An Arsenal of Affirmations

When a person comes to terms that they have

too many emotions.

The act of processing

of sorting

leaves burning residue of gunpowder at its wake

i.                

take aim.    pause    

a reign of bullets

coerce straight into body

permitting the chance

to bleed and examine

a conflicted heart

[I Believe in, Trust and have Confidence in Myself] shot one

            as i start my day. tripping up rain sleet stairs to get to the bus stop.

            there’s now a hole in my stockings. mud sticking to the wound. and as the rain pours

            i can’t stop laughing

[Never Give Up] shot two

            oh, but i do. when a person keeps talking, besotted by their own breath, a rebellion guides

my decisions. keep listening? debatable. he is quite pretty though – . or go home.

one-sided

            conversation be damned. as we say goodbyes, promises of more to come

i delete their number. did i look back?

[Look at Yourself in the mirror Everyday] shot three

            a key to narcissism,

            really.

            re-examining

            and dissecting one’s self

            until you’re lost in motions.

            but still do it anyway. drowning in yourself can be nice.

[I Learn from my Mistakes] shot four

            i find that i can’t stop looking at my teeth. they’re white and gleaming.

            reminiscent of cavities and stashes under the bed. and it’s then i remember:

            there are Twix in the sock drawer

[I Look for Humor in Every Situation] shot five

            smile                         so. your cousin died a year ago. happy anniversary                                         

            hahaha                      gunshot wound. straight to the head. you know you can’t forget

            (what a celebration)  maybe he’d be laughing. he was nicknamed the joker after all

[Be Grateful] final shot

a man in my neighborhood walks with his granddaughter, turban wrapped around his head. their hands entwined with love. a bed to rest on with pillows and blankets and that’s more than enough. kids running down sunset streets, passing an old

woman with a shopping cart. my sisters kiss my cheeks, feather soft, and my heart has never felt so hot. a newspaper sleeps on the dining room table, the comics being the only part that’s read.

ii.              

Healing,

A breeze’s soft caress over nearly fatal wounds

Learning to love you           actually me, i

comes with summer’s vibrancy and mellows to autumn’s changing leaves

brushing winter’s unforgiving stance away until

spring comes to bring us home

Chloe Jackson is an aspiring writer from Puyallup, WA. Her interests include poetry and prose but she actively searches for different forms of writing and genre. She thinks this is impacted by her worldview. Rather than the world being outlined and defined, she tries to interpret the world as it comes. Chaotic. Unsure of itself. Blurry. Ugly. And ethereal. As she continues to pursue writing, she hopes to explore genres and topics more, integrating them into her own, manifested style.