ONE WAY CONNECTiON --->

There’s a dull ring. No answer.
Instead there’s a perfect voice. A recording on the other end.
Each time I pretend that it’s words are meant for me.
Completely aware that it’s purpose is to speak to the world.
I have a conversation with the non existent soul in my mind.
Place the device back on the hook and grumble.
Imagination interrupted by reality.
-JessicaLynn Wicks

MR. LETTER WRiTER

I slowly read his letter, the one I once loved. His words sent a remorseful surge through my entirety. I was the root of pain. Ignorance can make us evil, like the bully in a schoolyard. I had stolen his heart and was ignorantly unable to understand the feelings of the deprived. But now it is clear. Now I understand. But you see if he asked for his heart back my clenched fist wouldn’t be capable of releasing it. [[Selfish & Complicated]] I once loved another. He filled my heart with ache and pain that I had never before felt. A pain I wish I could cease with a Band-Aid. I branded myself with his name, assured it entitled me to his love for eternity. [[Reality Check]] He vanished before the eyes relayed the news to my brain & heart. But the Letter Writer was quite different. Respect and love is all that seeped from his soul and I believe he genuinely loved me. Actions speak louder than that noise generated from the vocal chords. [{Words]] He was a personification of genuineness and honesty. Why didn’t I understand that before? Blind to greatness. This letter was filled with his virtue and only revealed what I had been missing. But he used the word never. Never would we ever be together again. But you see, even upon the first time reading this I was in disbelief. In denial of the fact that we would never again have the opportunity to try again. And denial still exists. But he was right about the nature of love. I will love he who has been branded onto my skin and heart. But I have come to understand that we will have many loves in our lifetimes. But love is never enough. It takes much more. The ability to understand has comparable importance. The Letter Writer is capable of what many are not. He does understand me. He understands because he wants to understand. But never will I wander back to the hurt that lies within the other. I have learned to love myself. A relationship with him and loving myself cannot coexist. The Letter Writer believes that we have a friendship but I see so much more. Forever I will have love for the author. The writing of a letter, in and of itself speaks to why. So I may not have his whole heart but I do have a piece of it. I refused to give it back to Mr. Letter Writer. Only when he gives the piece of mine that he holds with his be rightfully returned. We’re even. Love reciprocated.

::LET'S PLAY PRETEND::

[[M.I.A]] School is definitely consuming my soul, meaning my online notebooks have been bare. [[YiKESS]] Nonetheless I'm back. I have some [[VENTING]] to do. The snow globe [[MiNNESOTA]] where I temporarily dwell is a producer of my unhappiness. I haven't even been content in quite some time. I'm a great pretender. I woke up one day last week and decided to take the stupid mask off. I wish I could run away & never look back. Unfortunately, they planned on me coming to my senses. They handed me a leash upon arrival. The people are eerily unlikable. I count the number of "friends" I have on my hand. [[That word is used loosely]] Most are only there to make the time lapse. Not even the education is feeding my hunger for knowledge. Starved but the only being served is educational asparagus. I hate asparagus. Makes your pee smell funny. I have to jet. I'm looking at other schools to transfer to but it's complicated to say the least. With three more classes I will have finished my major & I'm only a sophomore [[HiSTORY]] So is leaving worth it? [[YES]] Shit to figure out...
<3 JessicaLynn

:: i <3 LORRAiNE SCHWARTZ ::

Disclaimer: I am a Lorraine Schwartz fan, rather than one of Beyonce . She is the designer of "Sasha Fierce's" Robot Glove. The designer, honored to have Beyonce as part of her cliental, slaved away to make the piece, working her artisans for 24 hours a day until it was complete. Here's some info on the making of it and the glove its self:
• It's made of Titanium
• It fits literally like a glove. Beyoncé’s entire upper arm was cast in wax so that the titanium piece would wrap perfectly.
• It’s actually several pieces, including a ring, a glove and a separate component that covers the upper arm. It can be worn all together or separately.
• It looks heavier than it is. Titanium is about 45 percent lighter than steel.

While I find no flaws with the glove in and of itself, I do find a problem in the description that I found of the glove. It included these things that i shared but also attempted to convey that the glove was "priceless because it is made out of titanium, an extremely rare metal." I couldn't help but immediately laugh. While Beyonce's glove may be a priceless accessory, Titanium is FAR from rare or priceless. Obviously, in someone's efforts to share how "cool" Beyonce's glove was they forgot their third grade science. Titanium is actually bought and sold everyday, and is used in large quantities to make everyday products like hammers and pens.

Nonetheless, I think that it's an amazing piece of jewelry and extremely creative. I do credit Beyonce for producing the concept of the glove. This is sheer genius & she was beyond successful in her attempts to accessorize her alter ego. It would be sick if Schwartz decided to come out with a line where she sold a limited number of these. Perhaps even a number as small as fifty. Undoubtedly, I would sell my soul for one. Looking at her jewelry pretty much keeps my heart beating. =]
<3JessicaLynn

::AN OVERDOSE DEMiSE::

Her alarm clock: a foreign machine.
It faintly whispered an irritating “beep”
Never missed a bit.
Uninvited IV’s made homes in her arms.
It looked as though they rang the bell.
Without awaiting an answer they stormed in.
Perhaps then,too late, she noticed their evil.
But she brought "fists to a gun fight"
Strange colored bruises bizarrely somehow appeared beautiful.
Perhaps because they were not the worst of her battle scars.
Swallowing and taking a shallow breath she discovered tubes.
Infinite tubes.
They befriended both my throat and nose.
No.
Not me.
She.

She came to examine her attire.
A long white gown with deep turquoise emblems.
Not one that she could personifying beauty in,
although dressed for the occasion.
Not by choice.
Fear: a soul’s appearance after approaching the gates of death.
and trudging back to those of life.
I was contented by the cold mirror-less room.
No.
Not me.
She.

It was not then that pain befell her.
Her mind wandered to those she loved.
It came to him.
He who she found a love, deep rooted for within.
Her finger tips, addicts.
Evident symptoms of withdraw.
They wandered, only to meet air.
Yearning to have his hand in hers.
Those brown eyes look to the chair, there next to her.
There he sat.
His eyes locked on hers, sealed so tight.
Hoped he could read what was in her soul.
Only her imagination played tricks through her eyes.
An empty room.
I was alone.
No.
Not me.
She.

Seconds in her life passed.
But those turned to minutes.
Minutes to hours.
Then those to days.
She had nearly lost her life, drowned by man’s evil potion.
Remained a float in the chaos that surrounded her.
Beings in long white coats spoke words she did not hear.
Machines gave and took from her body but she did not feel.
Her eyes just remained locked on the device that lay on the stand next to where she laid.
Its face never illuminated.
It’s vibrations never made noise against the plastic surface.
It began.
Starting from the heart and leaking to her brain.
Then to the rest.
It was then that pain surged through my entirety.
No.
Not me.
She.

But then it rang, though her ears were suspicious of her mind’s tricks.
She fumbled to press the green colored button.
Nearly found death again in hearing his velvet voice.
Difference: A girl’s metaphorical death.
But he had nothing to say.
He had better things to do.
Busy.
After a brief thirty seconds she quickly remembered she was alive.
Same: A human’s alive.
The cold sound of disconnection sent chills down her spine.
It consumed me.
No.
Not me.
She.

Tears trickled from those brown eyes.
Never seemed to cease.
Why couldn’t those in white coats drug her for this pain?
Eventually her body began to heal itself.
She still left that cold, four walled room in pain.
She continued to cry but tears no longer dampened her chocolate cheeks.
Saddened because I saw my worth.
No
Not me.
She.

Hurt but it couldn’t be real.
Heart hung by love’s noose.
Sure her soul will die.
When she sees she
is me.

-JessicaLynn

<3 ::LOVE BURGLAR:: <3

“Perfection” begins to vanish right before my very eyes.
Painted on my face is a portrait of trepidation
& though dismay runs through my entirety, I can only gawk.
As deep as the desire runs within me to reach out and stop
what is being played out in slow motion on my life’s screen,
A thick rope has my hands bound behind my back.
The gag stuck in my mouth violently yells
“You don’t have a voice in the matter”.
Slowly and peculiarly, Burgled of love.
-JessicaLynn

:: MUTE & DEAD AiR ::

The mute button is abruptly pressed.
Without the sound track, the silence blares.
Who honestly appreciated the mushy love songs anyways?
My hand isn’t raised.
The tuneless video replays in the 3D I-Max of my mind
Presenting: “The Deepest Running Love”
But the images are almost haunting without the audio
The system is broken but fixable
Unfortunately I’m the only being with the tools at my finger tips.
I frantically fumble with them, unsure how to put them to use.
No degree in love mechanics...
P.S: I lied, my hand was always lowest & went unseen.
But raised.
My feet tapped & heart fluttered to the sound of the 808 beat.
-JessicaLynn