blizzard,

dancing in spotlight,

in muted moonlight.

I trembled in its chill,

my eyes wandering slowly

to the ground below,

a blanket of intricate patterns,

all together,

but not forever.

It mesmerized my senses,

my sleepy stare remembering

the sweetly falling snow,

a dream outside my window,

if only I could stay awake-

if only, I would stay awake...

and I would dream this snowfall,

to cool the heated weathers,

now and forever.

-LJ

6 July 2017

Recreational Haikus Noting Recent Events

I have a job now.
An employer has employed
me. I have a job.

Raging light'ning bolts,

fright'ning as they are pretty-

at one in the morn'.

My anxiety-
the epitome of my
fear to spend money.

Pizza? Or tacos?

Or cheeseburgers and fries? I

can't make up my mind.

The rain pours heav'ly,

creating beautiful puddles;

I see reflections.

So many blog views!

Whoever you are, reader-

thank you very much.

-LJ

5 July 2017

 

This Poem Is For You

This poem is for you,
the sweet sunflower that brings sunshine
to my cloud-filled, sunless, gloomy days
in your own gentle-natured ways.

This poem is for you,
and your deep brown eyes and black-wire hair,
and your body towering almost six feet tall,
and your dance and voice to add to it all.

This poem is for you,
a wonder and supernova, a great and an original;
a beauty I continue to behold in my eyes
while you continue dancing carelessly in the skies.

This poem is for you,
how our similar hearts and similar kind natures
continue to meet the world and take it by storm,
regardless of how we are in shape and form.

This poem is for you,
the wise, the one
of which makes me feel so whole,
though this be the eighth year of your transition into soul.

This poem is for you.

-LJ
25 June 2017

instrusive thoughts/energy

machines function with energy from the sun,
and without the sun, they can not run,
they can not fulfill their purpose, their dream,
and wonder why each passing day seems
like parts of weathered, feeble bones
cracking, crumbling, pounding stone
like sledgehammers to their broken hearts
because they've not the energy to run their parts.

and like machines, humans function with energy from
taking in, consuming what's been said and done,
like plants and wrapped up things from slaughterhouses
and some from places where it's hard to know pronounces.
to save up what is left after we starve
we find it hard to live to lift our broken arms and hearts
and spend our days in quite a long fatigue
because without our energy we can not breathe.

-lj
2 June 2017

intrusive thoughts/summer 2011

Scratches burn

and voices lie.

Scars never leave

and urges never die.

Hidden away

in depression below,

is a feeling so numbing

it's become friend and foe.

It hisses and looks just

a bit like a snake,

but the voice it possesses

is more than I can take.

Hidden high in the clouds

of my heavy head be

a shadow, an urge

of hurting me.

Scratches burn,

and voices always lie;

scars fade,

but the urges never die.

-LJ

27 June 2017

Five, Twenty-Six, Seventeen.

So long as we are together,

you will always have my heart;

and as long as we are together,

we will never be apart. 

In times of joy or hurting,

I hold you very near,

and in my arms, I promise 

I'll always be right here. 

Abba, this I pray,

that in our times of rain,

the flowers of our heart

will grow despite the pain. 

We ask that while we trust

in Your wisdom from above,

that we can conquer anything

through all unending love. 

-LJ

26 May 2017

The Trail

I stumbled upon a trail that was too painful to walk on.  

The sharp rocks beneath my feet triggered a thousand flashbacks

of the parts of myself I wish I had forgotten.

The water before was too shallow to drown me,

but it was deep enough to reflect the someone I once was.

The trees were growing taller and taller by the second of the minute of the day,

but the leaves hung down in defeat and despair, frowning.

With an aching in my heart, and the weight of this world around me pulling me down,
I must decide whether to grow strong like the trees, become calm like the water,
and emerge from the past, or to allow myself to remain captive to the reminders
of why this trail was so very painful to tread.
No one, not even myself, will ever really know which path I took.
If I were given the knowledge of where my life took me before it took me there...
well, I wouldn't want to know.  I wouldn't want to take the measures to prevent
what made this trail so painful to walk on, you see.
I might fall in the waters, weighed down, and drown in my waters,
but I might rise like the trees, and find stillness in my river.
The trail tells me to keep going, for there is much more for me to see and do.
So, I walk this trail that was too painful to walk on, remembering
all these times, all these memories, who I was, and thinking now of who I might come to be.

-LJ
12 April & 11 May 2017

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could not be completed.

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could not be installed at this time.

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Please try again later.

-LJ

12 April 2017

In That Moment

In that moment,
time seemed to slow down.
In that moment,
tangled up in each other,
we found great sensation
in the way our barest skin
kept us warm,
and in the way

 the single touch
of a finger
exhilarated us.

In that moment,
time seemed to stop.
In that moment,
embraced in each other's arms,
we found great peace
in the way the cool, Spring air
kept us frozen,
and in the way

the single touch

of a finger

calmed us.

-LJ

27 July 2016 & 9 April 2017

In Your Slumber

I wonder if, in your slumber, you can feel me gently rocking you back and forth, as my hand strokes your hair and moves it from your sleepy face.  If you could, would you push away?  I hope you wouldn't, but I know you don't like being held too tightly. 

Could you hear the silence?  If not silence, could you hear the steady beat of my heart, or the soft humming of a lullaby?  I know you love my little lullabies; I know how much they calm you.  I wonder what it is you're hearing right now.  If nothing, does it sound as painful as that feels?

I wonder if you feel the frigid air.  If not frigid air, do you feel warmth?  You're under a lot of blankets, but it's because you get so cold that you're wearing two layers of clothing in this fifty-degree weather. Are your feet warm? I wonder if your feet are warm.  I won't check, in fear I might wake you.

Perhaps, maybe it's warmth you feel. Perhaps, it's my arms around you.
Perhaps, maybe it's music you hear. If not music, then what is the soundtrack to your dream? 

-LJ
22 November 2016

Saturday Morning

 "Saturday Morning" [315 words]
[short story/prose]
[Trigger Warning: Depression]
[I was a little hesitant about posting
this one, but I'm going to post it anyway]


~ ~ ~

Morning of
Saturday, 4 February 2017:

I sat in the middle of my bedroom floor; eyes wide, red, and brimming with tears. I sat there, with you sitting right across from me, and I wondered why you had come once more.
Sometimes, you told me, there doesn't have to be a reason.  There didn't have to be a reason for sleeping seventeen hours and not eating for almost (and sometimes over) twenty-four. You managed to convince me to spend days and nights in your arms, while you took my thoughts and my fingers and defiled me with my own devices.

I sat in the middle of the floor, looking at the world a little differently than I had just hours before this moment.  I realized I would never be able to come to terms with the reality that there was a name for you and an ever-changing face for you and, even though they love me, you convinced me that they would never listen or even begin to understand.

I sat there, with you, that morning.  You hissed in my ear in the voices that loved me, and I internally screamed at you.  I trembled and screamed out loud the final time.  Yet, you managed to convince me that all they heard was an unnecessary breakdown.  You used the same voice to tell me to stop crying.  I punched you, both fists, to your legs, so that you would go away, but you had already gone, and I had hurt myself.

Where had you gone?  You were laying on the bed, in the same big-spoon/little-spoon position, wanting me to come lay with you so that I could sleep more than I was awake. 

"Shut the fuck up!" I had screamed at you before.

But now, I said to you, in a hushed whisper I made sure only you could hear, "Make everything go away."

-lj
24 February 2017

Ghosts Like Us

Ghosts like you

like holding my hand

and then disappearing

into thin air.

Ghosts like you

like ghosts like me,

stirring fire in your heart.

Ghosts like me

like holding you close,

and never leaving.

Ghosts like me

like ghosts like you,

sending shivers down my spine.

Ghosts like us

like the idea of

something more than this.

Ghosts like us

like the sensation,

but then it fades,

like ghosts like us.

-LJ

31 March 2017

A Walk Down The Street

While I was walking with my little brother,

we passed a corn field that fell victim

to the bitter cold of the winter season.

The wind had thrown the corn close to the road

and the birds feasted like winged kings on it. 

I stumbled upon a baby bird,

frozen with eyes wide open,

wings down and at its sides,

lying lifeless at my enclosed toes.

It filled me with a sadness that

I could not begin to describe.
I wanted to pray for the baby bird

that lay dead before me.

I wonder why I didn't.

I wonder why I kept walking.

We finished our hour-long walk,

and when we passed the baby bird again,

it wasn't there anymore.

-LJ

26 March 2017

100/shallow waters

Life was beautiful,

and so were you.

100 

You wandered,

deep in thought,

99 98 97 96 95 94 93 92 91 90

and I have appeared

to have lost you

89 88 87 86 85 84 83 82 81 80

within the codes of

the human condition.

79 78 77 76 75 74 73 72 71 70

Diving into the shallow waters

to bring you back to me,

69 68 67 66 65 64 63 62 61 60

I began to lose air,

and filled my lungs

59 58 57 56 55 54 53 52 51 50

with the contaminated water,

which allowed you to float

49 48 47 46 45 44 43 42 41 40

back to the surface.

39 38 37 36 35 34 33 32 31 30

I sank to the bottom

of the shallow waters

29 28 27 26 25 24 23 22 21 20

heavy with your burdens,

and your worries, and your fears...

19 18 17 16 15 14 13 12 11 10

and the last of me returned to you.

9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Life is beautiful;
so are you.

0  

...forever.

-LJ

24 March 2017

i woke up like this (two haiku)

How did these get here?

When I fell asleep last night,

these feelings weren't there.

I woke up like this;

another nightmare rattles

my body and mind.

-lj

24 March 2017

Another Poem About His Eyes

If the pupil of your eye is a black hole,
why can I see into your colorful soul?
Have we become, in a way, connected,
so that we could keep each other protected?
Is your soul so incredibly, wondrously sacred,
that not even the strongest bout of self-hatred
could shatter you into a million stained-glass pieces?
God above, how I wish I could straighten my creases,
so that my fragile, small soul, through your beautiful eyes
could one day, eventually, realize
that love is something like our souls--
deep and somewhat dim, black holes,
with vibrant colors in glassy eyes
that cry with sheer pleasant surprise
at the moment when time stops and two becomes one.
Please let it be us, my moon to my sun.

written by: lj
date: 10 March 2017
title: "not sure what i'll call this, probably a shit-poem"

For Every Sorry

A flower for every "sorry" I need to say;
but, like the most beautiful of flowers,
they eventually wilt, they lose their petals,
and they shrivel up and expire.
It reminds me that, in my mind,
in the household of my head,
sorrys, like flowers, will mean nothing,
and they will perish along with my sincerity...
and the worst part is, the flowers were
hand-picked, hand-held, and I planned
to give them to you when I was ready.
Nobody wants dead flowers.
Nobody wants empty apologies.
Nobody wants them, my mind says.
So, I crawl back into the earth,
becoming one with the roots of the flowers beneath,
so that I, too, may grow strong and beautiful,
and then, and only then, will my "sorry" finally mean something.

-lj
10 March 2017

The Conductor

The conductor stands before 

the orchestra and choir,

ready to guide their execution

of the repertoire etched in their minds.

Turned, facing them,

he holds the ability to give

feeling and emotion

with his face away from the audience

and the wave of the baton in his hand.

Left to wonder what the

beauty of music was about,

the audience watched as the conductor

caused rainstorms and earthquakes,

tornadoes and blizzards,

rainy days and sunny days,

and only the most blissful night

of full moons and shining stars. 

The conductor stands before

the whole auditorium,

and gives a new gift to the world;

the gift of empathy,

as he conducts the sights and sounds

of the world, for the world.

When the last note has been played,

he stands, frozen and relaxed,

speechless in the stillness.

Resting his arms and 

releasing the tension from his hand,

he knows he told the story well,

and he knows the musicians told the story well,

and he knows the audience listened.

-LJ

21 March 2017

(this is a "part 2" of sorts to a poem I wrote

last spring titled The Lone Composer.)

Spring Cleaning! (featured post)

Hello, and happy first (now second) day of Spring!

The blog has taken on a new appearance! Looks nice, doesn't it? I usually change the background to fit the changing of season, but some new themes were made available recently, and I was excited to try one of them out.

 So, the background has changed, and the layout (or the theme) of my blog has also changed!
 I really like this new theme I chose, to be honest, but since this is new to both myself and my readers, I'll point out some important things.  Below should be a screenshot of the top of the blog, highlighting the newest changes to know about!

-there's a "KEEP READING" button on the bottom right corner of each post, so click on that to continue reading the rest of my poems!

-the blog's archive, my "list of links", and my "greetings & salutations" is located in the little pull-down menu (the three lines) located on the top left corner of the screen! Click on that, and it should pull those things up!

-I've managed to figure out how the "pages" thing works!  Like, it's about time, right?  You can find those below the blog title!

That's all for now!

-LJ

The Standstill

(The following poem is also posted
on my Tumblr! The link to that
is in my "link list" under my archive!)

***

If time tells the story
of two young lovers,
then time, slow down,
so that in this fulfilling moment,
we may stay together and kindle the perfect flame.
We set our souls on fire-
we ignite each other and set off
the most extravagant fireworks.
And, when the fireworks become frightening,
with their trembling tremendous roars and sparks,
let us keep in each other’s arms,
and allow us the waters of peace,
so that in the pounding ripples of warmth in our hearts,
we may stay together and stay safe.
Sure, we may burn each other,
and we may burn ourselves,
but it was once said that a little heat never hurt anyone-
but when it leaves scars and wounds
with anxieties that never leave,
let us writhe in pain, and let us come back so that we may be comforted
by the love in ourselves.
They said time would one day dwindle
like the water from the dripping faucet,
and like the flame from the fire.
They told us to live in this slow-motion while time sped up.
But it kept us together.
And as it kept us together,
we found our own way to thrive,
in the standstill of weathering disasters and silent breakdowns.
Time, slow down, and keep us. 

-LJ
18 & 20 March 2017

intrusive thoughts/where do they go?

Where do they go when the light of morning becomes the darkest night?
Do they go in the night in the healing of the spirit of day?
What do they tell me when the greatest of times becomes the very worst?
Do they speak in the tongue of the distorted shadows under my blankets?
Why do they appear when the cloud above me becomes the enemy?
Do they embody the frame of the hell of my capricious tribulation?

Where do they go?  When they appear,
what do they tell me?  Why do they come?
Where do they go, when they're done in this
ongoing scourging? What do they tell me,
when they whisper in my ear? Why do they
have to hurt me like this?  Where do they go?

-lj
7 March 2017

Sweetly Stealing Starlight

Last night, I caught myself
sweetly stealing starlight
and seizing all the moonlight
so you'd not be afraid of the dark,
and could sleep in peace.

This morning, you awoke,
and looked at me-
a sweet smile stole your fears,
and with glowing eyes,
you thanked me.

Tonight, we found clouds
sweetly stealing the starlight,
seizing all the moonlight;
but we had each other,
and could sleep in peace- unafraid.

-LJ
3 March 2017

Of All The Beautiful Things

Of all the beautiful things,
perhaps the most of these
is the light in your eyes,
the colors of your soul
and the wonder you inspire.

When I, with stained-glass eyes,
watch you chase your dreams from afar,
I am engulfed in a peace and love
that does not compare to any other
in this worn-out world.

I dream of myself,
chasing my own dreams, too, ya know;
and hope that one day,
I can find the beautiful things in myself
as I have found them in you.

God, give me the strength to try,
and then give me the motivation to do.

-lj
5 February 2017

The Two-Week Stay At The Old Little House On The Hill

In the old house, the propane heater roared
with violet, subsided into reddish-pink,
and overheated me at night.

In the old house, the water was cloudy
and I was afraid to use it because
it could almost poison me.

In the old house, the guests are see-through
figments of my family's family's family's
family's family, and they gossip all night.

In the old house, the heater scared me,
the water was cancer, and the ghosts were the voices
in my head trying to fight the voices in my head.

-lj
24 February 2017

The Grass

They counted each strand of grass, and it was said
to have taken them years to make sure
they caressed each with the same touch as if
being caressed themselves in a lover's arms.
Spring turned into Summer, and the grasses of the wintry world
began to live, only to have their time on this earth cut short.
Summer began to transform into Autumn, and the leaves fell
from the trees that swallowed our little city,
and they began to cry, knowing their carcasses
covered the grasses, and knowing that the strands that had withstood
the test of the seasons thus far would lose to
the harsh hand of Winter, where legend has it
that all dies.

-lj
7 February 2017

For The First Time

For the first time, I felt like I could sing again.
The tell-tale signs fit together, mended back
into the shattered frame that was myself.
My voice floated through the polluted air
of the depressing city streets, and the ears of
the world heard a sound they thought
they would never hear again.
With my instrument warmed up,
I prepared to take the world by storm,
and accomplish all the things that
I set to do before, but felt was out of reach.
For the first time, I felt like I could sing again,
and I was ready to let the world know
that the sweet and timid-voiced soprano has returned.

-lj
27 February 2017

The Window/The Giving Tree

I sat at my window the way that
I imagine Michael sat in his Giving Tree;
thinking of the many wonderful things
and the many grotesque silhouettes.
I sat there, feeling the breeze kiss my face
and play with my hair, as if my brown eyes
were his brown eyes, watching as the wind
might have wanted to wear his hat.
I sat there, relieved that the clouds offered
shade from the sun, which blinded me,
the same way I imagine Michael wearing long-sleeves
in hot summer California afternoons because
the sun was almost toxic like ultra-violet radioactive liquid.
I sat there, and in my mind,
I heard music and prose that I imagine as
my own little song, and I imagine
that when he sat in his Giving Tree,
Michael heard what he called
a "symphony from the heavens", and composed it.
-lj
27 February 2017

The Cardinal

I watched a cardinal

through the window.

His bright red feathers

and the mask on his face,

and the way he paraded 

the ground

in the midst 

of the howling wind,

reminded me of 

a reflection of myself,

and how I might look  

when I finally find confidence

to find myself  

behind the disguise 

of good feeling once more.

-LJ

10 February 2017

intrusive thoughts/the jitters

distorted figures in the room,
distorted voices in my head,
distorted clouds in the sky
distorted touches in my bed...
       refracted in the burning sun,
                   reflected in the chosen one,
refracted in the brightest light,
                   reflected in the darkest night.
one, two, two, three, three, three, four,
five, six, six, six, seven, eight;
there's a shadow at the door
whose worth is measured in fear's weight.
i still feel bugs,
i still feel tugs,
i still feel rugs,
i still feel hugs.
loud sounds and weird smells
cause me sensory overload.
forget i asked. forget i ever said
anything. in this awful mode,
i'm wallowing in dread.
do it. do it. do it.
just do it.
almost six years now,
i've not touched my wrists,
but sunken, though, in late night
 silent trysts.
he called me bitter words,
and walked away.
we stayed sober from our pains
until another day.
the cloudy days are abundant
in my world of darker skies,
and it remains that way,
until everything in it dies.
dies. dies.

-LJ
28 January 2017

I miss the way my voice sounds when I sing

I miss the way my voice sang of springtime,

and the love of a prince to a princess he has not met,

and the roses, and the lips that were roses.

I miss the way my voice sang in tongues,

and the silliness of a man and his reflection,

and the beauty of the world, and I love yous, I love yous.

I miss the way my voice sang in hymns,

and His world was my world, and I'd rejoice;

but smite me, watchman, for I am now beside myself.

I miss the way my voice sang of life,

and the surges of emotions I felt as I became

a free spirit in the wonder that was music.

I miss the way my voice sounds when I sing;

for right now, I do not hear it in the same light.

I miss the way my voice would clearly ring,

and the only voice I hear is the one silenced by night.

-LJ

28 January 2017

Under The Weeping Willow

One evening, long ago, I dreamed.

I dreamed, I sat under a weeping willow.

It rained and lightning struck above me,

but no harm came to me, under the tree. 

One morning, not too long ago, I lie awake.

I lie awake, agonized, under the weeping willow.

Depression and anger, and guilt and manic,

sensation and pain, cause me to panic.

One afternoon, long ago, I hid.

I hid, as if asleep, under the weeping willow.

Ideations, imagining, singing, dancing,

wanting, needing, craving; chancing 

what would be a creepy sleepy pillow

under a creepy sleepy weepy willow.

-LJ

28 January 2017

Tweets I Never Sent

This

is a stereotypical

"I look into the mirror,
and the person staring back at me
is not myself"

poem,

a

"I do not feel sad all the time,
but I am empty
and can not feel happiness"

 poem,

a

"When will the sun
come back into my life again"

poem,

a

"Yeah,
I wouldn't want
to talk to me, either"

 poem.

This

is another

"I want to get better,
but it all sound petty as fuck...
but I'm being trapped
in the hell of my intrusive thoughts."

poem,

a

"I slept seventeen hours"

poem,

a

"I play Devil's Advocate with myself

on every possible subject,

making me my own worst enemy"

poem.

This

is another

"My hands are cold, 

my feet are cold,

I sleep too much.

Is something wrong with me?"

poem

that rhymes with

"I had no motivation
to get out of my bed",
"I have no appetite
and haven't eaten in two days",

and

"my dreams terrified me"

But most importantly,

this, my friend,

is a

"I think I have
depression,"
and these are tweets I never sent

poem. 

-LJ

23 November 2016

a poem i wrote when i took a picture of the sky

While the sun was shining,
I was deep asleep in your arms;
knowing not the beauty of its embracing rays,
but knowing the gracious presence of clouded days.

While the moon was rising,

I was wide awake, your hand in mine;

knowing not the sweetness of pale starlight,

but knowing the darkness of my bustling mind at night.

While the rain was falling,

I was exhausted, feeble, leaning on your side;

knowing not the relief of this long-felt pain,

but knowing the sharpest stings of what to lose and gain.

While the clouds were gathering,

I was weary from your body and your mind;

knowing not the thought of living life much longer,

but knowing that one day I will get stronger.

-LJ

20 & 21 January 2017

the wind keeps me from sleeping

Here is a little poem

I wrote on my Tumblr

one night when I couldn't sleep.

wheeeee. :-)

The link will take you there! 

The clouds are soft,
the air is crisp,
the moon is almost full, but shining yet,
playing hide-and-seek with the twinkling twinkle little stars.
It’s a scenic view that
envelops me,
but the wind keeps me from sleeping...

-LJ
10 January 2017

about a day

this morning,

the sun rose,

and flooded my room 

with warmth and light. 

but i fled from it, 

for my senses 

leave me cold and

live at night. 

this afternoon,

i shut the blinds 

and covered up and 

locked the doors. 

i stay away

from the world outside

and become paranoid 

again once more. 

this evening, 

after another day

became too much

for me to take,

i shut down for

twelve hours more

after only eight

small hours awake. 

-LJ

5 January 2017