How Fickle My Heart

My Name is Jordan Jae Clark. I'm 16 and I Write

[placetobefree-deactivated202501]

[yoursoultosell]

you cannot see me

i am fading fast

and there is nothing to be done

[yoursoultosell]

There shouldn’t be any groping, or loose movement of the tongue. This was the beginning, and to jump into something, like an over eager baby bird flying for the first time, could be messy and rough. Collins got a starry look in his eyes, his mind floating somewhere in his memories. I thought he was thinking about his first kiss with August, his steady boyfriend for about a year now. August didn’t seem like the kind of guy to be slow and pure. August drove a mustang, was never without his leather jacket, and always had a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. It was funny though, because as I sat there in Collins’ 1956 Oldsmobile, I thought about how that would be exactly what August was probably like, because that is what Collins thinks a kiss should be. August loves Collins, is crazy about him, and everything Collins’ loves, so of course, August wouldn’t rush in on him. I imagine he took his face in his hands, and brushed Collins’ lips with his. There was probably a heat filled pause, full of longing and butterflies. Then, Collins, with his Buddy Holly glasses and always too loose sweater, pulled  August close, kissed him quickly, and put his face in the crook of August’s shoulder, and there they would be, perfectly content to just hold each other, smiling at each other every once in a while, never saying anything but each other’s names. Every kiss they had, started out exactly as their first one: simple, sweet, and, pure. When Collins came out of his memories, he looked at me and sighed. I nodded, kissed his cheek, and said, “I think August is waiting for you, Col.” Collins laughed and we got out of the car, looking towards where August was skulking and smoking a cigarette. Collins walked off towards him, winked at me and said, “He’s always waiting for me.”

(JJ Clark)

[meownarchy-deactivated20200531]

If you’re dating a writer and they don’t write about you — whether it’s good or bad — then they don’t love you. They just don’t. Writers fall in love with the people we find inspiring.

Jamie Anne Royce

[yoursoultosell]

Once in the woods two people met

In the rain, soft and wet

And a friendship, new and exciting started

And the two friends hoped never to be parted

Through the years, these two weaved through life by each other’s side

Laughing, smiling, by the hips they were tied

Happy days seemed never to end

but clouds and sadness were soon to descend

Differences big and small

Threatened to tear them apart and be their pitfall

What they had, their smiles and jokes

Were used as weapons, and the fire provokes

Through the war, these two friends forgot

The profound bond and they wouldn’t be outfought

Broken hearts and souls scorned

The lost friends were not mourned

All at once the fighting ceased

The storm over, and the bitterness decreased

The two, once close, with stars in their eyes

Look down in shame as their past dies

The two reached out their hands

Trying to mend the friendship their heart disbands

But the hurt ripped through the two

And threw their hopeful plans askew

So they dropped their weapons and called a truce

Cautiously looking at what they could deduce

Their minds weak and their patience running thin

The friends, two angels, not falling into sin

Back into the woods they trod

Hoping this new start was not a fraud

And so hand clasped in hand

The two marched, as a new future spanned

(J.J Clark)