A poem: "Black Boot"

Black Boot

By Jenna Reimer

 

I am not a flower

Searching for something; a light,

A glitter of skies, of grass,

Of sustenance that beacons breath.

I am a stone.

No, a pebble that clings to the clod

Beneath a heavy black boot –

The pyre of a parasitic foot

Whose bulging heel breeds print,

After print on this earth;

I am swallowed, plumbing

The well of this boot.

Imprisoned by this black,

Pivot of heels and mouthless grooves,

I melt into the earth;

The dirt and I fly, suicidal

Into the canyon,

A valley of tomorrows.

The deep arch of earth I cannot habit,

Sucks me into a stasis of darkness.

A ingested pebble in sickened dust. 

Fashion Fever Revisited and Other Thoughts

Recently I have been trying to rediscover my love for fashion; it sounds vain, but I find when I wear something I  adore, or feel confident in my outfit, it just makes the day more tolerable.


If I'm sitting there bored at work I love fiddling with my huge gold cuff bracelets or unusual rings that are in the shape of serpents, fish or leaves. I love the feeling of my weighty necklaces around my neck; wearing tons of vintage pieces makes me feel secure and safe from the eyes of others for some reason? Perhaps the extensive amount of jewellery is my way of hiding, which is ironic since it is so flashy. Any Freudian psychoanalytical analysis of that particular behaviour is welcomed.

I love having my small black tube of red lipstick, along with my vintage gold compact in the shape of a Japanese fan, in my purse. It makes me feel so powerfully feminine and... dare I say it, sexy. Sexy not in that derogatory way where I become more appealing to men or have a heightened sense of superiority over other women, but a secretive personal sexiness that I can't explain; I wear it around the house sometimes just because it turns me into someone else. I feel different when I wear red lipstick and that "different" feeling is something I embrace. I love when I feel I am different. I love that I am different.
I love the feel of fur around my neck when I'm cold and this mysterious woman I become when I am all dressed up with my John Lennon sunglasses; it is as if I travel back in time for a brief moment, pretending to be someone else somewhere else, or better yet, revisiting the joy of playing dress up as a child.

Anyway, That is all I have to say about that stuff right now.

Current fashion loves:

- RED LIPSTICK... I love it right now
- Stripes
- Wide legged trousers
- Vintage/gaudy jewellery
- Large men's watches
- Hair tied tight in a ballerina bun or the total opposite: Frizzing my hair so I look like I just got electrocuted

New Year's Eve: Yup, it's a self reflecting post... why are you surprised?

It seems appropriate, being New Year’s Eve, to do some self reflecting; everyone seems so insistent on making resolutions and reevaluating his or her life that I am feeling rather obligated to follow suit. Feel free to vomit, laugh or shake your head in unrelenting shame as you read yet another unrequited post by one of the many unmotivated people who make new year's resolutions every year. 

Blaaaahhhh, all over the place: This is currently how I feel about my progress as a relatively sane human being within the past year. I’d like to think I have made some subtle changes regarding some, cough, “issues” that I have dealt with for many years; however, I can’t seem to shake off one familiar question: Why I am unable to take that extra step into pure and utter self contentment?

I can’t help but feel people are unable to change, not for selfish reasons- the reasons psychologists and Dr Phil’s out there like to brand the poor individual who find it difficult to change- but for selfless reasons. I am in no way trying to make victims of us all who are unable to cope with transition, but I am purporting an argument that seems rather logical. 

It comes down to a fear of inconveniencing others. As a perfectionist, and one who does not like to ruffle the feathers of anyone who she comes into contact with, I feel if I were to change into a “better Jenna” – a more lively, fun and “emotionally there” person – that the people around me would be rather… indifferent towards the change. Right now I am an ideal friend, girlfriend, sister and daughter; I make no emotional demands for love or commitment, I am passive, I allow all relationship flaws to remain unnoticed, I don’t ask for advice, help, support, to be taken out for dinner, to a movie, to an event. I am all of these things because I am selfishly rapt within my out little world of Jenna.

Being completely unresponsive towards a life outside of my own obscure, upside-down, horribly lonely universe, I have relieved anyone who is connected with me of having any sort of responsibilities that are required to maintain a healthy relationship. If I were to change, would I be upsetting everyone by becoming a more emotionally demanding person? Would others want yet another person who they have to put effort into in order to sustain a human relationship? I for one can vouch for their discontentment; I remain isolated because it seems easier to not have friends then to have friends... it's f-ing hard work. 

I have this vision of a woman who is strong, who has a voice so powerful it knocks the god damn world’s socks off; she is fun and opinionated and has the ability to be extremely pissed off, hilarious, aggressive, flirty, happy, sad – all of those wonderful emotions human’s experience. Yet, I am finding it incredibly difficult to make that extra leap into the unknown where I can transform into this new animal, a new breed. I am not so much afraid of jumping, but of what this jump in turn will do to my surrounding relationships. I would become a different Jenna, and I am fearful not everyone who appreciate and want that. Uggg... looks like I am living proof of what a Freudian scholar would classify as someone who is wearing a "figurative mask". 

2011 can go to hell, like the rest of the god damn years that have come and gone with no evidence of ever being here at all. I am hoping this small fire that is burning in the pit of my belly will remain ignited and will slowly grow to a hellish bonfire that will burn down this wall of self hatred and insecurity straight to the gates of Hades. I don’t know what I want in life as of yet, but I definitely don’t want this- what I have now- and I think that is a pretty good place to start.   

A Poem: "The Flame"

The Flame

By Jenna Reimer

I am free.

Free to wake, free to breath,

To walk, to run,

To leave that empty space.

I am free to accept, to refuse

In beautiful times

Or flaming seconds;

I am the flame.

I can be ignited

And lit by my fueled palm.

There is no I or burning

Unless I think it into being.

I can be extinguished

And die in a fury of nothing-

A flaming of the heart.

I am free in every way.

A Poem: The Night Dance

The Night Dance 

By Jenna Reimer
The ceiling looks different tonight.
Over our bodies the lighted lattice comes and goes;
The window muffles the rusted exhausts and pickled voices outside.
I am awake to listen.

Your moth-breath, deep exhales,
Suck back the dead air; the slow brooding sound
Within a drafty library I cannot stand.
I am awake to breathe that sulphured loveliness.

I stumble from the bed.
My footsteps echo, mule-heavy,
With a full nakedness that shadows the sound of my being.
I am awake to feel 3 am.

Cold bath tile, a distant wind moves in my ears;
A mirror reflects my eyes puffy in a shade of tired pink.
One cry leaves my head heavy in hands.
I am awake to remember this. 

A Poem: "The Bones of Winter"

It is as if everything dies at once; together in a quiet leave.
The morning after is silent;
All the leaves have fallen- lush branches now skeletal and frail.
The symphony of birds, the whisper of warm winds,
The performance of waltzing trees,
Disappear into a realm of cold forgotten.
A heavy air, a crueler weighty sky
Burdens a now deadened terrain;
A season destroyed to make way for another.
This vale of grief shrouds the earth in sables
Where we will have to wait to be children once again.

A Poem: "Quiet!"

O Sorrow! O Sorrow!
In the night you sigh so deeply,
In solitude you breathe a cold air of sorrow, sorrow.
On the crimson fields, autumn’s undress, you weep; weeping
While no sun shines, shining on your tears tearing-
Tired, cracked cries from a suffering mind.
O who is it that squeals, whose voice forms such wretched wheals?
With sorrow, streaming sorrows, choking themselves with feral cries?
O shameless mass, brooding howler- O preacher of sickening wallows-
Away with you! Desperate despised, demise your sobbing yelps!
O shadow, masked by the loosened night- At dusk your modesty revealed
And no longer may you shout,
Of Sorrow! Sorrow! Sorrow!