{poker face}

{poker face} i have to stop myself, from writing an excerpt to explain my poetry, because that’s the beauty of it. like the silence of a cliffhanger, it’s open for your interpretation, for what you choose to hear, not what i want you to hear. –e.l. jayne

{honest context}

{honest context} i blended myself into one color, of the imminent intersecting reality of beauty and pain, howbeit, as time would tell, i was left to dry up on the palette, to ruminate on why they won’t push pause for you, burn it to flames i can’t take anymore; my poems aren’t a cry for…


{unversed} why did i think the wolves, who roamed this territory before me, didn’t know how to survive? oh how naive of me to believe, I already knew a better way to thrive. –e.l. jayne


{nostalgia} i look at myself in the photo, not because i wish to look at myself, but because i remember the doubt behind my smile, the anxiety behind my eyes, the questions that ran through my mind, although I can’t detach myself from those feelings, i discern the distance i’ve traveled. –e.l. jayne


{vanity} i’ve never been in love (with you), although i have examined the behavior of love, “let us never be sad,” “let us always have fun.” am I so wrong for wanting everything to be beautiful, and beautiful only? my heart is barely what it used to be. –e.l. jayne

{cutthroat antidote}

{cutthroat antidote} her body leaned back up against the sleek sky, from this vantage point she knew, any definitive answer troubles him; killer queens beneath the new moon, drafting a dream bereft my dream, paradise would be our antidote, but it takes time, which we happen to be out of. –e.l. jayne