Disregard the following: (Journal Entry)

Juno sincerely apologizes for all this hype & wishes her life was not common knowledge dictated and destroyed by the uninvolved.

Sorry for not buying into it, everyone. Sorry for limiting your reasons to respect me. Sorry for having the flaw of emotion. And trying to make debacles work.

But then again, why I am sorry when it's not my fault?
Why do I persistently attempt to combat the void?

Oh yeah: because I'm genuine. Because I care. Because maybe, I am what you're not seeing. And maybe, I should be.



Now if you payed no heed to the title, why would you do the same to me?



I'm just striving to slake the spare contingencies and further erase all excuses derived by inadvertent, circumstantial, unavailing, quixotic events.

It is contemptible how inconsequential this all is now.
So what's the crux of my bombastic clamor?

Even remonstrance is incommensurate at this point.

Even I know that I am far from your pragmatic view and I'm sure this just aids your predetermination, of who and what I am, with parsimonious room for revision.

This deficiency is what is unbearable to me.
But I guess this is just one of those things that has to be dealt with.
Just dealt with.

...Unless you'd like to show me your cards...

One thing you should know about me: You don't know me.

Ask Me [Everything] (Journal Entry)

Ask me all the unanswered questions,
No braces - serious faces.
Let me know how and what you feel,
No restrictions - or fictions.
Tell me what you think you really can't,
No denying - stop trying.
Ask me about why it happened the way it did,
And I'll tell you (everything).

Thought Revision (Journal Entry)

You're searching over the edge of your own life, forgetting slowly, lying the years away from attention, painting new truths and new aquaintances, and after you use a shallow exit over the facts and rest near weeks past, you see it as yourself aspiring to alter your own reality with a lie.

The Elixir

A desperate wind shifted the old man as he opened the door
with practiced certainty.
Immediately upon entering, he was again shackled to his latest fixation.

A shimmer of vulgar grimaces emphasized the shadows.

This will remedy my heart, he thought.
This can yield my overflow of agony.

The old man approached the cup with the elixir twisting thickly inside.

This will fix the years I’ve regretted.
Finally. This.

An Empty Chair

An arm’s length away from a hollow girl stands an empty chair.
Its whispers interrupt her thoughts as they pierce through the begging silence.
Echoing over her face,
it tells her of torn obsessions.
This chair helps deception slither back into her mind.
Its lies transparent.
The chair and the girl, both empty, hack through tangled glances.
The uneven stares and polished excuses flood any importance in her mind.
She swims in frustration.
She looks out the painted window to her left,
fractured like the chair’s “truths” as well as her aspirations.

I look at her. A sharp slicing sting of revelation:
She is standing in a plain room, abandoned of everything; save walls, a hardwood floor, and light.

She is alone.

Deteriorating Respect

Hindered breaths.
Uneasy.
Shifting eyes.
Hurrying over the room.
Unsure where to be- or go.
what to say- or do.

Gruffly: “Where are you Woman?!”
Not here

This is the worst game of hide-and-go-seek ever.
He thinks he’s so clever.


I’ll find my voice and get out.
I’ll scream myself into a new life,
Away from the constant spray of revenge-
Revenge intended to satisfy his stresses, fears-
satisfy his need for power, dominance.
Frustrated with his emotions, he humiliates himself with his lack of control.
How many “little accidents” are enough?


He finds her.


Her arm bars across her face in an attempt to save what’s left of it.
Grabbing her concave shoulders, shoving her into the wall.
Bashing her battered breaking bruised body, over and over.
Pushing, pressing, pinning:
Repeating Nightmare.


When her friends inquire about the newest injury,
She will talk. Tell everyone. She’ll share her secret.
Here’s her moment:
Bursting into laughter,
She weaves her latest fiction about how she,
very reasonably,
obtained these obscure mutilations.


Can’t they see through it?
They should.


Undiscovered, she retracts further into the damage.