Jewel's Poems

Me
I have blonde hair
I pluck my eyebrows
i have my father's nose
my mother's hands
i have crooked teeth
and green eyes
i play guitar
i used to get sick a lot
i like the color of wine
i've cheated on boyfriends
i've owned a fake ID
but my hair is still blonde
and my teeth are still crooked
and i probably won't always like
the color of wine
I have firm breasts
i have lips that always smile
i have veins that bleed
i laugh when i'm nervous
i feel the pain of others
but cry for no reason
i like open flame
i've been selfish since a child
i'm from alaska
but i hate the cold
i've cheated on diets
i've faked applications
but i still bleed
and my lips still smile
and my breasts won't always be firm
i have strong shoulders
i have olive skin
i have a swiss face
i borrowed from my grandmother
i have long nails on my right hand
which break regularly
my little toe is strange
i write
i used to make wreaths from dandelions
i brush my hair before bed
i cheated on tests
i faked flirtatious french accents
but i still have gold skin
and my nails still break
and i probably won't always have
strong shoulders
and i may not always write
but maybe i'll start
making wreaths
from dandelions again



Faith Poem
I don't know how to do anything
i am trying to move mountains with words
but i am an ant
i scribble
i drool
i move like a worm
whose world
encompassed a mile
how do i rise above?
where will this worm
find wings?
I look in the mirror
and i see filth
who is that
where did the angel go?
why is there dirt
staring back at me?
why is the soil of
incompetence beneath my nails?
why does doubt paint
blue rings 
beneath my eyes and
stain my skin?
why does my spine assume failure?
why do my lips
flirt with the sky;
why do i try to lasso
beauty with such a
pitiful rope?
where is the hair of rapunzel
or samson?
where is my sling
where is my stone
my gun?
where is the weapon with which
i might fight this apathy
that feels like sleep
in my limbs
that loosens my brother's smile
that kills my neighbor's daughter
the pen is scrawny and hardly
seems able to ink out
or erase this plague that
intests my
Generation
this giant, this ogre
this beast, this death
that assumes a million faces
that borrows my own.



Criticism
The savages are upon me
and I feel my flesh
Burn
beneath the teeth 
of their indifference

I saw a woman
whose teeth were
straight like
White picket fences
until she looked
at her husband-
Then they looked like 
shattered windows

There is a pretty girl
on the
Face
of the magazine
and
all i see
is my dirty
hands
turning the page
Little breasts attached to
skinny ribs and hungry bellies
determined legs;
persuasive swing
careful hands
she stands
a greater threat to herself 
than the cigarette
she consumes










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