Overload of Poetry

I like the feeling of
this jacket against my skin
and the embracing smiles
from both my parents
mostly when my baby sister
asked to sleep in my room
or the moment I held
your hand
and
strangely, the comments
and quick remarks that
he makes


Maybe they were right
it does get better

Two in One

I'm hiding
under the white
under the comforter
from the world
& the rain
from the constant
Christmas songs
the 11 year old
learns
on the ivory keys
My stomach calls
for lunch
but my legs
won't turn
Pink polish flakes
& begs
to be peeled
off my broken
fingernails
Small wrinkles are 
in the center
above my nose
and the tension
the constant tension
fills up my 
entire
body

The waiting game
gets old
Awaiting the job
or the phone call
for the gas
to run out
or the song
to change
Always waiting
for the sun to come
or for the moon
to fall asleep

Because I Didn't Get a Prom

I wrote this poem a few months ago. The style is a lot different than what I write in now. Feel free to give me feedback about which you like better :)

Because I didn't get a prom
I get to recover
Because I don't have the chance to buy a dress
I get a second chance at living
Because I'm giving up my old habits
it proves I'm not just giving up

Although my graduation party isn't likely
at least my future is
Although I won't have senior pictures
at least I'll see ultra sound ones
Although the last six weeks have felt completely hopeless
at least I'm not six feet under

I used to treat my skin like paper
willing to shred it for hours
But I'm beginning to treat myself as a person
willing to paste together my wounds

I used to strive for flawlessness
with a probability of inauthenticity
But now I'm striving for a personality
with a probability of embracing my defects

I used to sacrifice my future
because of right now
But I'm starting to sacrifice right now
In hope for my future

People are living
The world is greening
But I, myself, am just beginning

The words sprint
and race through my head
but are unable to flatten
onto a page
Mostly my eyes
are captivated
occupied by alluring
beautiful things
that crave my attention
My ears ring with
white noise
but they don't
translate or judge
noise is noise
passing through
But so are we
noise, turbulence
beings of experiences
passing through
hoping not to be translated
or judged

Miss Tiny Beautiful Sadie Jean,
I've never seen something so perfect. I've also never seen your mommy so happy. Innocence is perfectly captured in your dark brown eyes that refuse to open. My hands smell like your blankets & I hope that scent remains. Since the second you  came your fists found themselves in your mouth constantly. Grandma said "hold her tight, she likes to feel secure" well darling that part doesn't change. No matter how many times your two year old body squirms out of our arms or your fifteen year old ears ignore your embarrassing dad, you'll like to feel secure. You'll want to feel safe. One day I hope you'll know the impact the black & white ultrasound of your profile had on me. I glued the fuzzy picture onto card stock. I carried you around with me. I cried when I thought it was lurking in the garbage somewhere then cried some more when it was found in the back of a closet. Darling, life is precious, especially yours. I held that precious life for a number of minutes & have missed you every second since.

The morning,
the soft light
spread through on the
blushing curtains
the faint throbs
of a clenched jaw
still exists
knotted hair is proof
that the night
was unrestful.

She never expected
or realized
that respect was earned
by breathing and blinking
or just simply by existing

She never gave herself
time to understand herself or
a thought to respect herself

Hello, my name is Jolene and I'm a writer. 

Whether you think so or not is completely up to you but I quite enjoy it and would like to share some things I have written on this blog. Some of the things I have written are very personal but I think those are the pieces that are most important to share. 

I hope you find something you like on here or something you relate to. If not, then there are plenty other things to read and/or to judge. 

All the words I share on here are my own. 

I take complete ownership over the dark and depressing words and over the light and hopeful words. 

Here goes nothing, aka everything.

Her words were capable

and stout 

She let the keyboard

hear her heartbeat

because it listened closely

to the pounding

in her head

Words are sticks

and yes they are stones

Allow hers to sink

into your bones

Allow them to weigh 

on you heavily

Primarily, allow them to 

mean more than words