Why I Quit

At night I decided
I didn't want to know
why people go to work
everyday.

Lying in bed, with only five hours left

While Grama plays Mozart
While Grampa watches the news
and the neighbor decides that
midnight is the perfect time
to send home his sex
and call out to his cat
for five minutes.

Just let the damn cat freeze

I'm in bed not worrying
about my job, but why
the sound of Mandy singing
makes me want to get
up and write.

How can one God-given voice motivate me to heal?

The State of Jessica

Although I think it would be rather cool to have a state named after me, the title of this post is referring to my psychological state. I have learned many things since I have graduated, and most of them suck. First, I have learned that no one really seems to care once you’ve graduated. Ah sure, those of you reading this that know me will say, “But Jessica, I care!” –Really? Do you really care?

When a person is in college, they are supposedly accomplishing something. Describing what this something is, is like Barack Obama trying to define “hope” –he almost gets there, but never quite delivers the verb. Once this mystic “something” is accomplished upon graduation, the accomplisher is now seen as just as miserable and dreamless as the rest of the world.

Thanks. That feels really wonderful.

Honestly, though, I don’t think that the actual “caring” aspect has lessened any, what is really happening is that friends and family members have nothing left to ask you about. Without, “What’s your major?” or “What do you want to be when you grow up?” only two conversation starters exist with someone you don’t care to talk at length with –the weather, and work. Talking about the weather is the psychological equivalent of, “Do I know you?”, and talking about work just gets both parties depressed, so people usually stop talking to graduates. This, in turn, makes the graduate feel less cared for…even though the so-called “caring” was pretty empty to begin with.

The second thing I have learned is that no matter how much money I make, I won’t want to spend any of it. Although this might seem good for my bank account, it really sucks. Sure, I would like to have a new camera, so that I can go and take lots of pictures I can be proud of, and maybe, oh, I dunno, be happy, but when you can get laid off…it closes the pocketbook pretty fast.

This, of course, brings me to my next point…work. I knew work sucked before I graduated…but boy does it suck now. I have learned that no matter how much you like your job, a work environment is everything. This, I feel, is not stressed at all in college. It really would have been nice to know when it is acceptable to quit. I had no idea, “I’d like to offer you this position,” was code for, “I sense your optimism and would like to destroy it.”

As for this blog…my plan is to post one new poem a week, so if you’ve been wondering why they are all pretty crappy, there’s your answer. In my current state, I feel that writing crap is much better than not writing at all.

5

What should I do
when a word freezes
a guitar string breaks
and all my pens are
missing?

It is easy to say

"upgrade" when

a soul isn't involved.

Sometimes I feel
the nausea of contained
creativity -this solitary
art form.

Remember,
a world exists
outside me.

4: Work

I think I’d feel better everyday
if I worked in a funeral home
I’d be a happier person looking at
dead people all day

At least dead people are smart enough
to keep their mouths shut
and if not, you can wire their jaw
and not get fired

Week 3: Do you remember?

Do You Remember?

You should have known me at 16
when Bill O’Reilly read my bedtime story
not Jon Stewart
when I actually believed
in the Bible.

I said if we were both starving
in the woods and you died
I might eat you.
“What about the squirrels?” you screamed.
I didn’t think about it that way.

Week 2: Melodramatic Do-Wop

Melodramatic Do-Wop

As a writer,
hating a word
is an art form
(or a sign of insanity)

Justifying its guilt
takes the talent and
thoughtfulness required
to write a prize-winning paper.
(i.e. the theory of bread)

It isn’t easy to explain
why certain letters, when put together,
can have the same effect as
nuclear winter.
(at least, in the linguistic sense)

Can’t a word be, wrong,
if it can be intelligent,
powerful, or unique?
(of which “unique” isn’t)

A right word,
to many,
isn’t inherently right,
just placed correctly.
(a write word)

Words,
to many,
have no character,
only in context
are they given life.
(those people are idiots)

Words taste,
they make noise,
they can suffocate,
(make you say, oogie-boogie)

Words can be hated,
any real writer
will tell you this.
(the worst word is always in the title…)

Poetry: Week 1

I drive downtown
into my constructed life,
as a fly in my window
sings, “Work Me, Lord."

Lord, let that fly, fly
wherever she wishes.
Her life is short
but not short-lived.

This fly on my window
sings, “I want what I want
not what the world gives me.”
Who am I to let
this red light block her?
Who am I to stop
these drawn out lines
of a few soulful words?

So sing fly.
Sing as loud
and as colorful
and as piercing
as you feel.

If I listen to your song
I might hear your freedom
and decide to live a life,
not have a destination.