Us — Poetry by Jessica Klein

Semaphore Magazine

Oh Kindred, you stared with eyes as wide as

almond shaped thumbs. The green glowed imitation

innocence as the yellow blazed with blind fury inside

both orbs. I saw grave intentions in a hair breaths

divulgence. You always fucked me nicely, then

ferociously into end stage oblivion—I never in my life

met this man. Thank God, the horrendous Kindred

slapped my ass—whap! He redressed as he muttered

a teaspoon phrase. He bolted and I vomited. At an age

of impression I learnt that there exists one omniscient

and tyrannical fuck. Kindred you taught me without

my consultation. You reminded me of a Preacher I met.

He taught me fire and scuffed knees without my

acquiescence. I escaped with just the scraped knees.







Jessica Klein   has a BA in English, Creative Writing, and a minor in Mass Communications she received in May of 2013 from Wilson College. She tries every day…

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Rot

This is a poingant reminder of my own.addiction issues. I discovered that my lowest ocean bottom moments all occurred while i was high or right afterwards. Id love for you to read some. This poem will haunt me. Brsvo.

Wine and Tobacco

The nights always rolling in

I can feel it

Even in the morning

I can drown myself in gin

And bathe myself in sin

But there’s nothing I can do,

To ignore it.

 

Wherever I choose to go

It’s always there

Watching over my back

It’s no fun being this low

My mother told me so

But there’s nothing I can do,

Life is not fair

 

I have tired to embrace it

But I cannot

Sometimes I will vomit

The pieces just do not fit

Addiction took my life

But there’s nothing I can do,

As my veins rot.

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Gertrude

madmonk                                                                                       12 Lines

Elders committed a crime when they broke my windows.

Beautiful, young snatch insulted the Big 10 schools reputation:   (Who is a man’s

Go look in the mirror to fix your sight—                                                                 cum dumpster

Oxy-clean $$$ more to obtain than snow.                                                             This morning?)

But if I use Oxy in either form—

The deed I committed supersedes my superego.

God bless the people who participate in the rote of life.

I never wanted to know you,

or hear from your brown-stained lips

any tales of your strife.

Excrement: The real SICK deal…

Hello. Just a story about an experience I never forgot, and never will (unfortunately.) Before I entertained at the State Hospital (ha ha), I inhabited the likes of four or five different community psych wards. In York, PA, where I originated, I ended up on York Hospital’s psych ward more than a dozen times.

Lions, and tigers and bears that shit in the woods, oh my.
Lions, and tigers and bears that shit in the woods, oh my.

The most heinous experience occurred when they placed me on the B side of their ward. B was for Bad i think…so I’m feeling fucked up in the head people…just not even human anymore, but the elemental shit, like I knew to shower  still encroached on my  brain. So I gathered my “shower, shit and shave” stuff like shampoo and soap and headed to the only shower on the “B” side of the ward.

I knocked on the door. No one home. I opened the door. Something smelled…Well, just so you know it usually does…so I entered the shower anyway. My eyes adjusted to the fluorescent lights, so I looked around to see what is where. I noticed something wiped across the walls, and it appeared to reminisce the color brown.

I glanced at the toilet, and shit laid in it. I took one step towards the shower. I don’t know why. Its white walls somebody streaked with this brown stuff too. It took me a few moments to register exactly the situation. Some one just came in and shit in the toilet, then this person used his or her shit as finger paint. Brilliant?

I felt contaminated. I do all over again as I remembered this disgusting moment for you:)

Detour

I never admitted to a soul that

I dreaded the caress of my g-spot.

The idea of ecstasy frightened me.  My

buddies in Kindergarten drew a star for me,

but I saw a pictorial landscape that lived in the

stars. I imagined a lawn so healthy it spoke

a text language, and so verdant, I caught a

breath of mint life through the fence beside

mine. I thought of my love for velvet dresses.

A slight, breeze with a beautifully, manicured,

Mother’s hand slowly caressed my cheek— the right

one.  The birds sang in choral melody. Ah! The pitch

of the birdies happiness helped me to forget my bullshit.

So, I let go for one blessed moment—of an entire blast

of foul air.  My spirit existed with a lioness’s anger.

If I channeled the quiet “mew” of a kitten—my mantra, to

eat, exercise, and protect myself, because it’s feasible now.

I never estimated a different life.

I closed my eyelids to meditate upon self-care.

I opened my eyes for want of a hug; instead I

studied and interpreted the scenery that told the

truth.  I stood in the parking lot of the State

Mental Hospital. I scored a two-hour ambulance

trip. The county hospital held a speedy trial

weeks ago. The psychiatrist committed me to the State for

180 days.  The welcome ward’s brick stature scared me

and commanded the respect of the patients—or else.

My regular breathing switched to gasps. My lungs

wheezed. My heart raced around the hospitals

cul-de-sac.  Vertigo climbed like ivy into my brain—

coupled with a tornado to spin me into a fretful state.

I followed the short pudgy case-worker with my eyes

squinted, and my will broke when I entered the brick

building. She neglected to let me smoke a much

needed cancer stick.