The fine print

I'm exhausting
I'm stubborn
I'm often a pain
I demand all your attention
and I'm incurably vain

But on those rare occasions when I'm bearable for a minute

I'm charming
I'm courteous
I'm generous to boot
I'm even attractive
and some might say cute

But that might just be a rumor, because my frown says it all

I'm grumpy
I'm moody
I'm a bit of a snob
I'll tell you what I think of you
as if it's my job

but then I'll laugh and I'll throw you for a loop because...

I'm witty
I'm humourous
I'm a bit snarky too
I like to keep it light
I really really do

course with all this flip flopping you never know what you'll get
I could be marvelous, magical and full of wit
Or I could be a holy terror and an unbearable shit
but one thing's for sure, it's as sound as can be
if you don't love me when i'm grumpy then you don't deserve to see
the one a few cherish; the REAL Jesse

Christmas in bed

It's Christmas this morning
and I've already opened my favorite gift
She lies serenely on my chest breathing quietly
or at least quieter than she was earlier

The wrappings of my gift lie scattered around
They're purple, black and lace
they lay next to the two sweating glasses of orange juice
sitting side by side on the wooden trey
a breakfast trey that was part of my gift

I enjoyed my breakfast thoroughly
though I had not even a bite
well maybe one, but it didn't hurt
my appetite is never quite satisfied
looks like it's time for brunch

Doldrums

I am stagnancy
I’ve fulfilled all of everyone else’s expectations
and none of my own

the sober reality of windless nights
and red horizons at dawn
give me little air to breathe

I used to be captain of my fate
but now I travel a sea of mutiny
destiny has marooned me

though I resist the undercurrent of doubt
my inner dialogue gives rise to words
that bear striking resemblance to the insults of my enemy

and try as I might
I am confined to my quarters
a captain without a crew, a victor without a victory

Every open door

I always sit facing the door
thousands of booths
and just as many sunsets
restaurants with bells on the door
and a cold hand that longs for the warmth of yours
I hear the bell jingle

and I always look toward the door
granted I haven’t a clue what you look like
not the faintest idea
but my heart doesn’t know that
and neither do I

each pretty girl I see
plays the part in my mental drama
I dress them in white with a veil
and I undress them too
but somehow, someway
they’re never you

can’t say that I like the waiting game
but then again, I’m the one who claims
“anything worth having is worth waiting for”
I know you will be worth the wait
but until the day I meet you
I’ll look toward every open door

Contradiction

you're my favorite of the women in my life
though you love me one day
and hate me the next
you're as beautiful to me-as the sky you reflect

you're my lover
though you caress me gently one day
and thrash me fiercely the next
you're delightfully intricate- and infinitely complex

you're my confidant
though you listen patiently one day
and interrupt me constantly the next
you're a salve for my wounds-you negate their effects

you're my favorite contradiction
though you may kill me
and take my body far from home
I can think of nothing more eloquent-than your seas forever to roam

Chelsea King

Gifts of God
corroding his frayed soul.

Acidic thoughts of forbidden bliss,
arrayed out splendidly

next to the fuchsia orchids
swaying gently in the wind.

Figure of fatal fashion,
hair swept beautifully apart

her delicate face.
Frozen forever in death’s caress.

Given to him
and taken too.

That exquisite pearl of
timeless charm.

A flash of life,
like the picture in the frame

surrounded by flowers
next to her urn.

Too soon,
far too soon.

Spring begets winter,
birth begets death.

Summer only comes to the
privileged majority.


Blind though they are
to the life within.

We are all more alive,
once we’ve been dead.

Or at least glimpsed that
archaic fiend,

scythe in one hand,
our lover in the other.

Off to the realm of shadows,
with what we just now consider most dear.

A salty rain fell on that hollow
patch of ground.

Hidden by Armani, Chanel, and Prada
clouds—

Lightning flashes of wrath
towards the one who

gave her hand—unwillingly—to him:
archaic fiend.

By Jesse Madera

Vulgar Love (a pantoum)

Never Late
This tangible desire
To satiate
My carnal fire

This tangible desire
A thing to fear
My carnal fire
It’s always here

A thing to fear
To satiate
It’s always here
Never late