love
jen, twenty; how odd i can have all this inside me and to you it's just words.


(02.20.13)

“i think of us like summer, those hazy days stretching
and rolling into one another. continuous. infinite.
how i would lie in bed with my feet up on the wall
as we lost weeks talking on the phone. how we
pretended to be tourists, wandering through times square
shouting darling, we made it, the big apple!
that day in central park when you said it was over
but you couldn’t stop touching my waist, and i had
to pretend to pay attention to the book you were
reading from when all i wanted was to taste the salt
on your skin. the next girl you take to a museum,
will she kiss you on the nose too? it was my way of
saying goodbye, i was always trying but i didn’t
have the guts. it seems like all i think about these days
is your shoulders and how far they are from me. i always
tell myself i’m moving on, but every time i write about you
i seem to end up in the same place: lying on my bed, feet
up on the wall, just waiting for the phone to ring.”

j.c., oh, darling

“i.
it’s december. it’s not the first time we’ve met
but this time is different. we sit in the back of a car
with our heads close together like we’re alone
even though our friends are right there. you
kiss me in public and i think of you in words
like want and keep and distance. unrealistic.

ii.
it’s january. you touch my cheek and say
this is exactly where your dimple is and i feel full
of light and fervor. i tell you: don’t fall for
anyone cooler than me this semester. i get
on a train back to new york, a plane to
heathrow. we both look back.

iii.
it’s february and you never call when you say
you will. we talk in circles all the time about
how much we like each other and how far away
we are and how much we like each other. we both
kiss other people and don’t mention it. i wait up
for you. lose sleep.

iv.
it’s march, and maybe there’s nothing left
to walk away from. i walk away anyway.

v.
april showers bring may flowers. in my sleep
i start taking the petals off one by one, but it’s never
loves me, loves me not. it’s always loves her.
loves her not.

vi.
my best friend tells me the idea of having sex with
strangers is very unappealing to you right now. we both
come home in may and you start talking to me again.
you say, i didn’t meet anyone cooler than you all semester.

vii.
june and we kiss all over the city. no place
is safe from us. twice you tell me
we should just be friends.
twice it doesn’t stick.

viii.
in july you make plans to go halfway across
the world. you say you need a break from
romance. i tell you, be safe out there. i say,
don’t forget to change your contacts.

ix.
august in china is brutal. you text me, drunk out
of your mind, telling me you’re lonely. we’re friends
again, so i’m not allowed to mention how i can’t stop
writing poems about you. you tell me about all
the american things you miss. i don’t make the list.

x.
once, you sat right next to me as i wrote you
a postcard that said: no matter what happens,
i don’t regret what we did. i still mean it.”

j.c., maybe i should hate you for this

Anonymous asked: Jen, can we be friends please? You're so bees' knees.

this made me smile so yes we can definitely be friends :-)

also, once i had ice cream called bee’s knees it was graham cracker ice cream with honeycomb bits i think? life-changing

“you asked me to tell you something embarrassing
so here it is: your ex-girlfriend got bangs recently and
they look cute, and i know this and you don’t. once
you told me your phone password like it was no big
deal and then i had to sit on my hands every time
you went to the bathroom. on our last date, i kept
thinking of our goodbyes and then there was
something about the way you looked at me that
made me start crying. in january and march i swore up
and down i wouldn’t let you see, but i don’t know
how many more times i can do this. i try not to
throw around the word love when i’m talking about you
but sometimes it slips out when i’m talking to myself.
i keep trying to write down everything you’ve ever said
to me but i get tripped up on the details. and i know
you’re not the last boy i’ll write a poem about, but god,
doesn’t it feel that way sometimes.”

j.c., something embarrassing

“some days i don’t know if it still counts as poetry
if i’m just writing down the things we did. maybe
it’s arrogant to think the way we didn’t love
each other is worth reading about, but god,
you’ve got to stop telling me how lonely you are.
remember when that cabbie asked if we were lovers?
you were so flustered, kept trying to give him
an honest answer even with my mouth at your throat,
but i stopped caring about labels when i realized
i wouldn’t get to keep you anyway. sometimes i wonder
what you’ll do once you’ve lost both of us, but then—
maybe we’ll never have to find out. the truth
is this: i stopped writing about you because
i was trying to stop caring about you. but stop saying
we’re friends. we aren’t.”

j.c., labeling theory

Anonymous asked: how come you stopped posting for four months? looking forward to what you post next :)

i was finishing up my year abroad and then tbh summer is just really bad for me in terms of writing - i stopped my 365 last summer too. i just get really lazy and caught up in seeing people all the time and i don’t take enough time to sit and think and write BUT i have started writing again so i’ll try to post soon!! love ya

Aug 7 +1

hi i’m sorry i haven’t posted in four months but thanks for sticking with me if you have

i am working on things and i will try to post more i promise!! in the meantime feel free to ask me questions/talk to me idk

Aug 5 +0

“i never showed you my poems because i knew you
would read them and think of someone else’s hips.
today i am too tired to miss you but keep thinking
about your shoulders and having dreams about my teeth
falling out. i think about how your parents and your friends
will probably always like your ex better than me,
how they will only think of the bad parts: the way i fucked you
on the heels of your breakup, the way i told you to stop
speaking to me. i hope this isn’t the story you remember,
but you never know. tell me, does a good first impression
override the bitter taste i left in your mouth?
yesterday i told my mother i missed her
and she immediately asked if i was lonely. i woke up
thinking of you again, but i told her no. sometimes i still wish
we could call this whole thing off, but i am trying not
to be the kind of girl who says go when she means stay.
really, it’s not that i miss you. it’s just:
there are still so many things that i have to ask you.”

j.c.

but god do i still feel you in the hollows: in the
empty space between heartbeats, the holding of
breaths, like you carved yourself a home
with your bare fingers, scooping handfuls of marrow
like earth. and if you turned around right now i am sure
we would find that the spaces you created for yourself
are still here, just like the all bruises. i want to say

it is not too late to change our minds, but even i
know better. i am thinking of the next girl, the one
who will hear about me in words like the wrong time and
asked for too much and nothing official, how she will try
not to make the same mistakes i did and maybe that will
be enough to keep you this time. and

i try so hard not to lie to you.
the truth is that i have been missing you since the day
we said hello and i still look for you in the shadows
when i cannot sleep. in the emptiness of my chest
cavity. in the space before i fall asleep and the space
before i am fully awake. the truth is i do not want to hear
from you ever again. i try so hard not to lie to you, but
then there’s always this.

j.c., negative space