Tag Archive: introspective

Today I came undone. It was an interesting feeling akin to screaming from a dream, pointless and jarring. My words were nothing more than pathetic echoes reverberating out of me, attached to nothing, devoid of meaning. Scales fell from my eyes, liquid fire, blinding me to the light. As I stood in the maelstrom, begging it to strike harder, I paid willingly in pounds of flesh. Eased by the warm rush of blood. Calmed by the whiring in my ears.

My masks lay at my feet strewn like flowers, representations of things I dare not name. They are my most and least honest appendage in one. The masks repel and call to me with the same voice. It’s familiar, and my fingers itch to pull them up, obedient as always.

An acrid taste upon my tongue sours my stomach. Perhaps this pill wasn’t meant for swallowing, but the hour is late and I’ve already decided. So while Fate looms chill and shadowy behind me, a shark, keen in bloody water, I drop my arms, stand firm, and adjust my posture. I am ready to continue because continue is what I do.


Swan Song

Thank you to everyone who read a post, tweet, or story. It ment the world to me. You allowed me to be the person I wish I was; strong, opinoiated, brave, outspoken, and whole. You gave me a community when I felt so very isolated and a soapbox to reach out across the globe. I have made friends and connections that I would never have dreamed possible, but mostly being this version of myself helped me live with who I really am. I am a coward. I am weak, broken, and easily manipulated. I cannot lie to you or myself anymore so I am bowing out. It comes with tears, I am sure there will be a void where Jess aka b00kreader existed within me, but I cannot be this person so I have to let her go. Please do not feel I have lied about everything because I haven’t my name is Jessica, I went to grad school in South Carolina, and I am a postdoc at DFCI, but I am tired and beat down not scrappy and hungry. The part of me that is so ashamed of not being the person I presented to you is still happy I tried even if it was only a virtual try. Thank you for letting me pretend with you it was amazing while it lasted!

When I’m gone let me go, but carve my name upon a stone. 

Such a silly thing to pop into a persons head, especially a healthy person, but there it was. An unshakeable truth that once thought could not be set aside. All of a sudden the graveyard I was passing looked even more beautiful and tranquil. And selfish. And prideful. 

What makes us want to inscribe our name in stone after we pass on to what is next? Could it be our very human desire to be eternal and more than just existed? To be remembered requires no such monuments so the reason must be much more personal and deeply dark.

Are we naive to carve into the very earth our names? If even the names of young lovers inscribed in passion is eventually lost to growth; then surely with time even a name writ in pain will wear away. We are but yelling into a void hoping the echo might be heard by someone… by anyone. 

Oddly the thought made me smile. I want a stone; on a hill, near a tree, overlooking a pond. I want the wind and rain to slowly wash my name away. I want to be lost to time like all those who came before me, but first I want the taste of imortality. So till time has had its way with me let that stone stand as proof I lived and loved. 

For as the deep set lines wear away my need for them shall surely fade.

By Megatruth as seen on DeviantArt

I shiver chafing my hands together on the bus. Even sitting uncomfortably close to a stranger my fingers and toes ache with cold. Standing on curbs waiting for late public transportation has that effect on even the most weather worn new englanders I imagine.

Staring out the window I feel myself begin to thaw in the sunlight. Now I can see it. The riot of color, the light frost turning to dew on the grass… Then I can see it. There under a blanket on the cold stone footer of the decorative bridge lays a person covered with a blanket a shopping cart at their feet. 

The shiver comes again. This time it is the cold creeping under my skin and into my soul. 

How dare I complain. 

The image whips past me as the light changes, no matter it is burned into my mind. 

All rights to the owner of the image whom I thank

I am not a product of abuse…

     no cuts or bruises mar my visage.

I am a survivor of indifference….

     proud of the scars upon my psyche and the mended fractures to my resolve.

And so I live with the uneasy truce

     between who I see in the mirror and the worn out images

held up in reference

     so that I might try, tirelessly, to compete with a stereotype which has never evolved.

My success?


My dreams?


My identity?


So still I come home to clean, cook, and amuse

     as if there had been no woman’s suffrage,

and I smile and nod in deference

     as those around me try to force me to devolve.

But I know my strength and my views

     and I feel not alone, as I am but one in this strong female lineage.

So ignore me and worse… make your inferences.

   I know I’m good getting better as I absolve…

your hateful sin of indifference.


All rights to owner. As seen on Enlightened Conflict



All rights to owner~who I graciously thank for placing their stunning work on the internet

The tides change and the water rises ever higher…

Yet I remain.

Glorying in the sensation of weightlessness.


The storm winds build momentum evermore dire…

Yet I maintain.

Begrudging the lustful hate that rages in the tempest.


The lashing rains fall forever with ire…

Yet I am sustained.

Luxuriating in the cold indifferent raindrops.


I…am the water bearer.

I fell


I fell the other day and in falling I saw myself.

I was weak at all the improper junctures fortified by supports and pulleys.

Strong in others where there seemed to be no point.

But I was whole.

Though strained and tired, somehow, I had remained intact.

I am a series of unfortunate events which have clouded my vision and tarnished my pride.

However, I am also grounded, headstrong, and capable.

I am greater then the summation of my individual attributes, inclinations, ideas, or achievements.

I am who I am today because of my journey.

Though there have been bumps and bruises there has also been joy.

So though I fell as I am sure to do; I could pick myself up and start anew.

Perhaps not over, as no one part of my life can I consider waste, but again.

I grow because I must,

I change because it is required,

But I want because how could I not.

I may not be the one I hoped, for the path leads ever on, but I am who I am.

And that is what I wish to reflect in every motion, word, and thought.

Me is what I wish the world to see smoldering in my eyes as I struggle, and rebuild, and continue.

For as I fell I saw not my disgrace or loss but my chance.

Open Handed

This, this is me.  Not just part of me…me.  I stand before you opened handed, unprotected, and battle scared.

Look closely and see the strength I hold.  The strength of doing, of trying.  The hardness I have developed through years of repetitive tasks, but more than just that.  I have also willed them strong.  Each tear they’ve brushed aside, bridge they burned, or link they’ve forged imbuing them with an unbreakable force. 

The lines upon them map my progress, follies, and life lessens.

They have healed and soothed in times of need.

They are tools by which I live and work, but even so they fail me.

My fingers red and ragged from pulling myself up and you along with me, of holding you up and me back, of clawing forward inch by inch only to find I am grasping at straws.

They are my weakness personified.  In a million tiny tells they fidget signalling to the world my discomfort, my worries, my fear.

They bare the only physical mark of your claim on me; never ending and set with an unbreakable stone.

Yet fettered they can still rebel, even bound their strength grows, for beneath your claim these hands are still my own.  Perhaps the most honest depiction of self I allow the world to glimpse…vulnerable to pain yet strong enough to carve a path I am in part yours, but still…

The bitter aftermath

Her ears rang and burned.  The lies and questions hung in the air like tangible things, she could grab and use for want of a better weapon.  Her heart pounded and raced, her breathing was ragged, and red crawled up her neck.  She stood clutching the chair before her as if it were her only life line.  The only solid thing left in her twisting life of turmoil.  She stared at him blinking back tears, of rage, of hurt, of disappointment, but he did not meet her gaze. 

She imagined the anger in her leaking out in waves pulsing blood red and midnight black, equal parts frustration and despair.  Her grip tightened as she strained to make her voice level and calm, “We going to talk about it?”

Silence was her only response and the breath she took, shook, undoing the small composure she had.  The angry, hateful, hurtful things she wanted to say were so loud, as they rolled from her mind to her tongue only to slam into her teeth like so much rainwater against a damn, that she couldn’t hear herself think. Without an escape the imagined sounds just echoed and reverberated through her wholly until they become just another layer in her shell of self preservation. 

With a conscious decision she unlocked her jaw and tried again, “It won’t help a thing to let it sit like this”. 

Now his glare was added to the equation.  She shook her head unable to stop it, as she went off to do anything else.  She could even swallow her pride again, she thought, but God help her if she had to be civil at this moment in time.  If he called for her it would be over and she knew it. 

She could taste the final straw, and it wasn’t sweet like freedom it was bitter like defeat.

Soul Searing

Her blood red eyes dripped disdain as they looked past me, through me, to the nothingness that resides within.  It could have been seconds or an eternity that we sat locked in a battle of wills waiting to see who would pay the ultimate price, my soul or hers.  She won the second I lowered my eyes and now for the love of God there was no erasing that image.  Her pitiful stare, even red rimed and tear stained, was still cutting ever deeper to the core of me.  Searching for what, answers?  A pointless endeavor.  There was no answer for her.  I blink and shake my head, but I’m not asleep.  This is no dream.  It’s not reality either, the structure is too ephemeral, so I sit with my half remembered memory.  Pleading.  Look away…leave me with what little is still mine buried so deep beneath me.  Blink damn it and let me have the piece of your soul I was looking for, but her eyes don’t blink.  They follow me out of the room and down into my hell.  Where all the teeth gnashing and hair pulling can’t ease my pain or the burning sensation from her piercing stare. 

I am that empty thing sitting near the window intently watching my own reflection in the rain streaked glass rapidly blinking.  Wishing I was alive enough to care about the blood stains on my hands and what’s left of my soul, and that when next I close my eyes I won’t see hers.

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