So I love this sentiment and there’s definitely a part of me that resonates with it but for the rest of me … it’s just too pretty. There’s no acknowledgement of the dark parts of your nature that the monsters are responding to when they bow, the things that my darkness is fleeing when you chase it away.

You say that you are the light but we both know how you crave the dark. So much of your identity is wrapped up in nostalgia for your goth punk rebellion days. Does it hurt when you realise you’re not that kid anymore? Is that why you cradle it so closely to your ego, whispering sweet nothings?

You definitely have velvet rose petal lips. I’m always amazed at their softness, especially knowing the energy and force of what is contained within. I drank deeply of their nectar, heady with love for you, before I realised you’d wrapped me in your vines. Your siren’s song lulled me to sleep … and I awoke in a different landscape. The smooth vines suddenly dark and covered in thorns, constricting ever tighter around my throat and my heart.

I didn’t want to extricate myself. I sometimes still regret having done so. Maybe if I’d stayed, if I’d found a way to keep breathing, you’d have taken me back to the place of love and comfort. Maybe I wouldn’t be wandering lost in this bleak desert.

I’ll need to find water soon. The past few pools have been brackish and left me worse than before I tried to drink. I no longer move toward the mirage of oases.

Step by slow step I trudge onward, yet somehow keep circling back to the remembered promise of your vines. Some of the scratches you left have started to heal but there are a few, the ones closest to my heart, that can’t seem to stop bleeding. Is it weird that I want to wrap myself in them again? Maybe next time the cuts will be such that the pain will flow outward instead of inward. Maybe next time I fall asleep wrapped in you, I’ll awaken refreshed and renewed.

It’s unlikely but I’m reaching my hand out toward you just the same.


Burned beyond repair?

Ah, you

Your hair, the perfect length
My fingers, itching to run through it
My hands, aching to cup your jaw
To feel all your textures and to feel you feeling mine

I see your hurt
Your anger
Your resilience
Your defence mechanisms
Your inner light
I see YOU

The rift between us is an uncrossable gulf
People have set fires to all the bridges

Here I stand
Ready with a pile of fresh timber
A rope long enough to swing across
Hands held out
Waiting for you to see ME

Will you catch my toss?
Will you catch me?


I’m feeling a bit rambunctious today. There are so many things that I “have” to do these days, what with school and life and whatnot, that part of me relishes the idea of mini rebellions. I can’t act out too terribly in class but I for sure can drag my heels, kick, scream, throw a tantrum, etc in other areas.

Most of my naughtiness is playful and not intended to harm. I want to revel and I want others to enjoy the moment with me.

If you slap my hand as I pull you closer when you kiss me – be prepared for more than just that raised eyebrow. I might let you get away with it for the moment, and calmly put my hand back up on that cross as directed, but don’t let my ostensible obedience make you complacent. I’m looking for my opportunity to poke the sadist when the sadist is least expecting it.

2017-04-20 19.07.42

I’m not asking to be forced to submit, that’s not my jam, I’m looking for a partner in crime. I’m looking for someone who will play with me. What we do is called play for a reason. If you’re not having fun while you do it, you and I aren’t compatible.

In fact, I’m likely to use my obedience to throw you off. Just when you’ve put me in the “won’t take orders of any kind” box in your brain … I’ll hold my breath on command. It doesn’t hurt that the flame to light my clove keeps going out, so I’m really being selfish in my obedience… *snicker*

My playfulness ramps up more and more as I come to adore people. The ones I love best are the ones I play with most. The ones who respond beautifully to my fickle sense of fun and meet the challenge with mischievous deviousness. 😍

My hand is out to you … and my smirk is firmly in place.


Even Doves Have Pride

Heard this on my way in this am and, not only do I completely adore Prince, it just so perfectly captures where I’m at with certain things in my life. Enjoy y’all!

Dig if you will the picture
Of you and I engaged in a kiss
The sweat of your body covers me
Can you my darling
Can you picture this?

Dream if you can a courtyard
An ocean of violets in bloom
Animals strike curious poses
They feel the heat
The heat between me and you

How can you just leave me standing?
Alone in a world that’s so cold? (So cold)
Maybe I’m just too demanding
Maybe I’m just like my father too bold
Maybe you’re just like my mother
She’s never satisfied (She’s never satisfied)
Why do we scream at each other
This is what it sounds like
When doves cry

Touch if you will my stomach
Feel how it trembles inside
You’ve got the butterflies all tied up
Don’t make me chase you
Even doves have pride

How can you just leave me standing?
Alone in a world so cold? (World so cold)
Maybe I’m just too demanding
Maybe I’m just like my father too bold
Maybe you’re just like my mother
She’s never satisfied (She’s never satisfied)
Why do we scream at each other
This is what it sounds like
When doves cry

Dream a little dream

I dreamt about you again last night. These days you’re in my dreams more often than not and it’s an odd sensation. I don’t usually remember my dreams and rarely dream about people I actually know in “real life” but you keep invading my psyche.


My mind and my heart can’t process your absence … my soul is bereft. I keep thinking of water metaphors to describe the sensations of grief and maybe all that water on the brain is why I keep crying. Someone mentioned you to me in passing today and … ugh, I’d been holding up so well but once again I fell apart. Each time the pieces of me come back together they try to repair the hole you left but they don’t fit together properly anymore. It’s not really surprising, considering. I didn’t know you long before you were gone but our souls intertwined themselves almost from the get go.


My dreams aren’t all that interesting but they’re everything to me because we’re together. Sometimes we’re cuddling. Sometimes we’re talking and laughing. Sometimes we’re sparring with vim and vigor. Sometimes we’re singing along to a song I haven’t heard in ages, a song that no one has ever recognised when I’ve quoted it, a song that you just happen to have in rotation. Always though, we’re together.


Sometimes my dreams take an idyllic bent. You always felt like home to me and in some dreams I draw strength from you and you from me and together we craft the world we want to live in. Combined, supporting each other, we can move mountains. We draw power from our separate lives and explore wildly knowing we have somewhere safe to return to.

Life goes on. We forge ahead. School has started again and that’s been fun. I’m a titleholder now. I went to my first board meeting today and you would have cracked up at the stories I told about that experience. I’m re-growing my skin, though that is an excruciatingly slow process. I had a yummy strawberry IPA that I wanted to share with you. A friend gave me a rock to hold when I need to remind myself to listen and I think you’d be proud of how I’m learning to use it. I’m topping more and more these days and might even be willing to admit that you were right about the direction in which my path is leading me. I understand more and more what you meant about that one “friend” of mine. I hear your voice in my head when I speak about certain topics – hell, I plagiarise the fuck out of your speeches. I still want to punch you in the face 😉


I love you. I don’t know where you are or what you’re doing. It doesn’t really matter. I’ve lost you.

I’m still holding out my hand.


Firm but flexible

The wave builds
Gathering strength and height
It comes for me

I gird my loins
I can do this
I can ride it
Conquer it

Head up
Shoulders back
Stand firm but flexible

Too hard and water will break you
Too soft and you’ll be pulled under

This time I’m sure I have the balance right
This time I will come out on top
I’m the little Jeni that could
¡Si se puede!

I roar into it as it crashes
My mouth and nose fill up with water
The salt burns my eyes, my throat

I break apart into a million tiny pieces
I retain my soul
And my bits come back together

Damp but whole
Cleansed in the water
Purified by the salt
I stand firm but flexible

The power of the water inside me
Building to the next wave
Ever building


I’m holding out my hand

Ah, the fear of rejection. The fear of loving too much. The fear that the other person isn’t interested. All these fears that help us hide behind our walls and tell ourselves that we’re better not to trust, not to love too deeply.

And yet. I was so secure in my belief of your love, of your caring, that when you showed me how little you loved, how little you cared, I was blindsided. I don’t understand your withdrawal. I can’t reconcile who you have shown yourself to be with who you were with me. Maybe that’s why this hurts so much. It’s definitely why I feel so lost, so naive. It’s why my brain and my heart are still at war.

How could I have missed the signs? Then again, what was the point of it on your end? You certainly didn’t need it to get me into bed. So I’m left asking why and I’m furious with myself for wanting to know. At this point, it doesn’t really matter why – you’re gone, you’ve left, and more knowledge won’t repair the hole.

I love you. I miss you. I’m so angry. I’m so hurt. I want so much to be in your presence again, to soak up your essence and your energy, to shake my head fondly at your would-be witticisms, to discover what other musical gems you have hidden in your collection. I want so desperately to be held by you, to burrow into your chest, to intertwine my fingers with yours, to feel your hand on the back of my head – to give and receive comfort. I’m holding out my hand …

And yet. You’re the one person I can’t say these things to, for fear that you don’t care at all. For fear that the person you’ve shown yourself to be is truer than the person you showed to me. For fear that you will ignore my hand reaching toward you and that promise is the last thing I have of yours … and I’m still clinging to the hope of it, while fully aware of the evil of hope.

I don’t know when next we’ll meet. It’ll happen at some point – you can’t avoid me forever, the community is too small for that. I will likely be too afraid to hold my hand out to you in any literal sense but know that it’s there, open and full of love for you.