Father’s Day.

Father’s Day didn’t come this year.           Or perhaps it came & went.

Though I don’t think I’d recognize it anyway.   Or maybe I’m just thinking of you.   I find myself asking, “When was the last time? When did I last know him?”    The bitter truth is maybe I never did.   Suddenly it feels like you’re just another face in the crowd.

Maybe you remembered the man you didn’t have to be all those years ago.

I remember piggy back rides and turning you into a horse.     Take your daughter to work day – ones that resulted in me taking a fair portion of your tips.    Werewolf masks and ‘Child’s Play’.     Banging pots at midnight and hairy chicken cutlets.    Be My Valentine.  New York City and The Nutcracker at Christmas.    Getting my belly button pierced and easing the pain with sunburn.      Road trips to Connecticut.          Summer vacations in Wildwood Crest.     Late afternoon lunch dates.

I learned long ago to mask my hurt in rage because it’s easier than dealing with the truth…

These are the memories I’m left with…

forgotten; left behind; ignored.

Maybe one day you’ll remember me. . .

Advertisements

Remember Me.

& I hope you lay awake at night,                                                                                                     thinking about me,                                                                                                                                 staring at the ceiling fan looking for answers to the questions                                                   you never had the courage to ask.

& I hope you catch yourself remembering little pieces of me                                                           as you go about your day,                                                                                                                     wondering what I’m doing, wishing you could see me one last time.

&  I hope you remember all the pretty words you said while you’re lying next to her in bed, the ones I’m sure you told her too.

& I hope you remember that I gave you the best of me even when you deserved the worst.

& I hope you remember all these things because I’ll be dead & gone                                       long before I ever forget.

© Gina Jenkins

I thought I recognized you..

Perhaps, in a past life, some far off & distant reality, I knew you.

Maybe our souls were the kind that were meant to find each other again & again. 

[[The hair on the back of my neck standing at full attention; the flesh of my skin riddled in braille.]]

Suddenly everything around me vibrated & blurred out of focus as I stood there frozen, unable to break your gaze. 

That was the moment your demons recognized mine & we pretended not to have known each other for centuries. But, oh how they danced! 

Battle Scars.

My body is written in battle scars from wars I wish I could forget.                                          Land mines that exploded dug wounds beneath my skin &                                                                       buried invisible shrapnel in places I’ll never find.

Violated by memories – a silent constant state of combat raging within – destroying every remaining piece.

© Gina Jenkins

[plagued]

Frozen.

The flaming pavement pierced the soles of her feet –                                                                frozen to the black top beneath her.                                                                The sun blazed through her wavy chestnut hair, now infused with gold.                                                                                                             It was a balmy 93 degrees outside yet her arms were written in braille.                                                                     Her eyes blankly fixated                                                                                                                                           on the road leading seemingly to nowhere                                                                                                                                        as his tail lights faded over the hill.

The warm breeze covered her face in strands of glittering chestnuts                                                       as she stood there –                                              unable to move                                                      while the sky burst into a kaleidoscope of color before her though she could no longer see.

  Together they were flashes of neon lights burning in the midnight sky;                          fierce magentalime waves crashing into violet shores.                                                                     His eyes stole the color from beneath her skin                                                                                       & she was left with only shades of grey.

© Gina Jenkins

 

Sundays.

You used to love Sunday mornings.
Lazy days in bed.                                       Coffee & books.                                    Morning cartoons.                               Sharing secrets & dreams.                  Shadow puppets on the walls.

Wrapped in cool cotton sheets while daylight trickled in through the trees, your hair pulled up in a messy bun while loose bangs covered the tops of your glasses — lost in another imaginary world.
I used to love Sunday mornings.
Little spoon & big spoon.               Wrapping you inside me.                Watching you find yourself in each book; your gaze steady as you sipped coffee from an oversized mug, draped in my t-shirt.

But now everyday feels like Monday.
© Gina Jenkins 

Displaced.

Thoughts & Memories                                                                                                                                               that I’m not longer clinging to – hoping you’ll come back.

Splintered & Disregarded                                                                                                                                         so casually discarded; you left the pieces lying around.

But I’ve set these memories ablaze                                             &                                                                      soon it will be as though these moments                                                                                                                    never even existed.

© Gina Jenkins

Horror.

The rubber slams                                                                                                                                                       the pavement                                                                                                                                               as I nervously try to outrun                                                                                                                                 the horrors harvested inside.

An unsuspecting rightward glance                                                                                                                      & I’m caught — forced to stare directly at them.

The familiar sting that rushes through                                                                                                              [ ice & lava ]                                                                                                                                                    the fiery poison thrusting through my                                                                                                        collpasing veins.

I lay my head to rest          —                                                                                                                                 they can’t find me here.

© Gina Jenkins

Music.

I want to write a song for you,                                                                                                                    let my overflowing heart pour out                                                                                                                         of my chest for you &                                                                                                                                  tell you everything I’ve never said.

I want the letters to fall like rain                                                                                                                cascading down –                                                                                                                                       so the words form a puddle at your feet                                                                                                   & make you feel everything I’ve ever felt.

I want to sing a melody                                                                                                                                         that sticks in your head like feathers to tar.                                                                                                                  so the notes always remind you of me.

But my fingers are numb                                                         &                                                                                 my voice is gone.

© Gina Jenkins

PANIC.

crushing (dizziness),

paralyzed — fighting to breathe.

a powerless prisoner held                                                                                                                         captive by an invisible force.

p o s s e  s s e d 

drowning inside – frozen

chased by irrational delusions of a silent

storm raging on.

© Gina Jenkins