About JojoVovo

http://jojovovo.com

Posts by JojoVovo

Sucker Punch

. My Poetry . , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Just because you want something
doesn’t mean you should have it.
Chaos or discord do your actions cause.
I took what I wanted.
I took it with precision, with intent, and with disregard.
My success was in my precision.
My folly was in my intent and in my careless disregard.
As if my actions it would not affect me.
In the end I got what I deserved:
A meal made from crow and humble pie.
Now, I look straight ahead,
I avoid eye contact.
I show no emotion.
I keep it clean and sterile.
I work hard not to feel
the constant sucker punch to my gut.
It is not love.
It is my heartbreak, my folly,
my foolishness.

Get your own

. My Poetry . , , , , ,

It was a rare and priceless gemstone; one-of-a-kind. Left unprotected
to be tarnished in the dank hands
of unbecoming souls
ready to exploit the innocent
and unsuspecting.
And so the dimming began.
The gem became dull
and unrecognizable as anything that would have once been beautiful.
It’s days spent in an unconscious attempt to get a different response.
As the gemstone fights for its light,
It is constant attractor
of gems that can’t shine without consuming the light of another.

Distorted World

. My Poetry . , , , , ,

When I walk by I know they are looking at me.
Waiting.
Expecting me to enter,
and be out of breath and sticky
from opening the door and walking inside.
It is because of my substance?
Is your disapproving stare intended to strip me of my dignity?
Who decided what you are is beautiful?

Authors Note:
This piece isn’t about size (being ‘fat’) but about substance;
about what we present to the world and how the world responds.
A person in a body referred to as ‘overweight’ is an easy way
to paint the picture but predjudeces are all around and within.
Let us be kind to ourselves and others. We are only love; let us be fat with love!!!

Restless

. My Poetry . ,

Wind and kick,
ache and twitch,
restless, electric…
It provokes my sanity.
It radiates from inside.
A ball that grows in intensity
and never stops building.
A movement makes it burst
into tentacles that surge down and around my bones.
Clench.
Hold.
Loosen.
Wind.
Losing my mind.
Squeeze.
Surge.
Color bursts and disappears.
Start over again.
Now, do it a million times.
An endless cycle of surges
and twitching.
My sanity slips some more.
Stand.
Turn.
Stretch.
Bend.
Dig.
Rub.
Medicate.
No such thing as rest.
Sleep eludes me.
Shavasana is only a dream.

My Soldiers

. My Poetry

My soldiers,
I started with 1000.
But I let them fall along the way
Each one walked upon
Each one a reminder, a regret
of falling short,
of failing them in some way.
And my soldiers were me.