j-p

she/they saxophonist. writer/poet. aspiring cat lady. Instagram: @_the_academic_

[judy-paige]

How ironic is it that I dream so much for someone that doesn't catch a wink?

[philosophybits]

“You must live in the present, launch yourself on every wave, find your eternity in each moment. Fools stand on their island of opportunities and look toward another land. There is no other land; there is no other life but this.”

— Henry David Thoreau, Journals

[brxtwalda]

ethel - 27/8/22

[judy-paige]

I, As a Woman

I, as a Woman,

live life on easy mode.

I get to feel the incumbering stares

when I decide to dress in accordance to the heat.

I shouldn't worry, right?

It's the least I can endure for being so striking.

I, as a Woman,

live life on easy mode.

I get to offer my body to the cause

of preserving life in a decaying society.

I shouldn't worry, right?

It's the least I can do for having a uterus.

I, as a Woman,

live life on easy mode.

I get to experience a man's definition of love;

emotional intelligence a luxury.

I shouldn't worry, right?

It's the least I can do for catching his attention.

I, as a Woman,

live life on easy mode.

3% is still 5,025,000;

a group you belong to when you don't know the difference between love and harm.

I shouldn't worry, right?

It's the least I can do for not knowing any better.

I, as a Woman,

—a statistic, 97—

have fewer rights than I did last week.

Should I worry?

Is there much left I can do?

- j.p.

[judy-paige]

The Moon's Wife

My love is immortal.

For night only provides dawn's portal.

Darkness itself must not congeal much

under the light of the Moon that feels my touch.

They say that the Sun brings everlasting life,

but I can attest they speak of lies.

For I am the Moon's wife,

and the Moon's wife never dies.

My love, close your eyes to dream.

Dreams are boundless under this gleam.

All your worries whisking away

with the tides and spirals of an ocean's dismay.

They say that dreaming is wasted hope disguised,

but I can attest they speak of lies.

For I am the Moon's wife,

and the Moon's wife is very wise.

My love reflects this circle in the sky

so that you mustn't need to reach so high.

Even in darkness, a warmth surrounds you,

like humidity's embrace down at the bayou.

They say the bugs don't sing there at night,

but I can attest they speak of lies.

For I am the Moon's wife,

and the Moon's wife has her spies.

My love, it's time to rest.

The Moon is now closing west.

I know your mind will miss us.

The sweet cream of night, now the morning's citrus.

They say the day behests productivity—

that much is true—

but when the Sun's beams reach the Moon's captivity,

the Moon's wife has more for you.

- j.p.

[judy-paige]

There's something beautiful about the idea of religion—the passion of endless love and blind trust—but only the idea. Pouring passion into a full cup can make the holy spill, turning love into resentment, and trust into remoteness.

- j.p.

[judy-paige]

Untitled

With us, the world will end.

Tumbling sensations of dread

spiraling out of our control.

We stand mere feet away

from the axis of our nightmares.

Our hands joined,

we watch.

It's almost entrancing;

beautiful, in a horrifying sense.

Everything

to nothing.

- j.p.

[judy-paige]

Memento Mori

Memento Mori;

remember, you too, shall die.

This comically short life

leads to the idea of mercy gone awry.

Memento Mori;

remember, we will all find the day to perish.

Why make a spectacle?

Why deem the afterlife to ideas so garish?

Memento Mori;

remember, mortality fates humanity—

an infectious disease

unforgiving of and engendering our insanity.

Memento Mori;

remember, your physical form is not forever.

Though, you might find solace

in the law that energy cannot be severed.

Memento Mori;

remember, you count your days.

Days are so precious.

If not for death,

what would there be to bless us?

Memento Mori;

remember, you too, shall die.

This comically short life spares no one,

not even those who deny.

- j.p.

[judy-paige]

Come Summer's Haven

The days are growing longer, now.

Summer peeks Her vibrant green eye 'round the corner.

I see Her in the sun that glistens against my skin;

the delicately pale tones beat red with the sun's conviction.

I feel Her in the breeze that has grown slower—less aggressive—Her gentle touch.

I hear Her as the songbirds sing come the break of dawn,

when the sun has shone for nearly an hour by then.

My days are longer, now.

No more excuses,

no more rest.

The long Winter nights were a lovely getaway,

but my, are Summer's promises enticing.

Winter slips away,

bidding us a farewell in Her rainstorms

that feed the grass and trees and flowers

for Summer to then foster.

Activity approaches

come Summer's haven.

- j.p.

[judy-paige]

Heart of Icarus sculpture by Emil Melmoth

[judy-paige]

Untitled

Knowledge—the bane of our present existence—

is approached with Her own eulogy.

She weeps from a dreary eye

at the witness of our tragedies.

She rears Her head

up at the sky

to call out a name,

though, She doesn't know why.

She settles into Her coffin,

accepting the end is near.

Crows are aloft and

it's their song She hears.

Not the rampage of war

as leaders squawk more than they fly,

or even the snarls of a bureaucrat boar

as he straightens his red tie.

Knowledge—the bane of our present existence—

Her death comes sluggardly.

It's as if She's giving us a chance

to wage this war on ignorance, stubbornly.

She yearns for before,

when all was sought and claims were true.

When there was much less to deplore

of a humanity that failed to debut.

And so, to those who are rare,

run to Her with open minds.

She's got little left to spare

in the midst of these trying times.

- j.p.

[judy-paige]

Untitled

We all know silence often says the most about a situation.

Rests in music provide room

for motion and rhythm to flow.

Silence can be a sacred healer,

but it is more often a virus.

Too contagious to be near anybody,

you succumb to the deafening silence of your own.

It consumes you.

What is it that staples your mouth shut?

Who can I be

for you,

so that you may speak?

So that you may listen?

Truth is,

I shouldn't have to be.

Our meeting was meant to introduce me

to unconditional love.

Instead,

it is in silence

that love is a mere suggestion.

A pool of our silent tears,

narrating our greatest fear.

I never wished for silence.

This virus attacks my respiratory system,

counting my breaths.

How may I use my breath

to break this silence between us?

We can speak every apology,

even utter every synonym to pity,

but this silence is a feat

where insecurity engulfs the soul.

Resentment is buried beneath the surface.

I never wished for silence.

I'm screaming.

Gnawing.

Scratching.

The surface is right there.

YOU are right there;

but this quarantine of silence

keeps us wondering.

Guessing.

I never wished for silence.

I'm exhausted.

This will never heal.

The virus dies with us.

- j.p.

[judy-paige]

Betrayal

Gravel voices in my head.

They ring louder and true.

The treachery was falsely pronounced dead.

As if there wasn't enough we'd already been through.

Gravel voices in my head.

The quiet before the storm was so devilishly intoxicating.

And now you rear your nasty head

to bind the wires and resume dictating.

Gravel voices in my head.

When will they stop for good?

Am I kidding myself in dreaming beyond the bed?

Or even in my faith that you ever could?

- j.p.

[judy-paige]

The house is asleep. It's dark outside.

There is silence beyond the low hum of the heater and the occasional crackle of the old house settling.

There is energy behind my eyes.

They sleep, I'm awake. They're awake, I sleep.

Time to myself, when the world is asleep. It sounds lonely to someone that may be fortunate enough to evade consistent thoughts.

I have space to think,

to feel,

to be

without interruption or hesitancy

in a world so unforgiving. Relentless.

- j.p.

[judy-paige]

I know it's amateur work; mediocre to most.

But it's mine.

j.p.

[judy-paige]

"Who was to say they were even a girl, at all? Surely, a divine specimen as well as they were would perhaps not adhere to the gender binary. But rather find themselves invariably presented as an artistic creation of the combined expressions of feminine and masculine. This person held the softness of a divine feminine, and at the same time, possessed masculinity in their commanding presence.

They could very well caress your cheek with the tenderness of a mother, and in the same breath demand you fall to your knees with the urgency of a knight."

- j.p.

[judy-paige]

The fit for the day 🖤🤍🤎