Author Archives: Jani

About Jani

Jani grew up a gypsy anachronism, spending her early life taming her wanderlust. She clawed her way into the real world eventually obtaining two highly unpractical degrees, two children, six figure student loans, and a sarcastic wit that is matched by few. She now lives in the Walterverse where she received her MSW at a ridiculously expensive University. She followed this achievement by spending thousands more on even more useless letters to put after her name. Her future plans are to pay for the useless extra letters after her name as a super heroine. In the event that plan doesn't "work" out, she plans to return to her roots as vagabond gypsy busking in one way or another.HuZzah.

JAM, not jelly.

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JAM, not jelly.

Temporarily tattooed words,

over my heart-

across my breasts.

 

Mirror opposites for your view,

and mine…

Though the ink disappears,

all feelings remain.

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Neither game, nor war.

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Neither game, nor war.

Redundant shields failing-

and to the victor go the spoils.

Spoils of anger;

spoils of fear; and

spoils of doubt.

 

There’s no way to plan tactically-

when there is no consistency;

it is like trying to flank cats…

 

Knowing what we need

AND

also…. communicating it?

Ah…. that’s the secret.

 

Feelings can be stifled-

suppressed;

projected-

predicted.

Reactions?

No dice.

 

Purpose required.

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Purpose required.

Have you ever wanted something so bad,

you work and sacrifice….

Go a little mad…

Obtain said goal.

And then-

As though you had been…

chasing the proverbial dragon,

you are again unsatisfied?

Its easy to feel very sad and isolated-

Lonely in this big house-

Full of white noise and silences…

Inconsistently closed yet open doors.

Still trying to adjust- adapt…

Handle all the new noises

Suppress all the annoying ones,

Lament the loss of the old ones;

Not regret not covet-

Missing the tiny place somehow-

Although cramped quarters-

Happiness was found in those small spaces;

No choice but intimacy-

And shared purpose.

Oh me

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Oh me

I live in a huge house now…

full of closed doors;

For energy conservation,

Of course.

Fickle Mistress

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Fickle Mistress

How much can one heart hold:

Sadness-

Love-

Anger-

Happiness?

Swelling and contracting

Heaving like a deep breathing chest

Rising and falling;

like rapid cycling moods.

Hearts can heal

All too often it seems

Just in time to break-

again.

Love-

Love is a tricky bitch.

And hope?

Hope is a fickle mistress.

Secrets of life…

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Secrets of life…

I’m spending time with a hospice client today who is telling me the secrets of life… they’ve been married two times, 20 years the first time, and 52 years the second. (!!!!)

They say the secret to life is “…to love and let them love you. It’s the only thing that lasts and the only thing you can control. Sometimes. Anger and hate fade away and you don’t remember what exactly you were sore about, but you never forget the reasons you love someone or how it felt when they loved you.”

I’m not crying. YOU’RE CRYING.

Carry on.

Like a flock of seagulls…

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Like a flock of seagulls…

I dreamt you went away;

Quite literally, you ran, in fact.

I woke to find you there yet;

Still beside me, corporally, intact.

I decided to ignore it;

The feeling, dismissed, the context abstract.

Dreams for sale:

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Dreams for sale:

Sold two wedding dresses today:

One, unworn and white.

The second; loved yet stained…. with the paint I wore to hide me.

Last remnants of a former self,

Sold to the highest bidder.