Poetry by Jessica Arnold

rats

I dreamt about him again
He came back to see my show
Except the show was cancelled.
But he was still there
Sitting in an empty theatre
With only a ghost light
Stifled, I demanded to know
What he was hoping to accomplish
All he said was I love you
Bullshit you rat bastard
That was a book he once read
Minus the bullshit and the you
He always liked books about war
But never did I think
He would be the traitor
I thought it would be me
It's just wounded pride
A bloody thumb gash
Cloaked by a finger condom
It will soon heal
But its going to leave a mark
Tell me something I don't know
Dear Dr. Robert
Like why I should pay you
Because you have a big heart
Was his million dollar answer
Bullshit you rat bastard

Daft

boasting
Great on fresh peaches
warning
Does not include peaches.

Self-portrait

If I could get by
By the skin on my teeth
That would be one thing
Except…
I don't have skin
On my teeth.
I have receeding gums
Tartar and other various sauces
That come on sandwiches
But
That's not skin
Just poor dental hygiene.
But I'm not entirely convinced that's the case
Im clean as a whistle
I am uninsured
However
And cannot blow
My whistle proper.

BAND-AIDS

Torn asunder and ripped
completely and involuntarily
unadulterated in its nature.
did she know how to heal
could she heal…
The antithesis of cowardice
a state occurring less and less
was there a time when this wasn't the case?
she couldn't remember
it was so far gone…
Mere physicalities
was that all that mattered?
blatently stopping this moment in time
like standing naked
in the frozen food aisle
Band-aids are expensive
scars always remain