justajournalontheweb-blog

[justajournalontheweb-blog]

Pandora’s Box

Was anyone else aware that Pandora was the mythical first woman and the box she came bearing was actually her womb and all the evils of the world that came from the opening of her box was her menstrual cycles.

Thank you Ancient Greece for this enlightening course of thought -

[justajournalontheweb-blog]

Brand Me

We can’t own another human-Not their soul, but I want to own yours.

 I want you to want to own mine 

I want you to take it 

I want to give it

 So maybe if you give yourself to me - 

I can own you. 

I’ve already given myself to you heat the metal smoldering hot - and lay it on my 

skin. 

[justajournalontheweb-blog]

I don't believe in love...not no longer.

k.arafa

[justajournalontheweb-blog]

V

Flow through tonight; embrace me in your memory.

Tonight I want to remember all the wrong you did to me. I want the memories to come not to morn them -but to show them the doorway out.

You told me I was greedy,

quickly followed with the phrase-I can never have enough. it makes me quiver- those words.

You made my love, my admiration, my devotion... a sick joke like a stalker in my own love.

like I was wrong to love        my husband.

I'm glad you're gone.

I can be glad and yet encompass sadness. - like the arms of a childless mother. I can feel all of these things true enough.

Just like I can remember the countless times you called me greedy.

Greedy for missing you ...for asking to hear your voice. wrong, wrong, wrong;

you were and are so very wrong,

because my love was true. That's what I'll take with me.

all my flaws, my tendencies, my mistakes, and faults. I won't excuse myself of my wrong doings; or attempt to downplay them. but I will take with me the fact

That I was not greedy. Greed would imply that I wasn't already starving.  

[justajournalontheweb-blog]

IV

Today I wanted to be held, chased after, admired- and hated. Today I wanted to believe in love again; that I could be loved. The only real accomplishment I had today was that I didn't think about this until it was time for bed...until it could keep me up into the midnight hours. 

[justajournalontheweb-blog]

III

she seemed to express herself with her whole body. 

I want to be like her. 

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You never expect it to come the way it does in feelings indescribable and lines that can not be untangled.

Caught.

[justajournalontheweb-blog]

Fermented Cucumbers

You never liked when I ate fermented cucumbers you always told me that you needed me to walk away- eat them some place you aren’t at. Maybe you just didn’t give them a chance to grow like the cucumber had time. Maybe you just couldn’t wait until I became tart and complex. You couldn’t understand me before and definitely not now with a cucumber in a jar. Maybe it’s because you didn’t like pickles; you wouldn’t had liked me anyways. Maybe I wouldn’t have liked you either you. 

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I’ve searched for you in sex and cult classics; and yet you’ve evaded me.

Sex and cult classics The thin layer between; The distance to insanity 

Made Of Cigarette air And teeth rotting candy.

Thin skin; an empty abyss.

 I’m missing you 

—in soft lips of air your parting lips 

[justajournalontheweb-blog]

Send a Cure

I can tell you this... I'm not responsible; nor am I reliable. You can rely on my bad habits though. you can rely on my lack of money. you can rely on me floating shamefully into dependency; but I cannot tell you what I am. Sadly, those I love think they can tell you what I'm made of...but I want to warn you: they couldn't possibly understand. because I don't understand. so, I just sit here... staring at my skin...staring at the sky, and inventing fantasies. 

[justajournalontheweb-blog]

Rat Race

I'd rather be angry with you than ok I'd rather yell and shake my fist, I want to tell you I hate you --but I'm too tired now to do much of anything. Too tired with old tendancies, tired of running the rat race. tired maybe, of us. 

[justajournalontheweb-blog]

Scene i

The bedroom door slams shut behind a small girl in a clean pressed school uniform. She crinkles up her nose as she steps out into the thick haze of smoke wafting down the yellowed walls.  

-you're at it again. 

-at what, again? I ain't at nothin'

-You're always at something Mamu. always, it ain't ever nothin'. 

mamu leans back in to the sagging couch. letting the cig dangle loosely from her parched lips. 

-hand me a cold one Daisy Babe, hand Mamu a cold one.

 -I be off to school. I ain't touchin' that devils drink. 

Mamu shifts uncomfortably. Lights up her seventh cigarette. All the windows are closed, the curtains drawn. Faint lines of light tangle into the dust floating around the cracks in the fabric panels.

 -pick up your nose bleed rags daisy.

Daisy freezes.

 -Freddy did a number on the bath trash yesterday noon. 

Daisy's body starts to cower but then she finds her self straightening, backing up. She turns her back to Mamu, tightens her thighs. 

-Well then, don't be lettin' Freddy in the trash again while I be at school. Better yet why don't you be taking out the trash, it's not like you do any of the straighten' up in this house. You a far way from Rebecca Anderson's mom. 

-Now that ain't fair Daisy Babe, who around here does the hard work, lettin' men ogle my body up on that stage so you can go to that there fancy catholic school of yours. Let me tell ya girl, you have it easier than I did. easier. so much easier...

Mamu's head rolls backward, smoke wafting to the ceiling.

 -Mamu, please- just can you-Mamu doesn't respond.

 The silence collapses around them and ends with the soft click of the front door. Mamu shifts her legs restlessly. Drops the cigarette in the ash tray. 

Daisy leans her back against the hallway wall. 

-today will be better, I just know it. daisy hinges her mouth all the way open. -Goood morn'- good mornin' 

- Good Morning. Be proper now Daisy, be proper.

Daisy clacks her teeth together, shakes out her jaw. Letting her cheeks relax as she straightens her uniform.  

The church ball cries out in the distance. She is late, on the second day of school. Mamu gets up slowly; her body folding in on itself. She finds herself dragging back the curtain looking for daisy. For the daughter she's - her eyes wander until the haze takes over; the drugs kick in. 

A bus can be heard approaching in the distance. 

-Hey ya Daisy, goin' go sit in ketchup again in that fancy school of yours?

A group of boys jeer at daisy as she begins to run to catch the bus. 

- y'all know that wasn't no ketchup- DAISY HERE IS A WOMAN NOW!

-Plum Ripe for the pickin' she is!

-PLUMP RIGHT! YOU SEEN THAT ASS! Daisy feels her throat tighten up as their voices faded out of distance. Soon all she can hear is the blood pounding in her ear drums and feel the hot road seeping through her thin black slippers. 

Rebecca Andersons butt probably didn't jiggle when she runs for the bus. 

Then again Rebecca Anderson has probably never even rode a bus in her whole existence. 

[justajournalontheweb-blog]

II

It's incredibly hard to let go of - well, anything. I mean you held on tight for a reason, didn't you...didn't I? I was taught early on to hold on. Through distance, the silence, the ever gnawing unhappiness. I was taught how to punish myself, how to blame myself, and through it all how to maintain hope. 

Hope that would cease to leave me when everyone else has. I Just keep on hoping you need me too. hoping that one day if you don't know it now, that you will all realize it sooner or later... That you all really need me.

[justajournalontheweb-blog]

I

I wanted to begin the work- to initiate the change.

Some sort of mystical growth that would be granted to me today.

Some sort of sign a direction- a flutter internally Instead I watched as stars hovered in jittering tiny orbit-and I blamed my failing eye sight.

 Universe, give me a passion before I loose the ability to see.But who says I will. I may die before I loose the ability to give my eyes aimless wander. This isn't a new struggle, I suppose it can be equated with any of man's struggles to make something meaningful out of life. I am not exempt from this exploration. 

I've searched in the past, of paternal and maternal failings.I've searched in the so called feeling of love and companionship -in fact it's quiet easy for me to devote myself to someone else. It's easy to become a vessel.

To take on someone else's grief and dreams; it's easy because then I can be fool myself. I have searched for my life purpose in far away goals and ideal situations.Social media makes it even more unremarkable that I cannot seem to reach even one of those goals. So, all of this leaves me to wonder ... what will it take to find my artistry. My life pursuit. 

What will knock me out of this rhythmic pendulum swing and carry me forward. All I want to do is sail and drape a hand in the water. Let it skim through worlds I'll never be apart of. I want to enjoy that feeling of detachment that brings us all so universally close to the earth. Instead, I've created the perfect space to live in ideas. it's sad, depressed, with spurts of happiness, there's even manic moments brought on by my inability to separate others opinions from my own... - which begs the question what is my opinion of myself?

Is it because of my unfamiliarity I am unable to form the words to articulate my search for purpose. To feel down to my very bones, the thought; "this is what I am suppose to be doing."